It was inevitable. After all the lawsuits in the US (and some in the UK) pitting various copyright holders against AI development companies alleging the AI platforms were infringing copyright by reproducing and ingesting copyrighted materials without authorization to train their algorithms to produce outputs based on the ingested content–outputs that in some cases compete directly with the original work—AI scraping litigation has finally come to Canada. As reported by the CBC, CanLII (the Canadian Legal Information Institute), a non-profit established in 2001 by the Federation of Law Societies of Canada “to provide efficient and open online access to judicial decisions and legislative documents” is suing Caseway AI, a self described AI-driven legal research service, for copyright infringement and for violating CanLII’s Terms of Use through a massive downloading of 3.5 million files.
In its civil claim brought before the Supreme Court of British Columbia, CanLII alleges that the defendants, doing business as Caseway AI, violated its Terms of Use that prohibit bulk or systematic download of CanLII material and that in doing so, the defendants also engaged in copyright infringement by reproducing, publishing and creating a derivative work based on the copied works for the defendants own commercial purposes. There is no question that Caseway is providing legal material for commercial gain. Caseway’s services start at $49.99 a month , or $499.99 a year, and offer an AI driven service that “leverages advanced AI to find relevant case law in less than a minute… Designed with a user-friendly chatbot interface powered by proprietary technology, Caseway (is) a robust tool tailored specifically for the legal profession.” Caseway’s Terms of Service have all sorts of disclaimers, however.
In his defence, Caseway’s Canadian principal (and defendant) Alistair Vigier is reported to have said that “court documents are public record, not owned by any organization, including CanLII. Numerous other websites also make these decisions available.” It is true that court documents and decisions are public documents not subject to copyright protection. However, CanLII claims that its database contains more than just the court’s decisions. It says in its claim that it spends significant time to “review, analyze, curate, aggregate, catalogue, annotate, index and otherwise enhance the data” prior to publication. It is this creative effort that turns public documents into a copyright protected document (or so the argument goes). To use another copyright analogy, you cannot copyright a recipe (a “list of ingredients”) but we all know that cookbooks containing recipes are always copyrighted. This is because of the display and illustrations of the recipes, the layout, commentary and other editorial touches. Julia Child’s sole amandine recipe is not just any old recipe for fried sole. Is CanLII’s compilation of “judicial ingredients” protectable? We will have to wait to find out.
CanLII’s case is reminiscent of a similar case in the US, Thomson Reuters v Ross Intelligence. Thomson Reuters operates a subscription-based legal research service called Westlaw. One of Westlaw’s employees allegedly copied Westlaw content to enable Ross Intelligence to build a machine learning platform that competed with Westlaw. Part of Ross’ defence was that the judicial decisions themselves are public domain documents, so there could be no infringement. Westlaw maintained that its case head notes, summaries that described the cases, were copyrightable material. Ross also brought forward a fair use defence arguing transformation, i.e. they had produced something new and different that did not compete directly with Westlaw’s product. Here is a good summary of the case. The court determined that Ross had copied the headnotes but the copyrightability of Westlaw’s numbering system and headnotes needed to go to a jury to determine. While Ross’ anti-trust case against Westlaw has been dismissed, the copyright case is still pending.
Another case that has been cited as a possible precedent is the famous 2004 CCH Canadian Ltd v Law Society of Upper Canada case in which the Supreme Court of Canada ruled that copies of CCH materials made by the Law Society library for its members did not infringe CCH’s copyright because the library was exercising the fair dealing research exception on behalf of the individuals requesting the copies. I personally don’t see the relevance of this case (but I am not a lawyer) since the Great Library’s users were copying only relevant parts of certain documents, for a specified fair dealing purpose. In the CanLII case, Caseway has apparently inhaled the full collection of documents and is doing so for a commercial purpose, with the resultant product (although not identical to the original) competing with it. Moreover, since there is no text and data mining exception in Canadian law, the “transformation” defences available to US-based AI companies (i.e transforming the original materials to produce something different) are not applicable in Canada. This will be an interesting one for the lawyers.
