Should libraries remove any of the books written by Bill Cosby? I notice a flurry of discussion on this, and I'd like to add a legal framework to the discussion.
The only library book withdrawal / censorship to make it to the U.S. Supreme Court ended in a messy plurality. In Island Trees v. Pico, the question arose whether a school library could withdraw books based on criteria outside the viewpoint neutral regular considerations of age, condition, etc.
Although that court doesn't give much in the way of guidance (despite what I used to think) ... lower courts have parsed through and looked at this question: was the book withdrawn because of its viewpoint? If so, it has some high legal hurdles to overcome.
As to the libraries that are considering labeling or bookplating the Cosby books to show context, let me point to an Infopeople webinar I did on labeling (which oddly seems to show a picture of Susan Hildreth instead of me). I recommend labeling only if the labels are viewpoint neutral.
As I was reading Roy Kaufmann’s testimony on behalf of the Copyright Clearance Center (CCC) at the recent Congressional hearing on "Copyright Issues in Education and for the Visually Impaired," I was struck by CCC’s boilerplate statement that it “was created at the suggestion of Congress in order to help clear photocopy permissions.” You can find this in other places. For example, CCC claimed in its response to a 2012 "Notice of Inquiry Concerning Orphan Works and Mass Digitization" that “CCC was created at the suggestion of Congress in the legislative history of the Copyright Act of 1976.” I haven’t been able to pin down the earliest use of this assertion, but it appears to date from the late 1980s.
It is easy to understand why CCC would want to claim it has a Congressional mandate for its programs. But is the claim accurate? Did Congress suggest that CCC be created?
The answer is unequivocally "no." A Congressional committee did suggest that it thought a voluntary licensing scheme would be desirable, but it never suggested that CCC was the form that such a scheme should take.
A good starting point is S. Rept. 94-473, the report in 1975 accompanying S. 22, which eventually became the 1976 Copyright Act. The Judiciary Committee has this to say on p. 70-71:
The committee therefore recommends that representatives of authors, book and periodical publishers and other owners of copyrighted material meet with the library community to formulate photocopying guidelines to assist library patrons and employees. Concerning library photocopying practices not authorized by this legislation, the committee recommends that workable clearance and licensing procedures be developed.
The Judiciary Committee was echoing similar sentiments that had been repeatedly echoed throughout the years of copyright revision. One example: in 1967, the House report on the proposed copyright law noted on p. 33:
Recognizing that our discussion in this report is no final answer to a problem of shifting dimensions, we urge that those affected join together in an effort to establish a continuing understanding as to what constitutes mutually acceptable practices, and to work out means by which permissions for uses beyond fair use can be obtained easily, quickly, and at reasonable fees. Various proposals for some type of Government regulation over fair use and educational reproductions have been discussed since the hearings, but the committee believes that workable voluntary arrangements are distinctly preferable.
There is no question, then, that some in Congress hoped that "workable clearance and licensing procedures" could be developed. Publishers responded by forming CCC. But to imply that CCC is an embodiment of Congressional desire goes too far. There is little evidence, for example, that CCC represents the collaborative, mutually-beneficial solution recommended by the Senate committee in 1975. CCC's existence as a creature of publishers' interests was highlighted by the court that denied CCC tax-exempt status in 1982:
We are not faced here with a truly joint undertaking of all partie--publishers, copyright owners, users, and governmental agency--concerned with proper enforcement of the copyright laws, in which efforts are focused on meeting the needs and objectives of all involved. Instead, petitioner was organized by a segment of a publishers' trade group, the Technical, Scientific, and Medical division of the AAP, and there is little persuasive evidence that petitioner's founders had interests of any substance beyond the creation of a device to protect their copyright ownership and collect license fees.
