One critical scene, though, takes place outside of the Mission in a place called the Sutro Baths. The Baths are way out on the northwestern corner of the peninsula, and Doctorow calls them “San Francisco’s authentic fake Roman ruins”. They were built in 1896 as the world’s largest indoor bathing house, and left to collapse after a 1966 fire destroyed most of the structure. (In Little Brother, Doctorow says the fire was started by the owners to collect insurance money. I don’t know if that’s true.)

In 1897, Thomas Edison recorded two videos of the attraction, which are available through the Library of Congress: one, two. I made this animated gif from one of them.

I saw the play adaptation of the book this weekend, and I was reminded of this cool location that I hadn’t seen before. So I did some research and decided to make a trip out there with my buddy Robb. I took a handful of pictures which don’t really do the location justice.

The ruins are definitely worth seeing. Bring a jacket, though, because it gets very windy in that part of the city. It’s a bit of a trek to get there on public transport, but mostly a straight shot.

The most ready response to this, I think, is that there are also plenty of examples of the Internet "discovering" artists: Amanda Hocking, the 27-year-old self-publishing millionaire; J.A. Konrath, who turned down a $500,000 contract to self-publish; Jonathan Coulton, one of my favorite musicians, to name a few. Cory Doctorow has said (I can’t track the quote down, unfortunately) that his CC publishing was only dismissed because he was unknown and could afford to experiment until it was dismissed because he was famous and could count on people buying copies.

But that response isn’t the most interesting one to me. What’s interesting is the underlying embedded question: is there an appropriate "yield" we should seek for artists achieving commercial success? What factors influence that number — pursuit of the social good, some kind of commitment to artists, something else entirely? Should the likelihood of success be dependent on commercial viability, or some other quality like "artistic value"?

One thought strikes me immediately while considering the question. The system we’ve had in place until now has been a pretty awful one for discovery. Picking up a guitar, or a video camera, or a paintbrush has never been a "secure" career path, has it? I don’t know how one would quantify what the ratio of aspiring to commercially successful artists was in, say, the second half of the 20th century, but I imagine it’s vanishingly small. Without that quantification, and without settling on an ideal ratio, I think we can say neither which direction things are moving, nor whether it’s the right one.

That (some percentage) of artists and authors deserve to derive a living from the right to copy their work is a relatively new idea, sometimes attributed to Johann Gottlieb Fichte. I like art and creativity, and while I don’t believe it’d go away absent monopolies like copyright — Mozart and Shakespeare, et al, managed to do some pretty good things without it — I’m happy to cede a little common ground to make the lives and livelihood of artists easier.

It’s worth nothing, though, that some people (and even some artists) are willing to go further. The filmmaker Francis Ford Coppola gave a great interview last year where he addressed this point: "I’m going to be shot for saying this. But who said art has to cost money? And therefore, who says artists have to make money?" And the aforementioned Jonathan Coulton has made some really thought-provoking comments on the issue:

making money from art is not a human right. It so happens that technological and societal blahbity bloos have conspired to create a situation where selling songs about monkeys and robots is a viable business, but for most of human history people have NOT paid for art. I don’t want this to happen again, and I would be very sad if this came to pass, but it’s not up to me to decide. We are constantly demonstrating through our actions what we believe to be the norms for acquiring and consuming content.

These are hard questions, and I don’t know the answers. But I think they’re worth discussing before we ask new questions on top of them. If we’re going to ask whether the Internet is capable of making enough artists successful we have to first ask how much is enough, what we call successful, and why we’ve made these decisions.

The problem is that it’s not very productive to assume that actions which seem internally inconsistent are taken in bad faith. It makes a lot more sense to think of your own model as incomplete, and take in the words and actions of other as feedback to inform it.

In that spirit, I want to dig a little deeper into the motivations of the people who support legislation for expanded copyright laws. Especially in the heat of the debate, when rhetoric is running hot, it’s too easy to assume they’re real malice or profound ignorance. But to do so poisons the conversation and makes progress less likely. Worse, it makes it difficult to predict the next move and to change the conversation.

So what is it that drives the entertainment industry to promote legislation that is so offensive and anti-user it can lead to the biggest online protests in history?

Is it about money? The entertainment lobbyists provide plenty of stats about the money lost to "piracy", but they know better than anybody that the movie industry is taking in record profits. And while there are problems with ever drawing a direct connection between infringement and lost revenues, the estimated impact of the "piracy" SOPA was addressed at was under $450 million — not pocket change, but not a crippling expense to these corporations.

