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As of
last week, about 1,600 Americans have been trapped in the labyrinth
of the U.S. legal system by a body that, though it has no public
accountability, has established itself as a quasi-governmental authority.
Torn away from their lives, they face massive fines, court costs,
and even imprisonment. Were these people terrorists? Pedophiles?
Hapless under-employed twenty-somethings who had defaulted on their
student loans? Nope: They were ordinary computer users charged by
the Recording Industry of America with violating the Digital Millennium
Copyright Act.
While
it was originally
instituted in 1998 as part of the hardly publicly-minded World Trade
Organization's mandates for member countries, the DMCA
is one step closer to actually handing the country over to corporate
rule. (Lest we forget, the government is currently the sole property
of Halliburton.)
For instance, the Act gives the recording industry, which is a trade
group and not something that anyone actually voted on, essentially
Gestapo-like powers. Rather than the subpoena being given by an
actual judge, it can be issued by the clerk of a United States District
Court upon reasonable suspicion that you're hooked up to a peer-to-peer
network such as WinMX or KaZaA. Bam—your ISP has to provide
all your information, including your name, address, telephone number,
shoe size, and whether or not you wank to the girls jumping on trampolines
during the "Man Show" credits. And, if they find any music
files after they confiscate your hard drive, you'll most likely
be their indentured servant for the rest of your natural life, with
a large chunk of your wages garnished to pay off the "damages."
For a trade group to wield that kind of influence is ridiculous.
Hell, Ralph Nader wishes he had that kind of pull.
Moreover,
the entire argument that the recording industry uses to defend its
actions—that it protects artists' rights—is patently ridiculous.
Music today is an industry; songs and "artists" are manufactured
the way Andy Warhol manufactured silkscreens and the Velvet Underground.
To suggest that Creed or Avril Lavigne or Justin Timberlake or some
other assembly-line device for branding sound is having the fruits
of their labors ripped off by file-swapping script kiddies is like
suggesting that Milli Vanilli is getting ripped off every time someone
fires up a karaoke machine. Through the magic of marketing, the
recording industry has made something otherwise worthless into a
precious commodity, restricted public access to it by making the
prices ridiculously high (have you seen what they're charging
for CDs these days?!), and then screaming bloody murder
when a black market develops.
What
the RIAA is really afraid of is that file sharing is destroying
this little racket they've got going. Historically, the recording
industry got huge at the same time that people moved from the shoulder-to-shoulder
crowding cities to the bland anonymity of the suburbs—limiting
their access to live music venues and other sources of authentic
culture, but opening the door for the culture-manufacturing industry
to step in and provide us with an amazing simulation thereof, just
the same way that Wonder Bread and Spam are amazing simulations
of actual food. What the Internet has done is digitally reconnect
us into communities, short-circuiting the means of marketing, manufacture,
and distribution that the powers that be have invested so much in.
The RIAA,
a dinosaur if there ever was one, knows it's fighting a losing battle
against the forces of evolution. Sure, CD sales have declined, but
when you consider the lawyers' fees and work hours necessary to
indict, convict, and fine even a tiny portion of the people who
are swapping files, they're just throwing good money after bad.
Like the vicious dog in your neighbor's fenced-in yard, the RIAA
is dangerous, but sufficiently remote not to be worrisome to the
vast majority of people. And they know it: Take, for example, their
recent motions towards persuading
Congress that P2P networks are a one-stop source for computer viruses
and kiddie porn. Next thing they'll do is require you
to pay royalties if you get a song stuck in your head or you sing
"Happy Birthday" at someone's party. (Someone actually
owns the rights to "Happy Birthday," you know.)
What's
even more wrong is for a private entity to hijack the courts and
ruin the lives of a small portion of the people who are threatening
its imagined hegemony. The way to stop it is by the power of the
purse. I, for one, will
not buy another freaking CD put out by a major label
until the charges against every one of the people indicted under
the DCMA are dropped. Maybe then they'll finally shut the fuck up
and die.
(Incidentally,
I, personally, don't use peer-to-peer networks, simply because what's
out there is crap. Do a search for some of the people who've authored
half the mp3s on my hard drive—"Lourds"
or "Every
13 Days" or "Trogdor
the Burninator"—on any p2p, and you're going
to get zilch. People made music for millennia before Thomas Edison
ever made a wax cylinder, and the survivors huddled in the ruins
of our current civilization will continue doing it, at least until
the toxic zombies eat their brains. And if I ever meet Lou Reed
or Jello Biafra, I'll be sure to slip them a twenty for whatever
transgressions the Internet community at large has committed.)
Disco
sucks. Write to editor@corporatemofo.com
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