Furthermore, we have no reason to believe that the Senate committee would have endorsed many of CCC's current activities. Would Congress, for example, conclude that the suite of licenses offered by CCC represents "workable clearance and licensing procedures"? And would the committee conclude that litigation on behalf of its publisher clients is an appropriate licensing activity, one that is a "mutually acceptable practice" to all parties? (CCC is funding the litigation against the faculty and staff of Georgia State University that deceptively argues that educational library reserve use is somehow equivalent to coursepacks sold by commercial vendors.) Even in 1975, the Senate committee was aware that library use was changing and that copyright practices would consequently have to adjust, noting that even while adopting the provisions in the 1976 Act, "the committee is aware that ... there will be a significant evolution in the functioning and services of libraries" that may "necessitate the need for changes in copyright law and procedures."
Finally, did the Senate envision an organization whose finances and administration are as secret as CCC's? Because it lost its tax-exempt status, CCC is not required to file IRS Form 990, which can reveal so much about the operation of tax-exempt non-profits. No detailed figures on CCC's operations are posted to its web site; we have no data on how much money is remitted to authors (as opposed to publishers); and we do not know if that permission revenue is an important incentive to authors for the creation of new works.
So let's stop agreeing that CCC was formed "at the suggestion of Congress." At best, it is the publisher's response to a suggestion of Congress. Perhaps the best description of CCC is found in the CONTU final report: “a nonprofit New York corporation created under the sponsorship of publisher and author organizations.”
Tags: copyright, Copyright Clearance Center, licensing
(By Peter Hirtle)
By now most archivists and many librarians will have heard something about the controversy concerning the use of material found in Special Collections at the University of Arkansas. Researchers from the Washington Free Beacon (WFB) web site requested and received copies of audio tapes found in a collection. It published some of those audiotapes online. It did not, however, first seek permission to publish the items, as library policy requires. Its reporters' access to special collections was therefore suspended (“banned,” in the words of the site). You can find online an overview of the controversy. The WFB’s initial coverage is here and here; the response from the University of Arkansas is found here. Coverage that includes some of the documents discussed below can be found on Business Insider.
All archivists would agree that researchers who do not follow the policies to which they have agreed can be kept from the reading room. For example, a reporter who insists on using a fountain pen when a repository required that only pencils be used (in order to protect original material) should have her access suspended. I don’t have a problem with Arkansas suspending WFB’s research privileges.
The controversy does, however, raise interesting issues about archival practice relating to reproductions and permissions. As the University of Arkansas repeatedly notes, it policies “are the same policies and procedures followed in innumerable academic libraries across these United States."1 A detailed analysis of Arkansas’s procedures can therefore shed light on a common archival practice. The controversy has brought to light source material that make such an analysis possible. While Arkansas’s documentation of its policies was admirably complete prior to the controversy, the subsequent articles, letters, and emails have fleshed out the justification for its permission to publish policy. There is therefore a rich trove of source material from which to work. One newspaper article cited emails that suggest that Arkansas itself is engaged in a review of its permission practices. This discussion may therefore be of benefit to that review.
The Arkansas case study demonstrates that archival “permission to publish” is a practice that is both poorly understood and which can be detrimental to the donor, the repository, and the researcher. Following this standard archival procedure, as the University of Arkansas suggests, is not "good business practice...[that] makes operations run smoothly." It is time for repositories to get out of the "permission to publish" game and leave permissions to the copyright owner.
The University of Arkansas requires that patrons complete a permission to publish form before publishing material from its collection. On what basis is that demand made? The letter of 17 June 20014 from Dean of Libraries Carolyn Henderson Allen to Matthew Continetti of the WFB suggests one possible justification. It demanded that the web site “cease and desist your ongoing violation of the intellectual property rights of the University of Arkansas with regard to your unauthorized publication of audio recordings…”
University of Arkansas letter to WFB
One of the exclusive rights of a copyright owner is the right to control the reproduction and distribution of a work. If the university owns the intellectual property in the recordings, it would be free, as is any copyright owner, to require prior permission to reproduce them. Furthermore, it would be free to demand that the web site cease further distribution of the work if its copyright has been infringed. It could even issue a DMCA takedown notice to either the web site or to the ISP that hosts it. It might make sense for the university to have a standard form to request permission to publish material whose copyright is owned by the University of Arkansas and for which permission is needed, i.e., when the proposed use is not a fair use. (One would hope that a university copyright owner would not demand permission for uses that would otherwise be fair.)
