Jammie Thomas isn’t the only file-sharer to choose to litigate her defense. While it’s true that most people the RIAA sues for copyright infringement elect to settle (or point out that they don’t own a computer, or that they’re dead), a graduate student named Joel Tenenbaum has just finished litigating his defense in a civil copyright suit against the RIAA.
I think it’s safe to say that it could have gone better.
I confess that I own a copy of George Orwell’s 1984. I’ve read it, and enjoyed it. I will also confess to going through a bit of an anti-authoritarian phase in my youth; my hair was shaggy, I wore flannel shirts with holes in them, and I referred not infrequently to a vague consortium of evildoers known collectively as “The Man.” But here’s the important thing: I learned more about the world, and subsequently stopped spouting insipid nonsense. Some people have yet to do that.
But first, Dear Reader, let me tell you a story. Amazon sells a device called the Kindle. The Kindle is like an iPod, but instead of playing music, it displays books. (In point of fact, the Kindle also can play music, but this ubiquitous feature is built into practically any consumer electronics you can think of today.) Kindle owners put books on their device by connecting it to a computer and either (1) purchasing books from Amazon directly, or (2) “finding” the full text of books somewhere else.
The internet is a funny place. In the very first days, when it included computers at all of four universities, the internet was very clearly an extension of the “real world.” For a great number of years, people just used their actual names on the internet: see the 1982 Usenet discussion of the creation of the emoticon. (This discussion quickly deteriorated into arch-nerdery, because the guys on the internet in 1982 were arch-nerds.)
At some point, (perhaps the Eternal September?) the internet took a turn for the anonymous.
The record companies have made headlines for threatening extremely high-stakes and time-consuming litigation against people who have illegally downloaded songs on the internet. The maximum statutory penalty is $150,000 per song you downloaded. At that rate, the record company’s offer to settle the whole kerfuffle at $4,000 seems positively like a bargain.
This strategy relies on the threat of a horrible outcome (downloading a single 12 song album leaves you open to as much as $1.8 million in liability) to prevent these pirates of the internet from attempting to defend their dastardly digital deeds in court. Do note that the record companies, despite the fact that roughly 800% of all albums in America are downloaded illegally, still have enough collective resources to make defending such a lawsuit extremely expensive.
But what if the tables were turned, and the record companies were staring down the business end of a high-stakes and painfully drawn-out lawsuit?