DIY, from This American Life: you get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law?

It’s easy sometimes to lose sight of the fact our legal system is called a justice system and that law doesn’t exist for it’s own sake. I suppose, however, that William Gaddis had that confusion in mind when he opened one of his novels with this line:

You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law

Today I made a brief car ride with my son last an hour so I could hear all of the latest episode of This American Life. Entitled “DIY,” the summary set forth below, from the This American Life web sitem fails to do justice to a story that brought me to tears, that reminds me again what this whole life of the law ultimately boils down to. Fortunately, you can hear the whole episode yourself from the player pasted in below the summary:

PROLOGUE.

Carl King, a self-taught investigator, talks about the murder case he’s working on now—one the police think they’ve already solved. Carl got started in this business after freeing his close friend from prison. He now runs an organization, called Success to Freedom, devoted to helping wrongfully convicted inmates. (2 minutes)

ACT ONE.

Reporter Anya Bourg tells the story of Carl King’s first case, where he’s able to accomplish what experienced detectives and lawyers were not. He proves that his friend was innocent. In this first half of the show, we hear the story of the crime. In 1980, Mario Hamilton was gunned down in the street in Brooklyn. A teenager claimed to have seen it happen. With police prompting, he fingered a guy named Collin Warner as the shooter. No matter that everyone in the neighborhood said someone else murdered Hamilton and that Warner had nothing to do with it. And no matter that the teenager hadn’t witnessed the murder at all. A jury convicted Warner, and he was sentenced to 15 years to life for killing a man he’d never even heard of. Carl, his childhood friend couldn’t let it rest, and started to fight the conviction. He tells everyone he can about the case. He tracks down witnesses. He teaches himself to read court documents. Eventually, he gets a real estate lawyer hooked on the case. (29 minutes)

ACT TWO.

The story of Collin Warner continues. His friend Carl manages to convince the real shooter and the victim’s brother (who watched him die on the sidewalk) to testify on Collin’s behalf. After 21 years in prison, Collin goes free. (24 minutes)

And adult approach to digitizing library holdings

I have long believed the copyright concerns that have hampered the digitization of library holdings are way overblown, especially in light of the value to be gained by digitizing the contents of libraries and making them available for research online. So it is gratifying to see that the libraries of Duke University, North Carolina Central University (NCCU), North Carolina State University (NCSU), and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (UNC) have issued a report — The Triangle Research Libraries Network’s Intellectual Property Rights Strategy for Digitization of Modern Manuscript Collections and Archival Records Groups (pdf) – that, as Library Journal describes it, “urges libraries to make large-scale special collections available online, even if some question about the copyright status of certain elements remains.”

The document sets forth a comprehensive strategy for addressing copyright concerns that digitization raises. It doesn’t shy, however, from asserting the legitimacy of the project as an exercise of fair use: “In the unlikely event that a TRLN member library is challenged on the presentation of the digitized collections/groups, and in the even more unlikely event that the library is unable to resolve those challenges…the library will rely on a fair use argument.”

And the document sets forth its fair use analysis clearly and concisely, addressing each of the factors of the 4-part fair use test as follows:

Fair use is a balancing test based on . . . four factors. The factors are not a list of requirements, and all four factors need not be met to have a successful fair use argument. Each factor as it might pertain to the CCC project’s selected manuscript collections and archival record groups is addressed below.

The purpose and character of the use

The CCC project is not for profit; the project’s purpose is to promote historical scholarship and support educational uses of primary sources by providing free and open online access to a large corpus of research materials: the digitized manuscript collections and archival record groups from the four libraries. Individual documents contained in the collections and groups may remain under copyright protection, but they are used in this project for research and educational purposes.

The character of the use is transformative. An individual document’s original use was temporally bound, its value practical. For example, at the time that any individual letter in the Frank Porter Graham papers was written, it served only to share information with Graham. But now that letter is part of a manuscript collection that contains more than one hundred thousand documents. And as with any individual item in a manuscript collection/archival record group, the document serves as a small part of a larger resource, one used in scholarly inquiry and education. The aggregation and organization of individual documents to create manuscript collections/archival record groups transform the purpose and function of the individual documents, as do the finding aids for these collections/groups, which also add to the research value. The digitization and online presentation of the documents in the collection/group further remove the individual document from its original purpose, and deepen its transformed purpose and use as a historical resource that contributes to our understanding of the past.

The nature of the copyrighted work

Most of the documents in the manuscript collections/archival record groups were created in the course of the daily life of an individual or in the routine business of an organization. Created without commercial motivation or artistic intent, these works were not meant for publication at the time of creation, and today are not publishable in isolation. The research value of manuscripts lies not with the individual document, but rather with the collection of documents that together provide context and insight into the past.