Is it that these people feel there’s an inherent moral wrong in making a copy of something without authorization? That’s the basis for charges of hypocrisy against Bill Keller, the CEO of Vevo, and of course Lamar Smith, to name some very recent examples. Everybody who reads about these knew they were bound to happen — Cardinal Richileu’s famous "six lines" quote might as well be updated today to specify copyright violations explicitly.

But more importantly, if their goal were to reduce unauthorized copying, one has to assume they’d be taking the obvious action: making authorized copying easier. Or at least don’t make it harder. As long as these companies are undermining efforts to reduce piracy, it just doesn’t seem like it’s their goal.

So is their motivation preserving jobs? That’s the implication in Chris Dodd’s infamous and embarrassing quote about politicians not staying bought:

Those who count on quote ‘Hollywood’ for support need to understand that this industry is watching very carefully who’s going to stand up for them when their job is at stake. Don’t ask me to write a check for you when you think your job is at risk and then don’t pay any attention to me when my job is at stake.

All along, the understanding has been that the jobs in question were those of the men and women working on film sets or movie theaters (or, extending the idea beyond its logical bounds, the corn farmers behind the popcorn sales). But if that’s the case, it’s not the perception of the rank-and-file. Look at Wil Wheaton, who responded to Dodd’s quote by pointing out that he has "lost more money to creative accounting, and American workers have lost more jobs to runaway production, than anything associated with what the MPAA calls piracy."

But the actions of the entertainment industry start to make sense when you realize that the executives are really thinking about their own jobs. The executives driving the agenda of the MPAA are tremendously well paid, and they know why that is: for decades, they’ve been able to function as the gatekeepers between artists and the public. They’ve had "exclusive custody of the master switch", as Tim Wu quoted former CBS News executive Fred Friendly saying. For the most part, artists have hated this arrangement. But there was no alternative.

Creativity didn’t begin with copyright in 1710, and nobody honestly thinks it will end with the Internet. When these executives see major success stories like Louis C.K. selling hundreds of thousands of copies of his new special by himself, or Double Fine collecting $1 million in a single day of pre-selling an adventure game, or the 10% of Sundance films crowdfunded on Kickstarter this year, they must realize that their catbird seat is in jeopardy.

And you can bet that scares them. They know the Internet is here to stay, and absent legislative intervention, it will continue to disrupt gatekeepers. They probably know that efforts to preserve their outdated function on the Internet, things like maneuvering to control the .music TLD for "accredited" musicians, are Hail Mary passes. Too little, too late.

Echoing Tim O’Reilly a decade ago, the real threat to gatekeepers is not piracy but irrelevance. They’ve gotten comfortable as the solution to a problem that fewer and fewer people have, and now they can see they’re in a bind. It’s not an excuse, but an explanation: they’re pulling out the stops to defend their position, even if it’s against the interests of their customers, and against the long-term interest of the industry itself.

The first step is to make sure you’ve got Pidgin and Pidgin-OTR installed on one computer, and Adium on another.

Adium stores the OTR private key and the fingerprints in

~/Library/Application Support/Adium 2.0/Users/Default/otr.private_key
~/Library/Application Support/Adium 2.0/Users/Default/otr.fingerprints

Pidgin, on GNU/Linux, stores the OTR private key and fingerprints in

~/.purple/otr.private_key
~/.purple/otr.fingerprints

It’s worth noting that neither application stores these keys encrypted. The threat model assumes that if an attacker has access to your Adium 2.0 or .purple folder, you’re already compromised. But that means you have to be extra careful about transferring these files from one computer to another: obviously, sending your key in a cleartext e-mail is not a good idea.

Anyway, harmonizing is just a matter of copying both files from one location to another, and then modifying the key slightly to match the format that each program stores it in. I was disappointed at how poorly documented these formats are, but fortunately the always impressive Guardian Project has gone through and documented each program’s file location and format in order to build a tool to convert files between different IM client formats. The tool’s not done, and so far only converts to their Gibberbot mobile IM client, but the README contains all the information you need.

In the case of Adium to Pidgin key transfer, which both use the standard libotrname field, which is an integer in the Adium config file, needs to be changed to the actual account name. The protocol field needs to be changed from libpurple-jabber-gtalk (in the case of a GTalk account) to prpl-jabber.

You may need to turn Pidgin’s OTR plugin off and on again, but it should recognize your key, and all of your verified fingerprints should show up as well.

So, yes, Twitter’s style of censorship is "best-in-class", and its continuing defense of freedom of expression also grants it some benefit of the doubt when implementing this sort of policy. Given the background facts of the situation — a centralized architecture run by a global corporate entity, Twitter has done as well as anybody could reasonably expect.

