[Editor’s Note: This is the first of a three-part series on the intersection of trade agreements, foreign affairs, and U.S. copyright law. Portions of this part were published previously as Dames, K. Matthew (2007). Trade Agreements as the New Copyright Law, Online, 31(2), 16-21.]

In this article, I detail how global trade agreements influence the Copyright Act of 1976, including an explanation of the U.S. Trade Representative’s role, the role of “harmonization,” and an analysis of how international trade agreements effectively circumvent Congress’ constitutional authority to enact copyright laws.

Traditional Path to Copyright Law

Just as every other federal law that is ultimately codified into the U.S. Code, this country’s official compendium of federal statutes, the development and ultimate passage of copyright laws happens according to a time-honored process. Bills that originate in the House of Representatives or the Senate will become law if the bill is passed by both houses of Congress and the President signs the bill. Once the bill becomes law, it will be published in the U.S. Code, which is the public and permanent statutes arranged by topic or subject. (For a fuller discussion of the U.S. federal legislative process, please see Charles W. Johnson’s classic guide “How Our Laws Are Made.”)

The Copyright Act of 1976 is codified at Title 17 of the U.S. Code. The authority for the 1976 Act (as well as the predecessor Acts of 1909 and 1790) comes from the Copyright Clause of the U.S. Constitution. Art. 1, sec. 8. cl. 8 states “The Congress shall have Power … To promote the progress of science and useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries.”

Congress is, has been, and always should be the first and final drafter and arbiter of the Copyright Act. As Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg wrote in the Supreme Court’s decision in Eldred v. Ashcroft, 537 U.S. 186 (2003), “[The Court has] stressed … that it is generally for Congress, not the courts, to decide how best to pursue the Copyright Clause’s objectives.” But in recent years, Congress’ role in enacting copyright law legislation has diminished. In order to understand how this has occurred, it is instructive to go back to 1988, when the United States became a signatory to the Berne Convention.

The Berne Convention

The Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works (“Berne Convention”) is an international treaty, first signed in 1886, that seeks to give creators some level of consistent copyright protection across the world. The principle that guides Berne is that where an author’s nationality differs from the work’s country of origin, the author should receive the same copyright protection as national authors. Further, the Berne Convention obliges all signatory countries to respect an author’s moral rights. (“Moral rights” is a term that describes the ability of authors to control the eventual fate of their works. The concept relies on the connection between an author and her creation, and protects the personal and reputational aspects of a creative work, rather than its monetary value. (See Betsy Rosenblatt’s primer on moral rights from the Berkman Center.)

The U.S. signed the Berne Convention treaty in 1988, becoming the 76th nation to sign. More than 100 countries are signatories.

From a practical standpoint, the U.S.’s adoption of Berne eliminated the need for authors to place a copyright notice on their work, and made copyright registration optional except in circumstances where the owner wishes to sue for copyright infringement in Federal court. For example, The the “no registration” requirement has had a significant and detrimental affect on digitization programs, since an item for which copyright ownership cannot be determined often is an item that is removed from the universe of digitization possibilities.

Further, the Berne Convention has been cited as the basis for domestic legislation such as the Visual Artists Rights Act of 1990 (which provides authors with some semblance of moral rights under U.S. law); the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 199 (which protects digital works and has been the source of controversies too numerous to mention here); and the Sonny Bono Copyright Term Extension Act of 1998 (which retroactively lengthened copyright terms by two decades).

“Harmonization”

Additionally, the Berne Convention’s widespread adoption has helped usher a new term into the copyright lexicon: “harmonization.” I first recall hearing the term in the late 1990s, around the time Congress was debating the legislation that ultimately became the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”).

Simply put, “harmonization” is a concept whereby the intellectual property laws of different countries are made consistent, mostly to facilitate international trade and business. The concept of harmonization is not unusual; almost all the states and territories in this country are signatories to the Uniform Commercial Code (UCC), a model law in the U.S. that makes consistent (or “harmonizes”) the law of contracts, sales, banking, and secured transactions. This allows firms in one state to reasonably, predictably, and consistently do business with firms in another state.