The amount and substantiality of the portion used

The presentation of entire documents and entire collections/record groups is therefore appropriate for the intended use by students, educators, and scholars. Individual documents in the collections/groups are the copyright?protected works; but the law does not specify a particular amount of a work that can be used without permission.

The educational and transformative purposes of the use require the presentation of the works in their entirety and so satisfy this factor.

The effect of the use upon the potential market

The scholarly research value and educational significance of these collections are incalculable, but their aggregated online presentation will have little to no effect on the market value of individual documents. In virtually all cases, no such market exists. In the rare instance in which an individual document has a commercial market, the downloadable digital images will not be of commercial quality and therefore will pose no threat to that market.

Five Seconds Of Every #1 Pop Single Part 1

Five Seconds Of Every #1 Pop Single Part 1 by mjs538

The Perfect Storm in University Education and the Birth of the Slackoisie

Thomas H. Benton, in the Chronicle of Higher Education, in “A Perfect Storm in Undergraduate Education, Part I,” writes of a crisis in undergraduate education, observing that “[s]tudents are adrift almost everywhere, floating in the wreckage of a perfect storm that has transformed higher education almost beyond recognition.” Benton identifies numerous reasons for the ineffectiveness of undergraduate education. What concerns me is the remarkable number of ways those reasons overlap with what is going on in law school education.

Thus, for example, Benton writes that “undergraduates are not prepared adequately in any academic area but often arrive with strong convictions about their abilities.” This point rings particularly loudly for me. I teach legal writing, and while a lot of people seem to believe the topic involves nothing more than grammar, style, and legal citation, anyone who has actually engaged in legal writing in practice knows that high level achievement in matters of grammar and style are prerequisites to learning and mastering the sophisticated analytic and persuasive abilities that are part and parcel of the skills of legal writing. In other words, if you haven’t already mastered English Composition, you are not ready for first year legal writing. Moreover, even if you have mastered English Composition, that does not mean you will earn an A in first year legal writing.

Benton doesn’t address the matter quite as squarely as I might, but he does recognize that the huge cost of education is a large part of the problem:

As the college-age population declines, many tuition-driven institutions struggle to find enough paying customers to balance their budgets. That makes it necessary to recruit even more unprepared students, who then must be retained, shifting the burden for academic success away from the student and on to the teacher.

At my law school, tuition is $40,000 per year. As a result, the students are the school’s most valuable resource. Let a student walk away and you let a huge chunk of revenue walk away. Thus, the institution’s desire to retain students threatens to override other institutional goals. Teaching first year law students what they need to know to become effective lawyers often is something that does not make them terribly happy, but keeping students happy often is imperative to keep them from walking away. Would you rather discourage someone who does not have the fortitude to be a lawyer from becoming one or keep him happy enough to pay $120,000 to you over 3 years? The threat to a law school’s legitimate purposes posed by that dilemma is obvious.

Even apart from financial incentives, the importance of student evaluations in making faculty promotion and retention decisions — especially in a system that is increasingly dependent on non-tenure track faculty — can drive professors to value keeping students happy more highly than challenging students to the extent they need to be challenged, as Benton points out: “The common wisdom, for the untenured, at least—whether it is true or not—is to find ways to keep the students happy.”

Finally, it is difficult to maintain rigor in a course when others teach the course from very different foundations of experience and, consequently, have very different expectations. As Benton writes, “[i]t is impossible to maintain high expectations for long unless everyone holds the line in all comparable courses—and we face strong incentives not to do that. A course in which the professor assigns a 20-page paper and 200 pages of reading every week cannot compete with one that fills the same requirement with half of those assignments.”

What precisely is the purpose of a law school? Is it to keep students happy? To train good lawyers? To train legal scholars? I wonder too whether the failures of our universities have something to do with what, as the New York Times recently noted, a couple of lawyer friends of mine are expressing when they criticize younger lawyers as the members of the “slackoisie”:

Two well-known legal bloggers, Dan Hull of What About Clients? and Scott Greenfield of Simple Justice have respectively coined and popularized the term slackoisie to describe Gen-Y attorneys as narcissists who believe:

“that having a job is an entitlement, rather than a privilege … complain about the work they have (if working), opine on the lack of ‘real lawyer’ jobs available in the market, and … criticize the long hours and inadequate pay found at most small firms [while asserting] entitle[ment] to work/life balance [and complaining that] whatever benefits they enjoy are inadequate.”

Would Shakespeare have survived the Internet? Scott Turow and the morality of propertizing creativity.