In other words, as my friend Asheesh has explained, we each have a "risk profile" that shapes the actions we choose to take. Your risk profile probably allows speaking in ways that are illegal in, say, Thailand or Germany. But when you use Twitter, you’re required to adhere to their risk profile. Twitter’s historically been very good about managing its risk profile to interfere only minimally with speech concerns, but it is bound to observe at least some minimum as befits a responsible global corporate entity. Where there are conflicts between the risk profile of the users and the risk profile of the service, the service takes priority.

(It’s worth noting that these mismatched risk profiles can cut both ways, too: people who were using MegaUpload for the legitimate storage and distribution of personal files may have been very conservative about what they were uploading, but were tied up with MegaUpload’s relatively permissive risk profile.)

Those background facts, though, the ones that dictate the shape of risk that the operators of a communication channel are willing to take, don’t have to look like Twitter’s. While we the users have overwhelmingly opted for services that are centralized and run by global corporations, there are other models available. Services that follow these other models, like Status.Net — which powers Identi.ca — or Thimbl for example, are not operated by large groups that have to worry about liability in different parts of the world. Increasingly, too, using these services doesn’t require a tradeoff in functionality or performance.

There are certainly people who still have problems with the sort of censorship that Twitter has admitted to participating in, but that blame is misplaced. Twitter is just being transparent about the requirements of operating a centralized corporate communication channel. Anger about these issues should be channeled in one or both of two directions: reducing the risks corporations undertake operating in foreign markets by improving the laws in those countries, or choosing models that aren’t bound to the same risks.

I prefer the latter. John Gilmore famously said in 1993 that the Internet views censorship as damage and route around it. That’s still true. But corporations don’t have the same attributes. We can try to reduce the effect of censorship in the world by changing laws and governments to cut the problem off at its source, which is a noble goal. But we can also design and use services that are decentralized in function and control, and so take advantage of the fundamental censorship-busting quality of the Internet.

Clear thinkers have long complained about the hit job the content lobby have done on the language of copyright but rarely has the point been so clearly made that a muddled use of language translates into unclear and outright incorrect arguments. Carr’s accusations of hypocrisy by the tech community in this situation rest on two blatantly false premises. For one, Carr doesn’t know the difference between “infringement”, “theft”, and “plagiarism”. To quote the article:

Is it, as some argued on Twitter when I asked the question earlier, that plagiarism is different from copyright theft? No. And not least because plagiarism is copyright theft.

It would comfort me to know Carr is trolling here, but I’m afraid he isn’t. If you’ve ever been curious about why it’s important to use the correct words in this area, you’ve got a grade A example in Paul Carr. Let’s break it down: plagiarism is wrongful appropriation, and is not a crime. An act of plagiarism can also be copyright infringement, but an act of urination can also be public indecency, and you’d do well to know the difference. As for what “copyright theft” is here? Completely irrelevant to the case, and serves as a clunky malaprop throughout the entire piece. And just to get it out of the way, is copyright infringement theft? No, no, no, no.

Second, instead of examining the premise that “the tech community doesn’t care about authorship” and determining it’s a straw man lobbying tactic, Carr swallows the point hook-line-and-sinker and uses it as evidence that they’re behaving hypocritically.

Think about it: Doesn’t this reaction serve as pretty good evidence that members of this community — many of whom produce creative content all day at their jobs — really do care about authorship? That maybe the MPAA spokespeople were wrong, and the tech community’s arguments against SOPA and PIPA as major unconstitutional free speech violations that would undermine Internet infrastructure and human rights efforts around the world were more than just a fig leaf for the “I like free stuff”?

A gross conflation of terms gets you to the point where you don’t realize that both Hollywood’s complaints and their reactions look very, very different from 37 Signals’. Hollywood’s big problem is with freeloaders, unless I missed something big and they wanted to shut down these rogue sites for their roles in helping distribute scripts for shot-by-shot remakes of blockbuster films. And they’ve chosen to address that concern not by complaining on Twitter, but by pushing for backroom legislation so obviously and outrageously opposed to the public interest that the reaction from the Internet scared the otherwise lobbyist-cowed legislators into retreat.

It’s not like the MPAA studios haven’t tried to just appeal to social norms as a way to stop unauthorized copying, but their messages — “You wouldn’t steal a car” — suffer from the same lack of understanding and contempt for their users that Carr’s piece displays.

It seems simple to me that Carr thought this latest event was noteworthy because he doesn’t understand the issues, so every new twist and turn is unexpected. This distinction between infringement and theft everybody keeps talking about? Don’t worry, it probably doesn’t matter. The tech community’s actual articulate position? Nah, just take the MPAA’s word for what they’re saying.