In this case, though, there is no indication that the University of Arkansas holds the copyright in the recordings. The finding aid to the collection is silent on copyright ownership. Subsequent news reports revealed that the deed of gift for the collection was missing.3 The university has since acknowledged that Roy Reed owns the copyright in the material.4 And Reed is quoted as being unsure about copyright ownership, speculating that it might belong to Esquire magazine, for whom he conducted the interviews.5
WFB challenged the library’s assertion of intellectual property rights in its lawyer’s response of 19 June 2014. The letter notes that “any reference to a claim based on your ‘intellectual property’ is patently frivolous.” It seems as if the university may agree; it has made no subsequent assertion about infringement of "intellectual property rights."
Acting as if you own intellectual property rights in content when you don’t own the copyright is a form of copyright misuse that Jason Mazzone has labeled as “copyfraud.” Copyfraud in an archival repository is especially pernicious because it works against the interests of the real owners of copyright. If one can secure permission from a repository that claims it has intellectual property rights in material in its collection, a researcher may assume that there is no need to seek further permission from the real copyright owner, regardless of what the repository may say. Who could imagine that there are two owners of "intellectual property" in an object whose permission must be sought? Most of all, if the repository is confused about the nature and scope of its rights in a collection, what hope is there that the researcher will get it right?
As is the case with much material found in a repository, the university does not have an intellectual property interest in it. What it does have is physical ownership of the collection. And it can use its ownership of the physical material to impose quasi-copyright-like permission restrictions on the material. It does this via its contractual agreement with the researcher.
To gain access to the reading room (or to be sent reproductions by mail), one must first complete an “Application for Research Privileges.” In that application, one must “agree to abide by the rules and procedures of Special Collections as set forth in its Reading Room Regulations." The Reading Room Regulations specify that "Publication of any material found in the manuscript collections of the University of Arkansas Libraries Special Collections is permitted only after a completed 'Permission to Publish Request' is approved and signed by the Head of the Department."
Note that the agreement specifies that permission is required for "any material" in the collections, not just copyrighted material. Nor is it restricted to material whose copyright is held by the University. That is an indication that this is a regulation that is based on physical ownership rather than copyright.
The ability of repositories to restrict “downstream” use of material through contract rather than copyright is sharply limited. For example, it seems that the copies of the audio tapes at issue in the Arkansas controversy were made for an independent researcher, Shawn Reinschmiedt. Reinschmiedt appears to have been working for the WFB, which would suggest that the WFB is bound by agreements that its agent signed. In addition, the WFB reporter is reported to have worked directly with Reinschmiedt in the reading room selecting the material for duplication.
But imagine that Reinschmiedt was a purely independent actor. After uncovering the tapes and securing copies, he decided to turn copies over to a news agency for its review. That agency then elected to publish the tapes. The news agency in that scenario signed no agreement with the University of Arkansas and has no obligation to follow its policies and procedures. Unlike copyright, which everyone must follow, a contractual agreement is binding only on the party that comes into the Arkansas reading room.
Permission to publish forms must be functionally important to repositories if they are willing to risk confusing researchers about the repository’s rights in material and potentially engage in copyfraud. Censorship does not appear to be one of Arkansas's justifications. There is no discussion its site of situations in which permission might be denied, and the university reports that it has "never denied a permission to publish for a patron." The only thing that seems to matter is that the “permission to publish” form is signed. So what is found in this form that is so important?
It is difficult to understand why the university insists on the use of the form. It requires just two things of signatories:
The applicability of the permission to publish form is also weirdly restricted:
I understand that this permission will be valid only insofar as the University of Arkansas, as owner or custodian, holds rights in the material, and does not remove the responsibility of the author, editor, and publisher to guard against infringement of any rights, including copyright, that may be held by others.
