ditorial

Digital Rights
The Revolution of the Arts
by Stephanee Killen

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hen I originally set out to write an article about digital rights, over a year ago, I had no idea that I would find my position on the subject to be so tenuous. As an author and patron of the creative arts in general, I found the concept of digital theft to be repugnant. However, as a supporter of the open source movement, I found myself suddenly at odds with . . . well, myself.

As Internet and computer use has increased, so, too, has the controversy over digital rights. The news is often flooded with stories and legal battles regarding copyright infringement, digital theft, and the avid prosecution of those whose sole crime has been to trade music files over the Internet. But how do these things apply to writers? In what way has the e-publishing revolution affected our ability to write, sell, and promote our work in a way that is protected from theft? Should we, as authors, be concerned about this growing legal debate? Is there such a thing as "open source" for writers?

What is Copyright?
The Statute of Anne, an early form of copyright, was originally established in 1710 in order to introduce the idea of protecting authors and their published works. Until the late fifteenth century and the invention of a printing method that could print books easily and cheaply, the copying of a manuscript was a slow and difficult process often completed by monks. To protect against piracy once these new printing methods came into existence, a Licensing Act was established. This Act was meant to regulate the emerging book trade and to protect printers. It also required that a copy of the book to be published be submitted to a single guild, the Stationer's Company, under the rule that they could seize books that may have contained matters hostile to the Church or government—a system of protection, yet also one of control.

This system has been amended over and over again and, in some cases, is meant to protect the publisher/distributor and their investment more than the author or creator. In the case of written work, copyright is imagined to protect the author against infringement (an act that disregards an agreement or a right¹) or theft (the act of stealing; specifically, the felonious taking and removing of personal property, with an intent to deprive the rightful owner of the same²). But can information be stolen?

A Society of Artists and Thieves
Large publishing houses and record companies tend to hold to this belief: Artists are commodities, something to package and promote as a product. Often, when you watch MTV, VH1, listen to the radio, or go to Borders, this is what you are being presented with—a carefully prepared product designed to make money. (To whom this money belongs remains a point of contention in both fields.) Neither the publishing nor the recording industry believes that they have the resources to take risks with artists or authors that might not sell; therefore, they must stick with selling packages that have proven to sell in the past. Who supports this system? You and I—the consumers.

What motivates us to buy the music that we hear on the radio or the books that are placed in prominent displays as we walk into the door of any superstore? Is it that we trust that the books, which have been chosen for the bestseller lists, have made it there because they are the best works? Ideally, we choose what we feel we would enjoy, but does this amount to only a handful of artists and authors, such as the ones we keep seeing on the shelves and the ones we keep hearing on the radio—familiar, household names?

In addition to selling us packages, many in the industry are now setting their sights on protecting their investment at all costs. Consider the current legal battles being fought regarding copyright. As publishing and recording companies frantically seek to enhance the security measures placed on digital files, the public continues to demonstrate their propensity toward circumventing them.

Enter Stephen King's Riding the Bullet. Riding the Bullet (published by Scribner Book Co. in 2001) was originally published in an encrypted e-book format only, for a small download fee of $2.50. The book sold 500,000 copies in the first two days—and it took only 48 hours for hackers (known in the computer world as "crackers") to break through the encryption and begin distributing the book for free to various website and chat groups. Unfortunately, this act only served to renew the security-frenzy for publishers—and creates this question: As a society, if we are treated like thieves, will we continue to act like thieves? Better yet, if we are given only controlled access to creative works, charged high fees (of which little goes to the author or artist), and are then punished for the way we choose to use what we have purchased, will we seek a better system?

Stephen King himself chose to challenge the system by releasing installments of his book The Plant to readers, with the initial download being free of charge, under the stipulation that each reader send in $1.00 for the download—a new spin on the "honor system." This would cut out the middleman, allowing King to offer the work at a ridiculously low price and receive the profit directly from the readers. After the initial, optimistic start of the experiment, it was estimated that only about 46% of readers had actually paid for the download. (The remaining installments are currently on hold, although it is not clear as to whether this is due to King's busy schedule or disillusionment with his readers.) Evidently, some 54% of readers did not understand why they should pay for something that they had just received for free.

In our current system, with art and its artists treated as commodities, where the faces and names change but the content remains much the same, how many people of the younger generation ("Generation I"³) understand what it means to be an artist, an author, a creator of original and inspirational work? The question of why we should pay for something when we can get it for free is simple: We are making a statement. When we pay for a book or a piece of music, we have an opportunity to make an exchange of our money for an experience, for the energy placed into a creative body of work. Although its format and content may help us to decide upon its price, its value (worth in usefulness or importance to the possessor⁴) must not be forgotten.

There will always be people willing to steal material, in any format (and reselling copyrighted material could perhaps be compared to fencing stolen goods), but in what way is this different from information sharing? The more barriers we place between information and ourselves, the more urgent it may become to break through those barriers.

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Posted January 15, 2004
©2004