In the New York Times, Scott Turow, Paul Aiken, and James Shapiro ask whether Shakespeare would have survived the Internet:

The rise of the Internet has led to a view among many users and Web companies that copyright is a relic, suited only to the needs of out-of-step corporate behemoths. Just consider the dedicated “file-sharers” — actually, traffickers in stolen music movies and, increasingly, books — who transmit and receive copyrighted material without the slightest guilt.

They are abetted by a handful of law professors and other experts who have made careers of fashioning counterintuitive arguments holding that copyright impedes creativity and progress. Their theory is that if we severely weaken copyright protections, innovation will truly flourish. It’s a seductive thought, but it ignores centuries of scientific and technological progress based on the principle that a creative person should have some assurance of being rewarded for his innovative work.

There are a number of questions one might raise in response to Mr. Turow and his colleagues. For one, there are not many law professors other than the notoriously ineffective Charles Nesson who defend the legality of unauthorized file sharing. (To question the assumption that file sharing has a material impact on the music and publishing industries is, on the other hand, a different matter.) To conflate file sharing with tranformative appropriation in discussing copyright is the genuinely misleading rhetorical move. And Shakespeare may not be the best example to use in arguing that copyright and innovation necessarily go together. One might wonder, in fact, whether there really is such a thing as a sui generis artist, be that artist Shakespeare or Robert Johnson. Nor could one argue that there were no great artists and writers prior to the advent of what the Turow and his colleagues describe as “paywalls” around theaters or before copyright. Indeed, at least in certain markets the absence of copyright protection does indeed promote innovation. The very premise of Turow’s argument — that in the absence of the economic monopoly conferred by copyright creativity like Shakespeare’s simply won’t happen — is hardly indisputable.

Perhaps Judge Alex Kozinski, referencing Scott Turow of all people, put it best in dissenting from the 9th Circuit’s refusal to rehear en banc a case in which Vanna White successfully sued Samsung for violating her “right of publicity” by “appropriating” her “identity,” emphasizing that overprotecting intellectual property is as dangerous as underprotecting it (footnotes omitted):

Saddam Hussein wants to keep advertisers from using his picture in unflattering contexts. Clint Eastwood doesn’t want tabloids to write about him. Rudolf Valentino’s heirs want to control his film biography. The Girl Scouts don’t want their image soiled by association with certain activities. George Lucas wants to keep Strategic Defense Initiative fans from calling it “Star Wars.” Pepsico doesn’t want singers to use the word “Pepsi” in their songs. Guy Lombardo wants an exclusive property right to ads that show big bands playing on New Year’s Eve. Uri Geller thinks he should be paid for ads showing psychics bending metal through telekinesis. Paul Prudhomme, that household name, thinks the same about ads featuring corpulent bearded chefs. And scads of copyright holders see purple when their creations are made fun of.

Something very dangerous is going on here. Private property, including intellectual property, is essential to our way of life. It provides an incentive for investment and innovation; it stimulates the flourishing of our culture; it protects the moral entitlements of people to the fruits of their labors. But reducing too much to private property can be bad medicine. Private land, for instance, is far more useful if separated from other private land by public streets, roads and highways. Public parks, utility rights-of-way and sewers reduce the amount of land in private hands, but vastly enhance the value of the property that remains.

So too it is with intellectual property. Overprotecting intellectual property is as harmful as underprotecting it. Creativity is impossible without a rich public domain. Nothing today, likely nothing since we tamed fire, is genuinely new: Culture, like science and technology, grows by accretion, each new creator building on the works of those who came before. Overprotection stifles the very creative forces it’s supposed to nurture. . . .

But what does “evisceration” mean in intellectual property law? Intellectual property rights aren’t like some constitutional rights, absolute guarantees protected against all kinds of interference, subtle as well as blatant. They cast no penumbras, emit no emanations: The very point of intellectual property laws is that they protect only against certain specific kinds of appropriation. I can’t publish unauthorized copies of, say, Presumed Innocent; I can’t make a movie out of it. But I’m perfectly free to write a book about an idealistic young prosecutor on trial for a crime he didn’t commit. So what if I got the idea from Presumed Innocent? So what if it reminds readers of the original? Have I “eviscerated” Scott Turow’s intellectual property rights? Certainly not. All creators draw in part on the work of those who came before, referring to it, building on it, poking fun at it; we call this creativity, not piracy.

