Next Sunday, 6 June, I shall be up in London again at NotCon '04. Looking forward to seeing Brewster Kahle and Cory Doctorow speak about copyright, plus there'll be lots of other goodies to enjoy.
If you're there and you spot me, please do say hello.
Just two examples that illustrate further how out-of-hand copyright law is now.
Reynolds works for the London Ambulance Service, and has just been on a course covering new treatment guidelines. He and his colleagues will, however, be getting an out-of-date version of the course handbook because the copyright holders won't allow the London Ambulance Service to edit the newest version so that it is more relevant to London.
Result: Londoners won't be getting the best health care because of copyright.
A less dramatic, but in a way more alarming example is the conversation I've just had with my Mum. She knits, and sometimes sells what she has knitted to her friends or on eBay. Today she was given a magazine with a knitting pattern for a Thomas The Tank Engine child's jumper.
“You know something about copyright,” she said. “If I knit this, will I get in trouble?”
The very fact that my Mum is worried about being sued for knitting a jumper shows how pervasive the threats of retribution from copyright holders has become. I don't believe that damage would be done to any of the Thomas The Tank Engine rights holders by the knitting of a jumper for a small child, even if it was sold on eBay. Common sense used to recognise that fact and react accordingly.
But common sense has been bludgeoned into submission by the actions of the RIAA and others who are quite happy to sue children and grandparents for the most minor infringement. Suddenly, 'Am I going to get sued for this?' is not the stupid question it would have been even a couple of years ago, because selling something on eBay immediately opens up the possibility of being tracked down and prosecuted.
Result: Copyrights are no more secure now than they were before, but people are thinking twice about engaging in previously commonplace activities.
Absence of evidence
Of course, the latter example, you could say, it's just one person. Not very important at all. Who cares if one person does or doesn't knit a jumper? But to me, the unimportance of this is exactly why it is important.
A couple of weeks ago I went to a meeting at LIFT to discuss Lawrence Lessig's lecture last Thursday. LIFT had brought together a small group of people knowledgeable about the issues covered in Free Culture (so god knows what I was doing there!), and one of the questions raised was 'Where is the evidence for the harm that Lessig discusses? Where is the mischief caused by current copyright laws?'.
The point was that there is little or no quantitative evidence of the damage done by copyright. All the evidence is anecdotal and, to some people, anecdotal material has no value and therefore cannot be cited as evidence.
Compare with something like smoking. Whenever there's a report on the news about the effects of smoking, we are bombarded with statistics: how many people die from smoking-related illnesses, how much money treating smokers costs the health service, how much it costs the economy. We see figures and from those figures we infer meaning. The harm done is not only clear, it's quantifiable.
The problem with much of the harm done by copyright is that it is 'invisible' – when someone is prevented from doing something that they otherwise would have done, it is impossible to quantify that effect. You're looking for something that's missing, but which you cannot see is missing.
When someone steals your driveway you can see what is missing because there is a big hole where your driveway once was. With the harm done by copyright, it's the equivalent not of your driveway being taken away, but of your driveway never having been paved in the first place.
The important thing about my Mum worrying about getting sued for breach of copyright is that what she wants to do is so supremely unimportant. The chances of her actually getting sued are very low. Yet for a moment there she was considering not doing something she would otherwise have done.
I wonder how many other small acts of creation are now not done because of fears over litigation? How impoverished does our culture and community have to become before the effect of widespread unimportant noncreation is noticeable? How do you quantify this? How do you prove the harm done?
I remember reading once that we humans live on a 25 hour long circadian rhythm, which we are constantly re-adjusting to fit into our 24 hour day.
Now, consider the whole time zone thing. Time zones are a real drag. I have a little clock sitting on my desk which is set to PST (-8 GMT) so that I know whether my PST friends should be in bed or not and, therefore, how much coherence I should expect from them.
(Although most of them actually live on PVT – programmer variable time – which is calculated using a complex equation combining T (local time), D (time to impending deadline) and C (volume of caffeine consumed). I've given up trying to rationalise PVT to GMT. Doesn't work.)
Anyway, the frustrating things about time zones is that the people I want to talk to are often asleep when I want to talk to them. So I'd like to propose something which would, I think, solve the problem quite elegantly.
If we reset every clock to be on the same time and we redefine a day to be 25 hours long, then everyone would be up and awake at the same time. The 25 hour long 'iDay' would 'move' in relation to the 24 hour 'natural day', and so everyone would take it in turns to be up during the night. For example, today it might be 10am and light here in the UK, and 10am and dark in San Francisco, but later on it would be the other way round.
Of course, every 25 days we'd be back where we started so we could have new 25 day iMonths. Our circadian rhythms would be happy with a 25 hour day, so it'd be easy to slip into this new system. The draw back is that we'd have 14.6 iMonths in an iYear, but I think that's a small price to pay for not having to worry about time zones anymore.
I would like to suggest that one of the new, as yet unnamed iMonths be called Suwary. I think it should be slotted in between the new iJune and iJuly. The other new iMonth could be named in a public competition, and the spare 0.6 of an iMonth would be a worldwide extra public holiday, just because I think we really do all work too hard.
So, who's with me?