What do they mean when they say that the permission "will be valid" only when the University of Arkansas owns rights in the material? In the Reed papers case that is at the heart of the controversy, the University does not hold copyright in the material. That means that the WFB’s access was suspended because it did not sign a document that the University says would not be valid even if it had been signed. I think what Arkansas is trying to say is "if we own the copyright, you have our permission. But if we don't own the copyright, you need to get the permission of the copyright owner - and you still need our permission." But the form is unclear.
What justification could there be for having a permission requirement? In a letter to the Boston Globe, Laura Jacobs, the associate vice chancellor of university relations at the University of Arkansas, cited three reasons why requesting permission to publish is important:
A subsequent letter from Allen and Nutt expands on the tracking argument: "[W]e also want to track use and keep the donors of our collections apprised of how their papers have been used. It’s good customer relations."6 I am going to assume that Arkansas would meet this goal in a way that protects patron confidentiality. But might not a simple request that states that the library would like to be informed about publications be enough, as the application for research privileges form requests?
The Allen and Nutt letter also hints at yet another reason for the permission to publish form when it introduces the tracking discussion with this odd phrasing: "Disregarding any legal onus we might have to protect copyright..." Are they disregarding this because it doesn't exist (but then why bring it up?)? Or are they hinting that the library does has a legal responsibility to serve as the "copyright police" and is legally obligated to prevent copyright infringement?
This would be a dangerous position for any library to argue. In effect, it is arguing that the library may have legal liability for secondary infringement for the actions of our patrons. The library profession has a long history of resisting calls to serve as "copyright police." To suggest otherwise only increases, not decreases, the potential legal liability of libraries.
At many institutions, permission to publish is only granted upon the payment of permission fees. While not explicitly tied to the “permission to publish” form, Arkansas does hold out the possibility that it might charge users who wish to publish material from the collection in its “Publication Fees” schedule:
Publication of images from holdings in the Special Collections of the University of Arkansas Libraries requires permission from the department as well as from the holder(s) of copyright. Fees may be charged for such use. Publication includes print media, audio‐visual media, broadcast media, web sites, exhibits and displays, or any other form of distribution. These fees are separate from any which might be assessed by the copyright holder.
To its credit, it does not appear that that Arkansas has criticized and/or suspended WFB for failure to pay fees for publication. I have found no discussion of publishing permission fees in the documents about the controversy. But I also have not found any documentation about when the university would elect to charge such fees and when it waives them.
The issue of whether the university requires payment in return for its permission to publish, either through the requirement for a gratis copy of the work or via payments of fees has implications with regard to the repository’s own liability. When a repository makes a copy of a copyrighted work for a researcher, without the permission of the copyright owner, it has potentially infringed on the copyright owner’s exclusive rights of reproduction and distribution. The copyright owner could bring legal action against the repository.
There are two possible defenses that the repository could invoke. First, it could argue that the copy it made was exempt from damages by Section 108(e) of the Copyright Act.7 This section allows a library or archives to make a copy of an entire copyrighted work if certain conditions are met. For example, a copy cannot be available for sale at a reasonable price; the request for the copy must be made on a form with language specified by the Librarian of Congress; the library or archives must have no knowledge that will be used for anything other than private study, scholarship, or research; and the copy must become the property of the requestor.
Section 108 also stipulates that the copy not be made for purposes of “direct or indirect commercial advantage:” 17 U.S.C. § 108(a)(1). A library that charges publication fees is arguably accruing direct commercial advantage from its reproduction. If a copyright owner elected to bring an infringement suit against the repository for making a copy, it is unlikely the repository would be able to use 108 as a defense.
There is another way in which the use of a “permission to publish” form could increase the repository’s potential liability. Remember that one of the justifications for the use of the permission to publish form is that it can spark "a conversation between the library and a researcher about potential copyright infringement." Section 108, however, stipulates that the library have no knowledge that the copy is being made for anything other than “private study, scholarship, or research.” As soon as the repository learns that the patron intends to publish a copyrighted work, its 108 privileges disappear.
