This book chapter is a deep dive into the story of Edward Sidney Rogers's authorship of the legislation that became the Lanham Act. Because Rogers believed that Congress lacked the power to alter the substantive law of trademark and unfair competition, he crafted draft legislation that focused on registration and other procedural details rather than substantive rights and defenses. He sought to advance two incompatible goals: he hoped to preserve the robust common law of unfair competition while requiring, or at least encouraging, all trademark owners to register their marks. Both the supporters and the opponents of the bills that Rogers drafted expressed deep affection for the extant common law of trademarks and unfair competition. They appear to have assumed that the statute would supplement the common law rather than replacing it. Except to the extent that the statute expressly abrogated common law doctrine, most members of the trademark bar believed that even after the statute's effective date, common law rules would continue to control most determinations. Along the way, the chapter recounts other interesting if not-very-consequential details. For example, Rogers’s representation of drug companies at the turn of the century familiarized him with the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act. When he wanted to include a provision in his legislation that enabled recovery for false representation, he turned to the Pure Food and Drug Act for a model. When Representative William Sirovich, then one of only ten Jews in Congress, assumed the chairmanship of the House Patent Committee in 1931, he decided that instead of continuing to rely on Rogers and the ABA for trademark legislation, he would ask Frank Schechter to draft an alternative bill. Part of the reason may have been the ABA’s efforts in the early 20th century to block Jews from practicing law. Finally, the notion that federal law controlled infringement of registered trademarks but state law controlled unfair competition arose in the 1940s in the wake of the Supreme Court’s decision in Erie Railroad v. Tompkins. Before that, trademark lawyers agreed that the two sorts of actions arose from a single body of law.

Our current copyright law is based on a model devised for print media, and expanded with some difficulty to embrace a world that includes live, filmed and taped performances, broadcast media, and, most recently, digital media. Our copyright law has been addressed primarily to commercial and institutional actors who participated in copyright-related businesses. Most of the current proposals for interpreting or amending copyright law to apply to digital technology have come from copyright holders or their defenders. The public appears to believe that the copyright law incorporates a distinction between commercial and non-commercial behavior. If the overwhelming majority of actors regulated by the copyright law are ordinary end-users, it makes no sense to insist that each of them retain copyright counsel in order to fit herself within niches created to suit businesses and institutions, nor is it wise to draw the lines where the representatives of today’s current stakeholders insist they would prefer to draw them.

This essay, written for a symposium commemorating John Perry Barlow, who died on February 7, 2018, revisits Barlow's 1994 essay for WIRED magazine, "The Economy of Ideas: A Framework for patents and copyrights in the Digital Age (everything you know about intellectual property is wrong)." Barlow observed that networked digital technology posed massive and fundamental challenges for the markets for what Barlow termed “the work we do with our minds” and for the intellectual property laws designed to shape those markets. He predicted that those challenges would melt extant intellectual property systems into a smoking heap within a decade, and mused about what we should design to replace it. That collapse didn't happen, or, at least, it didn’t happen in that way or in that time frame. Most of what was idiotic and counterproductive about the ways that copyright law worked in 1994 is still idiotic and counterproductive in 2019. In this essay, I look at what happened instead, and ask whether the transformation Barlow predicted might yet occur in the near future.

Abstract For all of the rhetoric about the central place of authors in the copyright scheme, our copyright laws in fact give them little power and less money. Intermediaries own the copyrights, and are able to structure licenses so as to maximise their own revenue while shrinking their pay-outs to authors. Copyright scholars have tended to treat this point superficially, because – as lawyers – we take for granted that copyrights are property; property rights are freely alienable; and the grantee of a property right stands in the shoes of the original holder. I compare the 1710 Statute of Anne, which created statutory copyrights and consolidated them in the hands of publishers and printers, with the 1887 Dawes Act, which served a crucial function in the American divestment of Indian land. I draw from the stories of the two laws the same moral: Constituting something as a freely alienable property right will almost always lead to results mirroring or exacerbating disparities in wealth and bargaining power. The legal dogma surrounding property rights makes it easy for us not to notice.

From 1909 to 1930, U.S. courts grappled with claims by authors of prose works claiming that works in a new art form – silent movies – had infringed their copyrights. These cases laid the groundwork for much of modern copyright law, from their broad expansion of the reproduction right, to their puzzled grappling with the question how to compare works in dissimilar media, to their confusion over what sort of evidence should be relevant to show copyrightability, copying and infringement. Some of those cases – in particular, Nichols v. Universal Pictures – are canonical today. They are not, however, well-understood. In particular, the problem at the heart of most of these cases – how to imagine a work consisting entirely of pictures as infringing a work made entirely of words – has largely vanished from our consciousness. A better understanding of these early cases casts into clearer light copyright doctrines and practices we take for granted today.