But the protests shouldn’t just be considered in that narrow a frame. As Dan Gillmor and Marco Arment correctly point out, any victory against specific legislation in this field is bound to be ephemeral. The entertainment lobbying groups aren’t going to rest in drafting new laws to slip by under the public notice.

So the question becomes: were the online protests effective on any scale beyond the legislation at hand? I think the answer to that is yes. For one thing, these online protests brought copyright policy to the public attention, and that’s almost always a good thing. The moment at this week’s South Carolina GOP primary debate where all four candidates came out strongly against SOPA and PIPA felt unprecedented in the copyright world. In a field where “common sense revolts” at the industry-penned laws that are on the books, public attention is a real first step to reform.

Another change that I hope persists is the way that contested facts are being framed. One of the frustrating things about statements against the bills has been the formula they all seem to follow: we all agree that piracy is a major problem, but these bills are the wrong way to address them. Joshua McVeigh-Schultz at USC has done some good writing on this phenomenon.

Until the last few days, people who were questioning the premise, by suggesting that maybe piracy isn’t a serious economic problem, were on the fringe. Rick Falkvinge of the Pirate Party opposed the statements on the grounds that we need to “stop pretending to endorse the copyright monopoly“. Tim O’Reilly has been persistent and eloquent in questioning the economic harm of piracy. And of course Julian Sanchez’s spot-on analysis for the Cato Institute has consistently called the MPAA et al out on their funny numbers.

But in the past few days, I think we’re starting to see this discussion creep into the mainstream — or at least from the “copyright nerd” to the “general nerd” arena. Not only have musician Jonathan Coulton and actor Wil Wheaton (admittedly, both nerd icons) come out with statements that piracy is not the issue, but sites like Forbes and Freakonomics have picked up the question as well.

Detractors of the Occupy movement complain that those protesters’ issues were too nebulous. Without specific demands they couldn’t expect to effect change. In the short term, it’s true that they couldn’t claim the legislative victory that this round of protests have. But the Occupy protests were absolutely able to change the conversation. As Alexis Madrigal describes in the Atlantic this week, the Occupy protests created a problem in the particular set of “foregrounding” a set of issues into something that should be addressed. Madrigal is skeptical that the anti-SOPA efforts will be able to bridge from specific to general, but I remain hopeful.

Finally, it’s important to consider how this week’s actions have changed the face of online protest. Anil Dash has taken a good look at the history and future of online protest, with thoughts about how it might develop. I’m encouraged by the Reddit front page lighting up with stories about ACTA, and Hacker News discussing anew the YCRFS 9 proposal to kill Hollywood. There’s energy in the air, and it’s being directed in the right place. Hopefully now we can look at ways to proactively shape copyright policy in a way that benefits the public, instead of reacting to bad legislation one after another.

There are a lot of places to reform copyright. Joel Spolsky has put together a good list of them, if you’re interested. We can’t know yet, but I hope to look back on the events of this week as a starting point for big changes.

Or maybe it’s a sidegrade. Instead of buying the newest model on the market (or waiting for one of the half a million or so introduced at CES this month) I re-bought the Nexus One, a phone released almost two years ago.

I bought my first Nexus One directly from Google when it came out, and it quickly became my all-time favorite phone. The hardware fits me perfectly — just the right weight, great screen and buttons. It’s had two follow-ups in the Nexus S and the Galaxy Nexus, but neither one has struck me the same way. Because of its background, as the first “Google Experience” phone, it fell into the hands of a lot of able hackers, and so has great community support and quick releases for the CyanogenMod and Whisper Systems software I like to use.

When that Nexus One was stolen in November 2010, I thought I’d appreciate the upgrade. But while the phone I got featured some souped-up specs and an upgraded OS, I just didn’t like the experience as much.

So for now, I’ve chosen to check out of the upgrade cycle and stick with a device that I know works for me. It’s tempting to think I’ll be out of some loop, but the truth is, the hardware I need for my phone is not that greatly different from what I needed two years ago.

Keeping off of the high-end upgrade cycle — because really, having the shiniest phone in your pocket is not a one-time choice, but a commitment to regular upgrades — is cheaper, less disappointing, and less likely to contribute to a mountain of stuff in my house that is just too expensive to throw away. Much better, if you know what works, to stick with it.

Of course, there are other approaches. Lore Sjöberg, a writer for Wired, wrote about founding the Cult of the Somewhat Delayed a few years back. His cult would consist of people who kept on top of the latest advances in technology and culture, but with a two-year offset. This month, devotees would be checking out the movies, news, and gadgets from January 2010, which makes my new phone a crazy device from the future.