It would seem that Arkansas wants to use 108(e) to make copies for users. The copyright notice required by the section appears on its reproduction order forms. Furthermore, the university requires that users stipulate on the order form that the copies are for “my exclusive use, for the sole purpose of research or study convenience.” Yet as noted above, the payment of publication fees would likely negate a 108(e) defense. Furthermore, the discovery that copies might be used for something other than personal research would also remove the section as a defense. Lastly, Section 108 requires that any copies made “become the property of the user.” The Arkansas reproduction order form, however, states that no copies may be deposited in other repositories. This attempt to limit the ownership rights of the patron may destroy as well the university’s 108 protections. In short, the manner in which Arkansas, and by extension most other archival repositories, implement its reproduction and permission policies may make it ineligible for 108 protections in the event of any suit for direct or indirect copyright infringement.
Of course, the repository could always rely on “fair use” as a justification for its copying. But even with fair use, reproductions that are made for commercial advantage are arguably less likely to be found to be fair. Furthermore, in at least one court decision, the ruling on whether a repository making a copy of an item for a researcher was in part dependent on whether that researcher’s use was fair. Consulting with researchers about their publication plans puts the repository in the unenviable position of having to assess whether any individual researcher’s use is fair. The consultation (and any required publication fees) increases the likelihood that the any reproductions the repository may make for a researcher exposes it to damages for secondary liability (both contributory and vicarious).
A close examination of the “permission to publish” policies of one typical institution demonstrates that they make little or no legal or policy sense. They can confuse researchers (and library staff) about the nature of the repository’s rights in the material. They can place the repository in the unenviable and unsustainable position of having to assess the legality of the researcher’s proposed use. Requirements for compensation (either directly or in the form of complimentary copies of publications) may negate the repository’s normal defenses against a charge of copyright infringement for its copying.
A better approach would be to drop any requirement that researchers secure the repository’s permission prior to publication. The repository would instead provide researchers with copies for private study, scholarship, or research. If a researcher wished to use a provided copy for publication, it should be the researcher’s responsibility to determine if her use is a fair use or if permission of the copyright owner is needed. In some cases, the repository might be the copyright owner and so the researcher would ask the repository for permission to publish. But that should be the only time that repositories are involved with permissions.
This does not mean that the repository should not educate users about potential rights issues in collections. It should make sure that the researcher knows that she is responsible for securing all needed copyright permissions. It should also make it clear that the user should not infringe on the privacy or publicity rights of any subject found in the collection. But this is best handled with disclaimers and with education, and not via “permissions.”
1. Carolyn Henderson Allen and Timothy Nutt, "Rules same for all," Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, 5 July 2014, p. 9B: ""...a permission-to-publish form must be completed. The form is a standard procedure for academic libraries."
2. Ibid.
3. Jaime Adame, "UA loses deed on journalist’s donated files," Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, 3 July 2014, p. 2B.
4. Allen and Nutt, "Rules."
5. Adame, "UA loses deed." The issue of who owns the copyright in an interview is a fascinating one worthy of its own blog posting. In this case, no one is talking about possible copyright ownership interest of the interviewee, Hilary Rodham Clinton.
6. Allen and Nutt, "Rules."
7. Because the audio tapes at issue were made after 15 February 1972, they are subject to federal copyright protection and hence also the 108 exceptions. And since the tapes do not embody one of the media formats excluded from most of 108 by 108(i), copies of the tapes could be made using 108(e).
Minow: Jo, some publishers tell me that if a library consortium buys an ebook, the publisher makes one sale instead of, say 100. Do you agree?
Zoia Horn made an impact on intellectual freedom
When I give intellectual freedom talks to library groups, I often mention a real heroine, Zoia Horn. Zoia is best known for her refusal to testify against members of the Harrisburg Seven during the Viet Nam War. She was warned that she faced jail time if she refused, and the then 53 year old “proper” librarian went to jail for the rest of the trial (almost three weeks). She gave me great encouragement over the years, and inspired legions of librarians who ask themselves, “would I put myself on the line for what I believe in?” Zoia died on Saturday, at home.
[UPDATE: That didn't take long. The authors of the handbook have responded to my specific issues below by updating and/or correcting the handbook. A new version is available at http://www.law.berkeley.edu/files/FINAL_PublicDomain_Handbook_FINAL(1).pdf. A very good resource has become even better.]
