Angry Man Without Pants

Lets embark on a little thought experiment.

Let’s pretend, purely for the sake of argument, that copyright terms are limited to 14 years, a la the Statute of Anne. Let’s also assume that I write a number of bestselling books and become extremely wealthy. Thirdly, lets imagine that I decide for some reason (Alzheimer’s, religious conversion, pure perversity, whatever…) that the first book I wrote no longer deserves to exist, that I hate it and want to eradicate it from the face of the planet. I’m wealthy, and persistent, so I embark on a quest to locate, buy back, and then destroy every copy that was ever printed. I hire an army of assistants who search used bookstores the world over. I contact owners of copies and persuade them to sell. I am relentless. Perhaps I bankrupt myself in the process, but whether I do or not is irrelevant to the argument. What matters is that, before my copyright expires, I manage to legally obtain and destroy every last copy of that book.

I’ll tell you what doesn’t happen on the day the copyright on that book finally expires. No one knocks on my door; no federal agents, no local constabulary, no barristers, no lawyers. Nobody tries to arrest me, or detain me, or fine me for violating the public’s right to have my book released into the public domain.

Why?

Because that right doesn’t exist and has never existed.

There is a subtle and important distinction I’m trying to illustrate here. Copyright law gives me the right to withhold my work from the public domain for the term of the copyright. Once a work exists in the public domain, you have the right to copy that work with impunity, but nobody has the right to demand that a created work be placed in the public domain. Nowhere in the world does there exist a statute recognizing the rights of the public to force works to be released into the public domain. If I write something and sell copies of it, and those copies still exist upon expiry of my copyright, then other people are allowed to make copies of those copies. That’s all.

“So what,” you say. “You’re splitting hairs. How is this relevant?”

Before I explain, let’s try a second thought experiment.

Let’s pretend I’ve written a vastly popular book. It sells hundreds of millions of copies and is insanely popular. (Think of J.K. Rowling here). The public clamors for a sequel. I write one, but instead of publishing it, I take the only copy and lock it away in a safe in my home. Please remember, that sequel is protected by copyright from the moment of its creation. I don’t need to fill out any forms. I don’t have to register with any copyright office. Specifically, I am not required to deposit a copy of my work with anyone, anywhere, to validate my copyright.

The public can be certain beyond any reasonable doubt that the sequel exists, (heck, I could even distribute a few excerpts), and many would likely feel sure that, should they somehow obtain a copy to read, they would enjoy the story. Nevertheless, that manuscript stays locked away. I continue to write other bestsellers, the public continues to enjoy my other works, and knowledge that I possess an unpublished sequel never leaves the public mind.

As before, I’ll tell you what doesn’t happen on the day the copyright on that hidden manuscript finally expires. No one visits my house to demand the safe be opened; no federal agents, no local police, no lawyers. No one tries to arrest or detain me for violating the public’s right to make copies of my book.

Why?

Because, even though the copyright on that work has expired, and anyone with access to the original is now permitted to make copies of it, they don’t have a right to demand to make copies of it. As access to the only existing copy can only be had by breaking and entering my home, which is illegal, I still get to choose who sees my work. The point being illustrated here is that no one has a right to force me to show them my work, even if it is no longer protected under copyright. People do not have an unalienable right to make copies of any work no longer protected by copyright, they simply have the right not to be prosecuted for duplicating public domain works already legally in their possession.

“So what,” you say again, “does this have to do with anything?”

It has to do with attitude, and the overweening sense of entitlement exhibited by so many of today’s denizens of the Internet.

I read a lot of message boards and discussion groups on the Internet where arguments regarding the current state of copyright legislation rage unabated. Over and over again I see variations of the complaint that “copyright holders are depriving the public domain of content that is rightfully theirs”. I hear suggestions that copyright terms should be truncated to ridiculously short durations — 5 years, 3 years, even 1 year, so that works can more quickly move into the public domain, where they belong. There exists this insidious assumption among the general public that the moment any creative work comes into existence it actually belongs to the public and is simply “on loan to the creator” for the duration of its copyright. This is false: the right not to be prosecuted for copying a creative work is not the same as the right to experience that same work. The former is recognized; the latter is not.  Even if you believe that an artistic work is truly great and is a benefit to society, you still don’t have the right to demand to experience it.

I am inundated by claims that the public has a right to experience the works of creators and other artists, that the public has a right to obtain those works for free (even though they may have made no contribution whatsoever to the original creation of those works), and that prevention of this via copyright law is an infringement of their rights.

Well, you know what?

You don’t have a right to be entertained.

You don’t have a right to see my stuff.

You certainly don’t have a right to be entertained by my stuff for free.

Now get off my lawn…