Those not ready to take the two-year plunge might check out Last Year’s Model, a project to get people to hold on to their devices a little longer. They advertise their MySpace page as a way to keep up with the project, which makes me think it’s either a bit out of date, or they’re very committed to the cause.

In any case, I’m happy to live at a time where the progress we can achieve in two years is enough to give the feeling of obsolescence. But I’m also happy to know that I’m not really out of the loop if I decide to skip the upgrade.

Expanding on that first point, he says that while the bill’s supporters may have kicked things off by accusing the tech community of engaging in, supporting, and profiting from piracy, that community should not respond with further name-calling and accusations of censorship. Instead, the tech sector should acknowledge the real problem with online piracy overseas and work together with the content industry to address it.

I really appreciate calls for civility, especially in a discussion that has gotten as heated as the one around SOPA and PROTECT IP. But as an active participant in that discussion, three things immediately popped out at me that deserve attention.

John wants there to be a “nuanced, technically-informed, respectful discussion/debate/conversation/working relationship” between these two parties, but doesn’t see a way that can happen. He may be right when he says that one missing piece is civility. But another is that both parties need to approach this discussion honestly. Supporters of this bill have, in example after example, demonstrated no remorse in lying outright to support their position.

Opponents of the bill point out when its supporters are lying, and when they seem to be advocating for measures suited for repressive regimes. Maybe these are attacks, but they are also true. While both sides may need to tone down the vitriol, there is no hope of progress until everybody first agrees to give the process enough respect to stick to the truth.

(I’ll acknowledge that, in some cases, the bill’s supporters may simply be misinformed; that lack of information would be a consequence of them not taking the debate seriously. Or that they’re not being dishonest, per se, but intellectually dishonest. It’s hard to know without being in their head, but in any case, the point stands.)

John also rightly points out that we need to be thinking critically about how copyright law can and should work today, and he claims that part of that process needs to be acknowledging the real problem facing rightsholders. I agree, of course, with the first part. But I think the second needs to be examined closer. Rightsholders might only have a “real problem” in a very limited sense of the word.

The ease of copying can absolutely lead to missed profit opportunities. But as Steve Blank points out in the Atlantic, the content industry’s track record of identifying which technologies will ultimately be profitable is abysmal, and they’re also not alone in dealing with “piracy”. Every area of commerce grapples with the fact that bad actors can thwart controls, but only the content industries are willing (and able!) to destroy innovation in other sectors to control it.¹

Combine that history with the first point — that studios and labels are willing to flat-out lie to support their points — and it becomes hard to take their “problem” seriously. The tech community isn’t denying that Internet users can download Hollywood movies off servers in Sweden, but what does that actually mean for their business? The rightsholders’ plain insincerity, the lack of real data to support their position, and their uncanny knack for attacking each new technology as it emerges conspire against the precariousness of their position.

Finally, and this is a point John acknowledges, these bills were not introduced in a way to foster a conversation. If the content industries were interested in a real conversation, they’d find willing participants. Trying to push through legislation that they wrote in secret with “Hollywood’s favorite Republican“, to a Congress they’ve spent $91 million lobbying this year alone, does not demonstrate a good faith effort on their part.

A discussion about how copyright should be shaped and enforced in the face of changing technology and norms is a good one to have. But the people who recognize the importance of technology continue to be denied the opportunity to have that conversation with the other stakeholders. Instead, we have been put on the defensive against incoming legislative U-boats. Without a doubt, a meaningful dialogue would be better now and for the future; unfortunately, our only option at the moment is to point out the glaring flaws in these proposals and keep fighting them until they sink.

1. The content industry may even be better off than other industries when it comes to piracy, because the version they face — copyright infringement — isn’t even theft.

Of course, these promises don’t usually pan out on the strength of the resolution alone; you need a bit of a carrot and/or a stick to make you stick to it.

So it’s in that spirit that I introduce the San Francisco chapter of Iron Blogger. Inspired by Mako’s Iron Blogger in Boston, and joining my friends Iron-Blogging in Berlin, I decided it was time to put some skin (or at least a few dollars) into the blogging game.

In case you don’t know the rules of Iron Blogger: every participant must post something to her blog every week. If she fails, she owes the organizer $5. (That’s the stick.) Once enough money has been collected, everybody goes out and gets beer with it. (That’s the carrot.) I’ve gotten a group of friends together to start, and if you’re in San Francisco and interested in participating, let me know.

I’m looking forward to it!