It is very difficult to determine whether works are in the public domain in the United States. That is why I had to create my duration chart as an aide-mémoire: any time I tried to remember the various options, I got them wrong. It is also why I felt compelled to write an article highlighting some of the traps lurking within the seeming clear-cut categories. And it is why Stephen Fishman needs 700+ pages in his legal treatise, Copyright and The Public Domain.
Public Domain Logo by Creative Commons / CC BY
Now the good folks at the Samuelson Law, Technology & Public Policy Clinic at the University of California, Berkeley, School of Law have stepped into fray with a new publication. Is it in the Public Domain? is described as "A handbook for evaluating the copyright status of a work created in the United States between January 1, 1923 and December 31, 1977." It consists of a set of questions and charts to help readers determine the public domain status of works created under the Copyright Act of 1909. The obvious question is "How good is it?"
The answer has to be “not bad,” especially when one takes into account the complexity of the legal environment for these works. For example, it is not enough to talk just about the 1909 Act. A work created before 1978 but first published after that date is governed by the rules of the 1976 Copyright Act, as amended. That means the section on duration must account for the different rules that govern five different publication periods. The handbook does that nicely. The chart on p. 26 that explains copyright notice requirements for different kinds of material is the clearest that I have seen; I expect to use it frequently. The “tips,” “traps,” and “special cases” that are highlighted throughout the text are particularly valuable.
As one would expect, however, with such a complex area of the law, there are elements that are left out or glided over. The handbook is an excellent resource if the material you are examining is relatively straightforward, but the handbook does not elucidate the copyright status of all works created in the U.S. before 1978.
Perhaps the most problematic part of the handbook is Chapter 1 on Subject Matter. The handbook notes that "Nearly all works created between January 1, 1923 and December 31, 1977 will qualify as valid subject matter." It then lists the categories of material that could be registered for copyright. I think they are trying to establish the important point that while unpublished works in general were not protected under the 1909 Act, certain unpublished works - primarily those that might be performed in public - could be registered and receive federal copyright protection. Those works have a different duration than other unpublished works that were never registered.
I worry, though, that some might read the list of registration categories as an absolute list of what could be protected by copyright. Both the 1909 list and a similar list in the 1976 Act are illustrative, not exclusionary. Works that fall outside of the list could still be protected by copyright. The handbook authors know this. In their flow chart, they note that a “yes” response to the question of whether a work corresponds to one of the listed subject categories means that the work could be protected by copyright, but they do not show a corresponding “no” response as injecting the work into the public domain. In addition, there is no discussion of how broadly the categories could be interpreted. Software, for example, can be protected as “a writing of an author.” Advertisements are protected as literary or graphic works, even though they are not in the subject list. Finally, in light of the decision in Bridgeman v. Corel, there is some question as to whether copyright can exist in one of the categories specified in the 1909 Act: reproductions of works of art.
Many have found it easier to discuss what cannot be protected by copyright rather than try to define what is included. I think such an approach would help this handbook. One would learn, for example, that works of the Federal government are in the public domain, an exception that is missing from the handbook. The same with court decisions, recipes, typeface designs, works of architecture, and useful articles (some of which are mentioned in passing).
An even larger problem arises from the handbook’s failure to discuss adequately issues that arise from the nationality of the creator and the place of publication. I have argued that the law that restored copyright to foreign works has made it almost impossible to determine with certainty the copyright status of many U.S. works. The handbook in its title and first few pages indicates that it governs works “created” in the U.S. but then fails to develop the theme. But a work created in the U.S. by a foreign national who then publishes it abroad would not be subject to the flow charts in the handbook. The handbook’s analysis does a good job with unpublished works created in the U.S. and published works that are first published in the U.S. (regardless of place of creation). But there are traps here for the unwary, and more explication would have been good.
