In light of the fact that most individuals in our society abide by our laws and pay their taxes, doesn't our approach to copyright infringement seem a bit surprising? The fact that our ordinary behavior constitutes robbery is not really debatable—an artist has his or her product for sale, we procure it through electronic back channels and use it without offering any reciprocation—yet inexplicably, the majority of people do not consider this to be wrong. How exactly do we live with this contradiction?
The first and most common way is by making extralegal emotional appeals, pairing Robin Hood ethics with a side of blame-the-victim: “of course it's 'theft,'” such a person might say, air marks and condescension in full force, “but the RIAA are greedy, blood-sucking corporatists,” and if they're feeling economically self-righteous, they might append “and we're teaching them a lesson.” I'm sorry, but “I just have to get that Jonas Brothers' cover of “Hello Goodbye” out of my head” is not cause for vigilante justice. (And what are you doing listening to that garbage, anyway? Your mother would be doubly embarrassed.)
The second way is cleverer, and denies the immorality of it outright: “of course it's 'theft,' but in downloading music, I'm not actively denying anyone else the right to listen to that same music, or denying anyone revenue.” The fact that it has become a liquid kind of “club good”—in economic jargon, a excludable but non-rivalrous good—does not make an essential difference. If you haven't paid for the good or service, you don't very well deserve to benefit from it, do you? No one accepts such transparent arguments when they're given by someone trying to justify stealing similarly-taxonomized cable television. There is nothing paradoxical about the results of everyone refusing to pay their dues: the club goes bankrupt or cuts back accordingly, and if you think this won't or couldn't happen, you obviously haven't turned on the radio recently.
The third way is the easiest to handle, and certainly the easiest to understand; “of course it's 'theft,' but there are a nation of us, and we don't care. Condemn us at your own risk.” Fair enough, but the RIAA has proceeded to do just that, and I wouldn't expect the “honest thief” rhetoric to convince anyone, least of all the judge.
Now, some of the RIAA's positions are incomprehensible and absurd—for instance, their simultaneous approval and disapproval of ripping one's own CDs—and they've done a terrible job in lobbying their cause. They've earned themselves a reputation for sparing supernodes while litigating grandmothers, and intentionally inserting malware into their products. All of this predatory behavior, meanwhile, has been largely futile: illegal downloading has ascended into the mainstream from its inception, and their proponents have been almost universally ridiculed and ostracized. But what has Lars Ulrich done, other than fight for his and others' right to get paid for their own work? Acts like Radiohead are only willing to fight from the other side because they already have—with the help of the industry infrastructure, mind you—a legion of devoted fans who were going to buy In Rainbows regardless of its price.
The zeitgeist holds the key: the record industry is changing its tune, slowly drifting from the album-single paradigm and toward a faceless, loveless polluted sea of singles and YouTube clips. We get what we deserve; we see those who steal cable as sitcom fodder, but we see music pirates as defensible, because we do so with our index fingers primed.