Since each state has its own law—New York law is different from Indiana law, which is different from Texas law—it could be difficult for firms to do business across jurisdictions. The UCC facilitates interstate commerce by providing a core standard. States may deviate from it or tweak it—it is, after all, a model—but almost all U.S. states and territories have adopted the UCC’s core provisions into their state statutes.

National intellectual property laws work in a similar fashion. Intellectual property law is a national construct: U.S. intellectual property law differs from Spanish intellectual property law, which differs from Russia’s intellectual property law. Without an overarching, facilitating treaty such as the Berne Convention, there would be mass legal anarchy. This issue is exacerbated when the laws of different nations to problems and issues that exist exclusively online, where the notion of jurisdiction is vague at best, are applied. Instead, Berne allows U.S., Spain, and Russia to work from the same core intellectual property principles. Each nation has its own copyright law, but with a nation’s adoption of Berne, a core consistency is enforced.

From a linguistic perspective, harmonization suggests a voluntary coordination that the parties to an agreement will be held to the same, core standards and will be working under the same rules. Ideally, each country’s intellectual property laws should have similar weight and effect where harmonization occurs.

But in reality, harmonization of intellectual property laws is different. The term has become a euphemism for the global, one-sided spread of United States’ intellectual property laws. One could argue that under the guise of harmonization, intellectual property law has become America’s chief 21st century export. In the harmonization model, U.S. intellectual property law effectively becomes the world’s de facto intellectual property law, effectively overriding the voluntary coordination principle that should be inherent through the Berne Convention.

The dismissal of voluntary coordination occurs because the U.S. leverages its economic power to force other countries to adopt U.S. copyright law in lieu of their own if the U.S. thinks the foreign country’s laws are insufficient to protect American intellectual property. It is a “carrot and stick” approach: If a foreign country wants to do business with the U.S. (or get U.S. support to enter into the World Trade Organization), it must adopt U.S. copyright standards and codify them into their statutes.

For most foreign countries, this quid pro quo has become the price of doing business with the U.S. On the other hand, it is unusual that the U.S. would agree to agree to another country’s intellectual property regimen: It doesn’t have to. Therefore, harmonization really is doublespeak for a worldwide adoption of the American intellectual property standard. Much of this deal making happens through the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative.

The U.S. Trade Representative

According to its Web site, the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative (USTR) is responsible for developing and coordinating U.S. international trade, commodity, and direct investment policy and for overseeing negotiations with other countries. The head of the Office, Ambassador Ron Kirk, is a former mayor of Dallas whom President-elect Obama nominated to the position in December 2008. The Senate confirmed Kirk’s nomination on March 18, 2009. Kirk is a member of President Obama’s Cabinet and serves as his negotiator and spokesperson on trade issues.

Given intellectual property’s undeniable importance to the bottom line of several large U.S. companies, it is unsurprising that Kirk continues to make intellectual property protection a centerpiece of international trade discussions, much like his predecessor, Susan Schwab. Schwab thought the intellectual property issue so central that in late June she created a new Intellectual Property office within USTR. Schwab announced she was increasing resources and staff for the new office, including appointing a chief intellectual property negotiator whose priority is negotiating trade deals with China and Russia, countries that routinely are identified in the USTR’s annual “Special 301” review as being lax on protection of U.S. copyrights, trademarks, and patents.

The Workaround

There long has been concern that expansive language in free-trade agreements may raise the level of copyright protection above and beyond the international standards under the Berne Convention and the Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights annexed to the agreement establishing the World Trade Organization. Now, arguably, the trade negotiation process has become a channel through which large, corporate copyright portfolio owners manipulate the trade agreement process to enforce a narrow, protectionist extension of copyright law, circumventing the traditional legislative process. Most of this work is done without notice to the public or Congressional hearings, so the first time those outside the process learn about the new arrangement—which has the effect of law—is when a USTR press release announces the trade agreement.

William Patry, author of the treatise Patry on Copyright, summarized this process in September 2006.