In this essay, written for the 30th Anniversary of Cardozo’s Arts and Entertainment Law Journal, I revisit the ruinous litigation strategy copyright owners pursued after Napster to secure control of the market for personal uses of copyrighted works, which I wrote about ten years ago in War Stories, 20 Cardozo Arts & Ent. L.J. 337 (2002). The litigation campaign had effects that copyright owners now have reason to regret. Medical experts tell us that powerful antibiotics are highly effective in killing off both good and bad bacteria, but at a significant risk. Bugs that survive the treatment grow bigger, stronger, and resistant to antibiotics. They become much more dangerous because they are harder to kill. Copyright owners’ indiscriminate litigation against new entrants into the entertainment and information marketplace killed off a broad swath of potential competitors and partners. The ones who were left faced a less crowded field because old media had helpfully cleared it for them. The scorched-earth litigation strategy temporarily cleared the field, and made room both for tepid, content-industry-controlled efforts to distribute music, books, and video online, and for new entrants with the stamina and resources to survive copyright infringement suits. Apple, Amazon, and Google took advantage of that environment to grow into dominant distributors who are obligatory partners for any serious online content distribution plan, and who insist on calling the shots on price, format, and other matters that content owners believe should rightfully be under their own control.

This paper, published in 2006 as a chapter in Intellectual Property Stories, tells the story surrounding the Betamax case, in which the Supreme Court ruled that using a video cassette recorder to record broadcast television programs was fair use rather than copyright infringement. The chapter focuses on the Justices' deliberations as revealed by the papers of Justices Blackmun, Marshall, and Brennan, available in the Library of Congress Manuscript Reading Room.

In this paper, written for Berkeley’s symposium on the 300th birthday of the Statute of Anne, I explore the history of the common law public performance right in dramatic works. Eaton Drone dubbed the dramatic public performance right “playright” in his 1879 treatise, arguing that just as “copyright” conferred a right to make and sell copies, “playright” conferred a right to perform or “play” a script. I examine case law and customary theatrical practice in England, and find no trace of a common law play right before 1833, when Parliament established a statutory public performance right for plays. Similarly, in the United States, the first claims of a common law right to control public performances appeared only after Congress enacted a statutory dramatic public performance right in 1856. Courts and lawyers developed a common law literary property right to control public performances in order to permit the proprietors of dramatic works to recover even though there were formal defects in their U.S. copyright registrations. Eaton Drone then used those cases as a basis for embroidering a full-blown common law literary property right purportedly based in natural law. Courts adopted Drone’s version of common law play right and followed it for the next thirty years. (The breadth of the common law claim, however, made little difference to actual playwrights, who were deemed to have assigned their common law rights to the producers of their plays.) This history suggests that the rights that we perceive as inherent or natural are fundamentally contingent on what rights already have names and a path to enforcement.

The conventional model of scholarly publishing uses the copyright system as a lever to induce commercial publishers and printers to disseminate the results of scholarly research. The role of copyright in the dissemination of scholarly research is in many ways curious, since neither authors nor the entities who compensate them for their authorship are motivated by the incentives supplied by the copyright system. Rather, copyright is a bribe to entice professional publishers and printers to reproduce and distribute scholarly works. As technology has spawned new methods of restricting access to works, and copyright law has enhanced copyright owners' rights to do so, the publishers of scholarly journals have begun to experiment with subscription models that charge for access by the article, the viewer, or the year. Copyright may have been a cheap bribe when paper was expensive, but it has arguably distorted the scholarly publishing system in ways that undermine the enterprise of scholarship. Recently, we've seen a number of high-profile experiments seeking to use one of a variety of forms of open access scholarly publishing to develop an alternative model. Critics have not quarreled with the goals of open access publishing; instead, they've attacked the viability of the open-access business model. If we are examining the economics of open access publishing, we shouldn't limit ourselves to the question whether open access journals have fielded a business model that would allow them to ape conventional journals in the information marketplace. We should be taking a broader look at who is paying what money (and comparable incentives) to whom, for what activity, and to what end. Are either conventional or open-access journals likely to deliver what they're being paid for? Law journal publishing is one of the easiest cases for open access publishing. Law scholarship relies on few commercial publishers. The majority of law journals depend on unpaid students to undertake the selection and copy editing of articles. Nobody who participates in any way in the law journal article research, writing, selecting, editing and publication process does so because of copyright incentives. Indeed, copyright is sufficiently irrelevant that legal scholars, the institutions that employ them and the journals that publish their research tolerate considerable uncertainty about who owns the copyright to the works in question, without engaging in serious efforts to resolve it. At the same time, the first copy cost of law reviews is heavily subsidized by the academy to an extent that dwarfs both the mailing and printing costs that make up law journals' chief budgeted expenditures and the subscription and royalty payments that account for their chief budgeted revenues. That subsidy, I argue, is an investment in the production and dissemination of legal scholarship, whose value is unambiguously enhanced by open access publishing. In part I of the paper I give a brief sketch of the slow growth of open access publishing in legal research. In part II, I look at the conventional budget of a student-edited law journal, which excludes all of the costs involved in generating the first copy of any issue, and suggest that we cannot make an intelligent assessment of the economics of open access law publishing unless we account for input costs, like the first copy cost, that conventional analysis ignores. In part III, I develop a constructive first copy cost based on assumptions about the material included in a typical issue of the law journal, and draw inferences based on comparing the expenses involved in the first copy, and the entities who pay them, with the official law journal budget. In part IV, I examine the implications of my argument for open access law publishing. In part V, I argue that the conclusions that flow from my analysis apply to non-legal publishing as well.