The handbook’s failure to acknowledge the monkey wrench thrown into the mix by copyright restoration also leads to some blanket statements that could be misinterpreted. For example, we learn on p. 8 that “Sound recordings created before February 15, 1972 are protected by a patchwork of state laws." Copyright in foreign sound recordings made after 1923 was “restored” by 17 U.S.C. § 104A. One could imagine a recording made by Vladimir Horowitz in the U.S. before 1944 that was only released by a European record label; that recording would likely be protected as a foreign work.
In comparison to problems with subject matter, the other mistakes in the handbook are minor. One of the periods discussed under general publication is “Between March 1, 1989 and January 1, 2002." It should read "January 1, 2003." In several spots, the handbook mentions that Copyright Office records can be searched in the Copyright Office or one can hire the office to do it for you. It might have been good to discuss as well the use of the Catalog of Copyright Entries and the offshoots from it such as the Stanford Copyright Renewal database. The handbook’s discussion of what constitutes an acceptable copyright notice omits the use of ℗ ("P" in a circle), the phonogram symbol used with post-1972 sound recordings (though it is included in the excellent chart on notice requirements). On p. 35, the handbook states that “some states have decided to grant protection until 2067." I was aware that California protects sound recordings through 2047, but I was not aware of any other states that had temporal protection limits. I would have liked to have seen a footnote. Finally, the text tells us that “this Handbook is only accurate up to the date it was published—August 10, 2012.” However, the cover carries a publication date of January, 2014 and it was announced on 27 May 2014. I can’t think of any significant changes to the law since 2012, but it would nice to know for sure what is its “sell-by” date.
These are minor quibbles, however. For anyone who has a work that is clearly a US work (i.e., a U.S. author living in the U.S. and, if published, published first in the U.S.) would be well-served by this guide. It won’t identify all works that are in the public domain (for example, U.S. government works). Nor does it discuss divestive public display (i.e., without restrictions on copying) that likely injected many works of art into the public domain. And it won’t guarantee that someone who thinks that they have rights in a work might not object strenuously to a contrary interpretation. As the introduction to the handbook notes:
It does not describe how the law might apply to any specific work. It is not a complete discussion of all legal issues that may arise when deciding whether or how to use a work, nor is it a substitute for legal advice. Further, two courts may reach different conclusions about the copyright status of a work based on the same set of facts. Accordingly, using this Handbook does not guarantee the accuracy of any assessment of copyright status with respect to an individual work, and does not shield you from liability for copyright infringement...Further, even if a work is in the public domain with regard to copyright, using it may raise legal concerns outside of copyright, such as concerns related to privacy rights or contractual restrictions on the work’s use. This Handbook does not cover any of these other legal issues.
But within the context of these reasonable caveats, the handbook has met its goal. I will be sure to add it to my list of recommended resources.
Tags: public domain
(by Peter Hirtle)
[UPDATE below]
On 10-11 March, the Copyright Office sponsored a roundtable on the problem of orphan works: works protected by copyright whose authors cannot be located. I didn't attend, but you can find summaries of the discussion here, here, and here. Written comments on the issue are due to the Copyright Office by 14 April.
One of the major topics under discussion was Extended Collective Licensing (ECL) and its possible application to the mass digitization of orphan works. This reminded me of the recent flurry of articles and posts about changes to the Norwegian National Library's use of an ECL. I wrote in 2011 about Norway's first experiment with a library-funded ECL and its potential as an alternative to the proposed amended Google Books settlement. On 28 August 2012 the Library signed a new agreement with Kopinor, the Norwegian organization that represents many authors and publishers. The change seemed to have gone unnoticed in the West, though, until Atlantic author Alexis Madrigal wrote a short piece in December, 2013 on how Norway planned to digitize and make available "all Norwegian books." A 16 January AFP article on the project was picked up and discussed in the Telegraph, and that sparked a flurry of other articles and blog postings. It may have been because the Telegraph article had the irresistible title, "Books go online for free in Norway." It also led to a lot of hand-wringing over why the US wasn't digitizing and making all of its books available for free.
What is new and what is the same since the 2010 agreement? To answer that question, one must actually read the new agreement, which is available in html or as a pdf.
The biggest similarity is in the use of the material. Users may still not download or print from a book in the system; it is for online reading only.