U.S. industry group X [insert software, publishing, music, etc.] goes to USTR and says we need new rights; please obligate the United States to provide for those rights in an international agreement, whether a new treaty or trade deal. Without public input, without congressional hearings, without legislation, USTR commits the U.S. to provide that protection. The Executive Branch then goes to Congress and says to Congress that legislation has to be passed on pain of the U.S. violating its international obligations. Congress complies.

This is the epitome of backroom, middle-of-the night deal making with cigars, winks, and nods, the stuff of local machines and voting blocs purportedly dismissed long ago as gross perversions of democracy. Patry also notes that these trade deals also pose a considerable threat to our notions of fairness and democracy in the political process.

“Whatever one might say about USTR, one cannot fairly describe that agency as concerned with the larger public good,” continues Patry. “There are serious institutional and policy issues with this trend. Initiatives to amend U.S. law should be taken up first by Congress; they should make sense as a matter of domestic balancing. Congress is the policymaker in our system, not the Executive Branch. Couching issues as trade issues or foreign policy is a too clever and dangerous way to make U.S. law overseas. It should stop for the public good.”

What about Congress? Many veteran political observers, including Thomas E. Mann and Norman J. Ornstein, authors of The Broken Branch: How Congress Is Failing America and How to Get It Back on Track, have accused Congress of totally abdicating its role as the first branch of government since the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. On this issue, one would expect members of Congress to be offended at the suggestion that trade representatives know better what America’s intellectual policy should be. Instead, the Congress has failed to provide any resistance.

The problem was exacerbated by the “fast track” authority that presidents once held. “Fast track” is a procedure through the president has sole and exclusive authority to negotiate trade agreements. Elected members of Congress must agree with all of the terms and conditions of an agreement negotiated under “fast track” authority, otherwise it must vote against the entire agreement. President George W. Bush was able to secure “fast track” authority after President Clinton failed to secure it for his administration. This allowed Bush’s trade negotiators the authority to cut their own deals and bind the U.S. (as well as foreign countries) to those deals on a “take or leave” it basis. According to Public Citizen, presidential fast track authority (also called “trade promotion authority”) expired June 30, 2007.

While “fast track” has expired, the U.S. Trade Representative’s role in shaping foreign and domestic intellectual property affairs continues to manifest itself through the Special 301 process. We will address Special 301 in Part 2 of our three-part series.

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Normally, this post would be something best left to someone like William Patry, whose credentials on copyright are above reproach. Lawrence Lessig has responded to Helprin in a contemporary and ingenious way, but Lessig’s main focus now has moved from intellectual property matters to what he has called “corruption” (and what Harvard Law School, his new employer calls “a major five-year project examining what happens when public institutions depend on money from sources that may be affected by the work of those institutions”).

We are nowhere near the orbit of either Patry or Lessig when it comes to issues of copyright theory and history. We do think, however, we have some reasonable ideas and knowledge about the American copyright system and its increasing imbalance. And consistent with the the expectations the public should have of scholars and journalists, we don’t just spew: we back up our assertions with the best information we have available at the time.

Therefore, since Patry and Lessig are doing other things, we feel obliged to address Mark Helprin’s of editorials on the U.S. copyright system, the most recent of which was published in the May 11 edition of the Wall Street Journal.

Deconstructing the Myth of Romantic Authorship

Helprin’s views on copyright have been getting a lot of publicity lately. Conveniently, his views on copyright coincide with the release of a new book he has to promote, one that purportedly is about American copyright. The book, entitled Digital Barbarism: A Writer’s Manifesto, has been described by The Wall Street Journal in a review as an argument for copyright’s perpetuity. Interestingly, the WSJ review (written by the executive vice president of News Corp., the Journal’s publisher) is entitled “Hands Off, It’s Mine.” This title is important, and we’ll return to it in a moment.