In this paper, written for a symposium on Fair Use: Incredibly Expanding or Extraordinarily Shrinking?, I argue that the size of the fair use footprint has remained about the same over the past three decades, while the size and scope of copyright's exclusive rights have expanded markedly. In order to protect a broader range of worthy uses under the fair use umbrella, courts have adopted new tests tailored to privilege particular sorts of uses, but in doing so they haven't expanded fair use so much as they have moved it around. In part I of the paper, I briefly summarize the recent history of fair use from the Copyright Office's initial recommendations that Congress codify it through the tests the courts have articulated for applying it. I then turn to the expansion in exclusive rights under section 106. Some of that expansion derives from the architecture of the 1976 Act. Although Congress sought, with particular exceptions, to draft the statute to incorporate the substance of extant law, it drafted the bounded exclusive copyright rights in broad terms and the exceptions to those rights in specific terms. Over 30 years, the specifically worded exceptions have grown obsolete much more quickly than the broadly worded exclusive rights, leaving those rights subject to fewer and narrower exceptions than when the law was enacted. This may be a poor design for copyright laws in policy terms, but it was a choice Congress made. In contrast, the massive recent expansion in the scope of individual section 106 exclusive rights is occurring outside of the legislative process. Advocates have persuaded courts to construe each of the once-bounded exclusive rights more broadly. Once discrete exclusive rights are morphing into an all-purpose general use right. Our understanding of copyright is evolving into the notion that all uses of copyrighted work must be authorized, either by the statute or by the copyright owner. Unauthorized uses, it would follow, must be piracy. I argue that that construction of the copyright statute is completely untenable, especially as it applies to personal uses. Moreover, I suggest, expansion of that sort is as a practical matter inconsistent with a resolve to keep fair use cabined within traditional boundaries as a special privilege for exceptional cases.

In this postscript, written to accompany the 2017 re-release of my book Digital Copyright under a CC-BY-ND Creative Commons License, I review what has become of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act in the past decade. I conclude that the worst threats that the law appeared to pose to access to knowledge and freedom of expression have not (yet) materialized. The tools that legacy copyright owners secured to protect their ways of doing business proved less useful to them than they had hoped. Efforts to use technological protection to prevent unauthorized uses of copyrighted works have so far failed to live up to their promise. Entertainment and software industry efforts to prevent the emergence of new digital competitors by filing infringement lawsuits against any and all upstarts decimated many promising businesses, but ended up clearing the field for Apple, Amazon, and Google to become dominant distributors of copyrighted works, much to legacy copyright owners' chagrin. The online service provider safe harbors had been designed for a world in which the Internet would be dominated by commercially produced content, and files posted by individual consumers would be easy to find and to block. The explosive popularity of content posted by users took copyright owners by surprise. In the face of thousands and then millions of alleged infringements, both copyright owners and service providers have resorted to automated solutions that are both expensive and overinclusive. In the past several years, copyright owners have insisted that the safe harbors assign to them unreasonable copyright enforcement burden. Efforts to persuade Congress to revisit the question, though, have not so far succeeded. Congress, the Copyright Office, and copyright lobbyists are now gearing up for another effort at comprehensive copyright revision. I expect it to take a long time, to motivate many and large campaign contributions, and to eventually produce pretty much the same sort of law that negotiated copyright revision has generated in the past. We seem to be incapable of learning from our past mistakes. Book is available at: https://ssrn.com/abstract=1468400.

