A recent BBC article draws attention to widespread concerns among UK librarians (concerns I know are shared by librarians and educators on this side of the Atlantic) regarding the potentially disastrous impact of digital rights management on the long-term viability of electronic collections. At present, when downloads represent only a tiny fraction of most libraries’ circulation, DRM is more of a nuisance than a threat. At the New York Public library, for instance, only one “copy” of each downloadable ebook or audio book title can be “checked out” at a time — a frustrating policy that all but cancels out the value of its modest digital collection. But the implications further down the road, when an increasing portion of library holdings will be non-physical, are far more grave.
What these restrictions in effect do is place locks on books, journals and other publications — locks for which there are generally no keys. What happens, for example, when a work passes into the public domain but its code restrictions remain intact? Or when materials must be converted to newer formats but can’t be extracted from their original files? The question we must ask is: how can librarians, now or in the future, be expected to effectively manage, preserve and update their collections in such straightjacketed conditions?
This is another example of how the prevailing copyright fundamentalism threatens to constrict the flow and preservation of knowledge for future generations. I say “fundamentalism” because the current copyright regime in this country is radical and unprecedented in its scope, yet traces its roots back to the initially sound concept of limited intellectual property rights as an incentive to production, which, in turn, stemmed from the Enlightenment idea of an author’s natural rights. What was originally granted (hesitantly) as a temporary, statutory limitation on the public domain has spun out of control into a full-blown culture of intellectual control that chokes the flow of ideas through society — the very thing copyright was supposed to promote in the first place.
If we don’t come to our senses, we seem destined for a new dark age where every utterance must be sanctioned by some rights holder or licensing agent. Free thought isn’t possible, after all, when every thought is taxed. In his “An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?” Kant condemns as criminal any contract that compromises the potential of future generations to advance their knowledge. He’s talking about the church, but this can just as easily be applied to the information monopolists of our times and their new tool, DRM, which, in its insidious way, is a kind of contract (though one that is by definition non-negotiable since enforced by a machine):
But would a society of pastors, perhaps a church assembly or venerable presbytery (as those among the Dutch call themselves), not be justified in binding itself by oath to a certain unalterable symbol in order to secure a constant guardianship over each of its members and through them over the people, and this for all time: I say that this is wholly impossible. Such a contract, whose intention is to preclude forever all further enlightenment of the human race, is absolutely null and void, even if it should be ratified by the supreme power, by parliaments, and by the most solemn peace treaties. One age cannot bind itself, and thus conspire, to place a succeeding one in a condition whereby it would be impossible for the later age to expand its knowledge (particularly where it is so very important), to rid itself of errors, and generally to increase its enlightenment. That would be a crime against human nature, whose essential destiny lies precisely in such progress; subsequent generations are thus completely justified in dismissing such agreements as unauthorized and criminal.
We can only hope that subsequent generations prove more enlightened than those presently in charge.
Non-negotiable, perhaps, but certainly subvertible (-able?): to this point, at least, just about every major attempt at a DRM system has been met with an equal and opposite hack, or with marketplace rejection. It may be wishful thinking on my part, but I’m a tiny bit hopeful that the keepers of the faith will at some point be forced to recognize the uselessness of attempting to stamp out every little heresy and will instead focus on the circulation of ideas, which was, as you say, ostensibly the point.
The one-book-per-checkout restriction is analogous to the paper realm. I’m not making excuses–just pointing out that to a traditional librarian, one-book-per-checkout is not more restrictive.
I would turn back to you and ask how authors and publishers can continue to be compensated for their work if a library that would buy ten copies of a book could now buy one. I’m not being reactive, just asking the question–as a librarian, and as a writer.
I read a different analysis of the ALA report in Ars Technica, which acknowledges the problem, but rejects the alarmism.
(Now reposted as its own entry.)
Karen,
This is a big question, perhaps the biggest since economics will define the parameters of much that is being discussed here. How do we move from an old economy of knowledge, based on the traffic of intellectual commodities (copies), to a new one where value is placed on access to networks and the quality of those networks? The question is brought into particularly stark relief when we talk about libraries, which (correct me if I’m wrong) have always been more concerned with the pure pursuit and dissemination of knowledge than with the economics of publishing.
Consider, as an example, the photocopier — in many ways a predecessor of the world wide web. Photocopiers have been unbundling books in libraries long before there was any such thing as Google Book Search, helping users break through the commodified shell to get at the fruit within. I know there are some countries in Europe that funnel a share of proceeds from library photocopiers back to the publishers, and this seems to be a reasonably fair compromise, but the role of the photocopier in most libraries of the world is a more subversive one, repudiating the idea that there can really be such a thing as intellectual property.
That being said, few would dispute the right of an author to benefit economically from his or her intellectual labor, we just have to ask whether the system currently in place is serving our collective interests. We find ourselves at a crossroads where we must choose as a society either to clamp down (to preserve existing business models), liberalize (to clear the field for new ones), or compromise.
In her essay “Books in Time,” Berkeley historian Carla Hesse gives a wonderful overview of a similar debate over intellectual property that took place in 18th Century France, when liberal-minded philosophes, most notably Condorcet, railed against the state-sanctioned Paris printing monopolies, demanding universal access to knowledge for all humanity. To Condorcet, freedom of the press meant not only freedom from censorship but freedom from commerce as well, since ideas arise not from men but through men from nature. How can you sell something that is universally owned? Things finally settled down in France after the revolution and the country (and the West) embarked on a historic compromise that laid the foundations for what Hesse calls “the modern literary system”:
Barriers to knowledge were lowered. A system of limited intellectual property rights was put in place that incentivized production and elevated the status of writers. And by and large, the world of ideas flourished — within a commercial market. But the question remains: can we reach an equivalent compromise today? And if so, what would it look like? Initiatives like the Creative Commons nibble around the edges of the problem, but in the end they are more about trimming red tape and eliminating the middleman than about fundamentally reforming the copyright system. In some ways, I like the idea of taxing photocopiers because it suggests a micro-economy where payments are made in proportion to use.
One person who has done a great dealing of thinking about such a solution is Terry Fisher, an intellectual property scholar at Harvard who has written extensively on practicable alternative copyright models for the music and film industries. I first encountered Fisher’s work when I heard him speak at the Economics of Open Content Symposium at MIT last month. The following is an excerpt from his book, “Promises to Keep: Technology, Law, and the Future of Entertainment”, that paints a relatively detailed picture of what one alternative copyright scheme might look like. It’s a bit long, and as I mentioned, deals specifically with the recording and movie industries, but it’s worth reading in light of this discussion since it seems it could just as easily apply to electronic books:
While I’m uncomfortable with the idea of any top-down, governmental solution, this certainly provides food for thought.
I recently saw this at the nypl, and I was outraged!
What the hell is the point of distributing something in digital form, if you’re going to use technology to emulate the inconveniences of paper?
I have an idea, why don’t they also force you to pick up a copy of the “book” in person?
It’s outrageous that DRM is used in such a way.
I don’t care if it can be cracked, it’s wrong.