Helprin first introduced his view of the American copyright system two years ago, in a New York Times editorial. Entitled (at least in the Times‘ online edition) “A Great Idea Lives Forever. Shouldn’t Its Copyright?”, Helprin argues in favor of endless copyright (or as the late MPAA president Jack Valenti would have put it, at least “forever less a day”):

The genius of the framers in making [the Constitution’s limiting clause “for limited Times”] is that it allows for infinite adjustment. Congress is free to extend at will the term of copyright. It last did so in 1998, and should do so again, as far as it can throw. Would it not be just and fair for those who try to extract a living from the uncertain arts of writing and composing to be freed from a form of confiscation not visited upon anyone else? The answer is obvious, and transcends even justice. No good case exists for the inequality of real and intellectual property, because no good case can exist for treating with special disfavor the work of the spirit and the mind.

The argument Helprin makes is consistent with a construct copyright scholars refer to as the “Romantic author,” which itself is related to theories of authorship. Authorship is central to copyright law: the U.S. Constitution grants “to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective writings and discoveries.” Authorship also is relevant in contemporary, statutory copyright law: while the current Act fails to define what an author is, other parts of the Act refer to the author as the initial copyright owner. (As a practical matter, ownership of one or more rights in a copyright usually ends up with a person or entity other than the author.)

The Romantic Author theory essentially claims that authorial rights exist in law because authors naturally have a right in their work the moment it is created, that an Author is worthy of such rights, and it is righteous, ethical and just for the Author to have such a connection (creatively and legally) between him and his work. Additionally, the theory claims an author should be allowed a wide (and perhaps even endless) term to earn money from his protected work to the extent that he can claim sole credit for the work’s creation.

The Romantic Author theory focuses intently on the individual for two reasons: first, the Author is considered to be a privileged individual; second, the creative activity of Authorship is considered to be separate, discrete, and solitary instead of collaborative, cumulative, or derivative. To this end, the Author is considered to develop his creations in nearly complete isolation, without any external influences or inspiration. Within his creative cocoon, he is able to (perhaps even entitled to) be known as the ultimate source of text.

Even though a related thread of this narrative involves viewing authors as craftsmen – a characterization that seems to dampen the emphasis on creative and intellectual genius – that thread still allows for a set of circumstances where by hard work melds with tradition and divine inspiration. Even this slightly less glamorous thread of the Romantic Author narrative continues to allow for a direct connection between divine inspiration and the resulting words on the page.

While appealing, however, the construct of the Romantic Author is false. For example, Texas law professor Oren Bracha argues persuasively in a 2008 journal article that ascribing the entirety of the U.S. copyright regime exclusively to a Romantic Authorship narrative not only is too simple, but it is historically inaccurate. Peter Jaszi, both on his own and in collaboration with Martha Woodmansee, has shown that the Romantic Authorship trope – while false – still has become an active and destabilizing force in copyright doctrine and policy.

Northwestern law professor Olufunmilayo Arewa has written extensively about the ethos of collaboration and borrowing in the creative process (including in classical music), and Georgetown law professor Julie Cohen has discussed the dynamic interactions (.pdf) between individual creators and social and cultural patterns as the root of authorship.

Even French philosophers such as Michel Foucault (.pdf) and Roland Barthes (.pdf) essentially have questioned the premise of the author as solitary genius — no insignificant question given that both men come from a country that takes authorship genius (as manifested through the concept of droit moral) to a far greater degree than exists under U.S. law. In the end, the “mine” that Helprin wants to champion really is more like an “ours,” since virtually every creation will be derived from something else. (In fact, one could make a reasonable argument that the default nature of authorship in a digitally networked society is not the mix, but instead the remix.)

There is also an irony in the authorship construct that Helprin promotes. If one assumes that an individual’s creativity is king, then it would play a larger role in contemporary copyright law than it actually does. A person’s work qualifies to receive copyright protection once he creates something original, then fixes it in some recording that can be perceived by another person. The level of original creativity that U.S. law requires, however, is relatively slight. Helprin suggests every piece of writing is a War and Peace in the making, and thus the law should go to the extreme to protect such creative epics. But the fact is that American law does not require the proverbial opus: according to the U.S. Supreme Court’s opinion in Feist v. Rural, 499 U.S. 340 (1991), “the requisite level of creativity is extremely low; even a slight amount will suffice. The vast majority of works make the grade quite easily, as they possess some creative spark, ‘no matter how crude, humble or obvious’ it might be.”