As for differences, there are several:
The most interesting change is in the pricing. The 2010 agreement required that the National Library pay annually NOK 0.56 (about 10 cents) for every page "made available" (not read). That price has dropped dramatically in the new agreement. The new fee was NOK 0.36 in 2013, and it drops to NOK 0.33 in 2015 and subsequent years. That is 6 to 5 cents in USD. Of course, given the dramatic increase in the number of volumes, the total amount being paid to Kopinor is considerable. There is no estimate of pages per volume in the new agreement, but if we use that from the 2010 contract (185 pages), the Norwegian national library will be paying over $2.3 million/year to allow people to access and read Norwegian books online.
Is this excessive? The answer might depend on how often the books are read. By comparison, the UK is distributing over $11 million to authors through its Public Lending Right, but that works out to only $0.10 per loan.
It is more interesting to think about how the Norwegian model would work in the US. Let's assume that we changed our laws so that one agency could represent both members and non-member authors and publishers. The Library of Congress then signed the same agreement as the National Library of Norway did. How much would it cost the government?
To answer that question, one needs to know how many books that are still protected by copyright were published in the US. Unfortunately, there is no easy way to compile the number of books protected by copyright from the Copyright Office's annual reports. We could use, however, Brian Lavoie and Lorcan Dempsey's estimate that there have been 12.5 million books published in the US since 1923. We can subtract 60% of the titles published between 1923-1964; the University of Michigan's Copyright Review Management System has found that roughly only 40% of copyright works were renewed and hence still protected by copyright. So let's say that there are 11 million titles in our pool of US works. If we use the same estimate of 185 pages per work and assume the $0.05/page royalty rate, it would cost a little over $100 million/year to provide online access to read (but not download or print) American works. (And note that this only considers royalty payments, and not the cost of digitizing and delivering books.)
Would Congress increase the Library's budget by almost 1/4 in order to provide this level of access? One plus is that the Norwegian approach is not limited to orphan works. All works are accessible under this plan unless authors expressly withdraw titles from the scheme. No money is spent on "diligent searches" to locate copyright owners. According to the head of the National Library in Norway, Moe Skarstein, "Instead of spending our money on trying to find the copyright holders, we prefer to give it to them."
There is something that seems unfair about having to pay to read a book that is an "orphan." Any revenue that work generates will not go to the copyright owners, since they are unknown. But according to the Copyright Clearance Center's annual report, it collected over $270 million in permission fees in 2013. Some of that would still have to be paid by users who wanted to print or download copies of items, but many other readers might be happy with simple online access. Thanks to the ECL, they would be able to eschew payment.
An extended collective license might be an acceptable solution to the orphan works problem - but only if all works, and not just orphans, were included.
UPDATE: I realized after posting this that I had not accounted for the difference in population size between Norway and the US. The US is 62.54 times larger than Norway; it would make sense that rights owners would want to increase the license to reflect the larger potential reading audience. That means the annual license fee for US books could be $6.254 billion. The Norwegian ECL is looking less and less like an option.
Key Resources for Nov 4, 2013 Workshop
Is it still in copyright?
Stanford Copyright & Fair Use site
http://fairuse.stanford.edu/charts-and-tools/
links to Peter Hirtle chart, Stanford copyright renewal database, Digital Image Rights Computator, Fair Use checklist and more
Orphan Works
American Library Association
http://www.ala.org/advocacy/copyright/orphan
Society of American Archivists. Orphan Works: Statement of Best Practices.http://www.archivists.org/standards/OWBP-V4.pdf
Copyright Office
Online service providers section http://www.copyright.gov/onlinesp/ has form to file for safe harbor for user generated content, as well as directory of institutions on filehttp://www.copyright.gov/orphan/
Deeds of Gifthttp://publications.arl.org/rli279/
Society of American Archivistswww.archivists.org/publications/deed_of_gift.asp
Protocols for Native American Archival Materialshttp://www2.nau.edu/libnap-p/index.html
Social Mediahttp://www.howto.gov/social-media/terms-of-service-agreements