Turow and his colleagues are guilty, I think, of the “bad medicine” of “reducing too much to private property.” Perhaps Turow would describe me as a law professor advancing “counterintuitive” arguments, but he runs the risk of embodying (and profiting mightily from) a culture that has an unprecedented tendency to “propertize” everything it can and a blindness to the ways law cannot stem new practices made possible by technology. The inarguable truth is that the music and publishing industries once had virtual monopolies on the production and distribution of their products and that they no longer do. Those industries have largely reacted by trying to enforce a legal regime that grew up with and required the old means of production and distribution, which seems to me at least not the most productive way of promoting creativity.

Turow appears to be among the reactionaries trying to use the force of law to overcome reality. Last year he complained that publishers had made a mistake in making publishing e-book versions of writers’ works at the same time they published the book versions, agreeing with a publisher’s assertion that “there’s something radically wrong” when a market has the power to cause the value of a book to plummet.  When the publisher expanded on the point by stating that “I want to be able to say that a new book by Scott Turow is worth $28, and people should be willing to pay that,” Turow agreed, justifying his entitlement to the price by arguing that “[t]here is nothing wrong with [copyright holders] maximizing their profits . . . . If we really want to have a robust literary culture, then we have to think about the compensation system.”

I would suggest to the publisher and Turow that there might not be anything wrong with maximizing profits but that there might indeed be something wrong with charging a price that reflects the costs of printing and distributing books when the market now can deliver a product that need not be printed and that can be delivered virtually for free.

What is “intuitive” to Turow and the point of view he represents is that your creations are as much your property as your car or your computer. But “intellectual property” is not property in the same way as personal or real property. The very source of our nation’s copyright laws, the Constitution’s Copyright Clause,  makes clear that copyright law exists to promote invention and creativity, and to the extent it discourages invention and creativity it is unconstitutional. Nonetheless, Turow and many others cannot seem to overcome some “moral” conviction that to allow others to profit off of your creations is somehow to “steal” something from you. Again, Judge Kozinski in the Vanna White case quoted above, eloquently states the response to this “moral claim” (footnotes omitted; hyperlinks added):

Moreover, consider the moral dimension, about which the panel majority seems to have gotten so exercised. Saying Samsung “appropriated” something of White’s begs the question: Should White have the exclusive right to something as broad and amorphous as her “identity”? Samsung’s ad didn’t simply copy White’s schtick–like all parody, it created something new. True, Samsung did it to make money, but White does whatever she does to make money, too; the majority talks of “the difference between fun and profit,” 971 F.2d at 1401, but in the entertainment industry fun is profit. Why is Vanna White’s right to exclusive for-profit use of her persona–a persona that might not even be her own creation, but that of a writer, director or producer–superior to Samsung’s right to profit by creating its own inventions? Why should she have such absolute rights to control the conduct of others, unlimited by the idea-expression dichotomy or by the fair use doctrine?

To paraphrase only slightly Feist Publications, Inc. v. Rural Telephone Service Co., 499 U.S340], __, 111 S.Ct. 1282, 1289-90, 113 L.Ed.2d 358 (1991), it may seem unfair that much of the fruit of a creator’s labor may be used by others without compensation. But this is not some unforeseen byproduct of our intellectual property system; it is the system’s very essence. Intellectual property law assures authors the right to their original expression, but encourages others to build freely on the ideas that underlie it. This result is neither unfair nor unfortunate: It is the means by which intellectual property law advances the progress of science and art. We give authors certain exclusive rights, but in exchange we get a richer public domain. The majority ignores this wise teaching, and all of us are the poorer for it

Can Congress constitutionally require individuals to purchase health insurance? It seems the Founding Fathers assumed so.

Rick Ungar suggests that believing our Founding Fathers would not have approved of requiring individuals purchasing health insurance is belied by what Congress did just twelve years after the Constitution was adopted:

In July of 1798, Congress passed – and President John Adams signed – “An Act for the Relief of Sick and Disabled Seamen.” The law authorized the creation of a government operated marine hospital service and mandated that privately employed sailors be required to purchase health care insurance.

Keep in mind that the 5th Congress did not really need to struggle over the intentions of the drafters of the Constitutions in creating this Act as many of its members were the drafters of the Constitution.And when the Bill came to the desk of President John Adams for signature, I think it’s safe to assume that the man in that chair had a pretty good grasp on what the framers had in mind. . . .

The law did a number of fascinating things.

First, it created the Marine Hospital Service, a series of hospitals built and operated by the federal government to treat injured and ailing privately employed sailors. This government provided healthcare service was to be paid for by a mandatory tax on the maritime sailors (a little more than 1% of a sailor’s wages), the same to be withheld from a sailor’s pay and turned over to the government by the ship’s owner. The payment of this tax for health care was not optional. If a sailor wanted to work, he had to pay up.