Influencing Copyright Law & Policy

Helprin’s views about a certain class of copyright lobbyists are more easily dismissed. In the May 11 WSJ editorial, Helprin sharply attacks organizations he considers to be anti-copyright (and by extension, perhaps also against creativity):

But copyright, the rampart of the mythical city, is besieged by a widespread movement antagonistic to authorial right and the legitimacy of intellectual property. So-called public interest groups serve the new information super powers, the Standard Oils of our age, whose interests would be advanced if they did not have to bother with permissions and payments for what they call “content.” The Creative Commons organization, for example, is richly financed by Google, Microsoft, Yahoo, Mozilla, Sun, the Hewlett Foundation, and others of type.

The opponents of copyright are no more disinterested than its defenders, although they do a good job of pretending, and their theories have become the window dressing for the piracy of software, music, movies — and soon the written word. They may claim that they are not against copyright per se. But if, as they repeatedly assert, copyright is an unjustifiable tax, a monopoly, and a bar to creativity, why wouldn’t they or anyone else be against it, as in fact they are?

Specifically as to Creative Commons, we have said before that our problem with the entire CC concept is that it moves copyright issues into the realm of contract law instead repairing their federal statutory and political bases. The flip side is that if the current copyright system was in its proper, Constitutionally-mandated balance, it is possible there would be no need for organizations like Creative Commons, or Electronic Frontier Foundation, or Public Knowledge.

To this end, Helprin’s argument sounds suspiciously like Republicans who now whine they have no political organizations to represent their views like the Democratic-oriented Center for American Progress, all the while forgetting they spent years building and funding organizations like the Heritage Foundation.

Since Helprin apparently is new to the copyright game, perhaps we can forgive his ignorance for not realizing that RIAA, MPAA, BSA, IIPA and lobbyists for various other corporate copyright portfolio owners not only are well-funded and organized, but long have been the exclusive arbiters of U.S. and international copyright law and policy, as both Jessica Litman and William Patry have noted. Interestingly, none of those lobbying organizations have authors’ or creators’ best interests in mind. Sure, their marketing and political rhetoric is quick to mention the author (in all her Romantic glory) and their protection of her art. In actuality, however, those lobbyists mention the author or creator merely to humanize their true clients: multinational corporations whose revenues, profits, expense account sizes, and share prices all depend on licensing one or more of the six rights a copyright owner receives under the 1976 Act.

Of course, the only way the corporations can do this is to actually own the rights in the first place, thereby divesting that same author or creator of the legal or economic power that arises from her creation. In reality, copyright ownership in the U.S. is often a zero-sum game: the authors get zero, and corporate owners get the sum. Helprin cannot reasonably refute this.

Again, we can excuse Helprin’s ignorance of the industrial and legal realities: copyright, unfortunately and after all, is complicated. There is no excuse, however, for patently misrepresenting the policy positions or the missions of the organizations he has chosen to attack. Some of us at Copycense have been involved in copyright matters going back more than a decade from the legal and political standpoint, and for more than 30 years from the creative standpoint. At no point have we heard or read anything from EFF, Public Knowledge, Creative Commons, or a similarly situated organization that serves as “the window dressing for ‘piracy.’”

Do we agree with everything these organizations promote? Certainly not, and regular readers know we have said so. But even a cursory glance at their positions would reveal all are in favor of balanced copyright legislation. None of these organizations, however, give any credence to Helprin’s tight embrace of the Romantic Authorship construct. Unfortunately for him, neither does the history of copyright law, either in the U.S. or in England.

We have no problem with accepting new voices into the copyright debate. Indeed, it is the absence of new voices and new ideas that has led us to the imbalance that exists. But all new voices should be required to perform some basic research and due diligence before opining so publicly about the state of the copyright world. At least based upon his editorials, Helprin clearly has not.

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