Our copyright laws encourage authors to create new works and communicate them to the public, because we hope that people will read the books, listen to the music, see the art, watch the films, run the software, and build and inhabit the buildings. That is the way that copyright promotes the Progress of Science. Recently, that not-very-controversial principle has collided with copyright owners' conviction that they should be able to control, or at least collect royalties from, all uses of their works. A particularly ill-considered manifestation of this conviction is what I have decided to call copy-fetish. This is the idea that every appearance of any part of a work anywhere should be deemed a "copy" of it, and that every single copy needs a license or excuse. In this chapter, I focus on two well-known instances of copy-fetish: the contention that any appearance of a work or part of a work in the random access memory of a computer or other digital device is an actionable copy, and the assertion that the mere possession of a publicly accessible copy infringes the exclusive right to distribute copies to the public. Both arguments have their inception in difficult-to-justify court of appeals decisions, which were then embraced by copyright owners as tools to expand secondary liability. Neither one makes much sense on its own terms. The political economy of copyright, however, makes it overwhelmingly likely that any comprehensive copyright revision bill will incorporate both of them. That makes it imperative that we recognize readers', listeners', and viewers' copyright liberties expressly, and protect them with explicit statutory provisions.

In this article, I explore the effect of the copyright notice prerequisite on the law's treatment of copyright ownership. The notice prerequisite, as construed by the courts, encouraged the development of legal doctrines that herded the ownership of copyrights into the hands of publishers and other intermediaries, notwithstanding statutory provisions that seem to have been designed at least in part to enable authors to keep their copyrights. Because copyright law required notice, other doctrinal developments were shaped by and distorted by that requirement. The promiscuous alienability of U.S. copyrights may itself have been an accidental development deriving from courts' constructions of the copyright notice provision. In 1989, the United States abandoned its reliance on copyright notice. We did not, though, think about ways to retrofit our law to replace the supports that notice provided for its underlying assumptions. The distortions that notice permitted – indeed encouraged – continue to shape case law adjudicating ownership of US copyrights, despite the fact that they no longer make practical or legal sense.

When copyright lawyers gather to discuss fair use, the most common refrain is its alarming expansion. Their distress about fair use’s enlarged footprint seems completely untethered from any appreciation of the remarkable increase in exclusive copyright rights. In the nearly 40 years since Congress enacted the 1976 copyright act, the rights of copyright owners have expanded markedly. Copyright owners’ demands for further expansion continue unabated. Meanwhile, they raise strident objections to proposals to add new privileges and exceptions to the statute to shelter non-infringing uses that might be implicated by their expanded rights. Copyright owners have used the resulting uncertainty over the scope of liability for new uses to litigate some new businesses into bankruptcy before their legality could be determined. These developments push fair use to shelter new uses and users. When lawyers for copyright owners complain that fair use has stretched beyond their expectations, they fail to acknowledge their own responsibility for its growth.This essay, written for the 2015 Washington Law Review Symposium on Campbell at 20, takes up these questions with particular attention to the 31 year old decision in Sony v. Universal Studios, and Congress’s assumptions about individual and contributory liability for personal copying before and after the Sony case.

Digital communication media such as the Internet pose difficult challenges for traditional forms of intellectual property protection. Much recent scholarship and considerable governmental attention has been focused on adapting and expanding copyright to encompass digital works of authorship. These efforts have been justified on the grounds that clear property rights are necessary to allow efficient allocation of intellectual property between private parties. However, these rationales ignore the literature regarding the efficiency of unclear or "muddy" property entitlements. Where transaction costs of private bargaining are high, muddy rules will tend to force parties into informal bargaining transactions. Transaction costs on the Internet may tend to be high because of the number of parties involved, the difficulty of locating the parties, and the transborder nature of the medium. Thus, informal transactions or "self-help" may be the most efficient means for provision of digital works. In such a case, muddy or unclear rules should perhaps be favored for on-line

This essay is part of a project intended to help reclaim copyright for readers, listeners, and viewers. A system of copyright protection makes little sense unless it is designed to encourage the use and enjoyment of the works it induces authors to create and publishers to disseminate. I argue that a clear-eyed examination of copyright's history reveals that solicitude for readers and members of the audience is, in fact, deeply encoded in copyright's DNA. Recently, readers' interests have faded in apparent importance in the copyright scheme in ways that have unbalanced the copyright system, and undermined public support for copyright law. In response to growing criticism of copyright, some of copyright law's most ardent supporters have insisted that users have no rights, should have no rights, and have never had rights in the copyright scheme. That approach, I suggest, is making the problem worse, not better. Copyright seems out of whack because it has forgotten its most important constituents. In this essay, I take a series of very small baby steps in the direction of recognizing rights and liberties within the copyright system for readers, listeners, viewers and other members of the copyright audience.