What the case demonstrates is a crying need for some legislative guidance on the question of AI scraping of copyrighted materials in Canada. It may be that CanLII’s collection cannot be protected by copyright, which would provide Caseway a defence without settling the fundamental issue of whether it is a violation of the Copyright Act to do what Caseway did, assuming the material they used was protectable by copyright. A consultation exercise was launched by the government of Canada (through the Ministry of Innovation, Science and Economic Development, ISED) last October, closing in January with submissions posted in June. Since then, there has been silence on the part of the government. With Parliament at a standstill, and the current government hanging on to power by its fingernails, don’t expect clarity any time soon.
In July, the Canadian Internet Policy and Public Interest Clinic (CIPPIC) at the University of Ottawa filed an application in the Federal Court to expunge or amend a Canadian copyright registration that claimed an AI program, the RAGHAV AI Painting App, as co-author of a registered work. While the other co-author, an Indian IP lawyer by the name of Ankit Sahni is named as the respondent, the real defendant ought to be the Canadian Intellectual Property Office (CIPO), the organ within the Department of Industry (ISED) responsible for managing copyright registration. It is CIPO’s “rubber stamp, content-blind, absence of judgement” automated system of registration that has led to this situation, putting Canada in a significantly different place from that of the United States or many other countries when it comes to granting copyright protection to works produced by AI algorithms with no or little human intervention.
Last month I wrote a couple of blog posts on the issue of whether content produced with or by generative AI could or should qualify for copyright protection. I looked at the ongoing uphill struggle that two “creators”, Stephen Thaler and Jason Allen, have experienced with the US Copyright Office (USCO) in their attempts to get the USCO to register their works. Thaler claims his submitted work (“A Recent Entrance to Paradise”) was created exclusively by his AI algorithm (the “Creativity Machine”) and, accordingly, it should be recognized as the “author”. However, as the human behind the machine, having invested in creating it, the benefits of the registration should fall to him. He argues that the algorithm carried out the work at his behest, much like a work for hire. Allen, by contrast, claims that although his award-winning work (“Théâtre D’Opéra Spatial) was produced with AI assists, he was the creator through control and manipulation of the prompt process. In neither case has the USCO budged from its position that the works do not qualify for copyright protection on the basis they were not human-created. The same goes for the courts to which the USCO’s rejection has been appealed.
That is the current situation in the US; in Canada it is quite different. Works produced exclusively with AI have been accorded copyright registration, more than once. I have even done it myself! (See “Canadian Copyright Registration for my 100 Percent AI-Generated Work”).
Because Canadian copyright registration is automated and done through a website, an applicant must provide the author’s address, contact details and date of death, if deceased. To work around that, I clearly specified that the work was created entirely by two AI programs (DALL E-2 and CHAT-GPT) with virtually no exercise of “skill and judgement” on my part, this supposedly being the threshold in Canada for creative content that can be afforded copyright protection.
This is how my Canadian copyright certificate No. 1201819, issued April 11, 2023 (I should have tried to register it on April Fools Day), reads in terms of describing the registered work;
“SUNSET SERENITY, BEING AN IMAGE AND POEM ABOUT SUNSET AT AN ONTARIO LAKE CREATED ENTIRELY BY AI PROGRAMS DALL-E2 AND CHATGPT (POEM) ON THE BASIS OF PROMPTS DEMONSTRATING MINIMAL SKILL AND JUDGEMENT ON THE PART OF THE HUMAN AUTHOR CLAIMING COPYRIGHT”.
While this little exercise in inanity was fun, (and was done to expose the failings of the current system), I was not the first to register an AI created work in Canada. That honour, as far as I can tell, belongs to Sahni, the named respondent in the CIPPIC case who, in December 2021, managed to register the artistic work Suryast, listing the AI-powered RAGHAV painting app as co-author. That was a neat way of getting around the requirement to provide an address, contact details etc. Sahni could provide his contact details yet still claim the AI algorithm was an author, even if a co-author. Clever. What Sahni’s motivation was I cannot say, but apparently he has been active in registering the work in as many jurisdictions as he can, maybe to boost the marketability of RAHGHAV. CIPPIC claims he is seeking registration to force various countries to address the AI authorship issue. Canada must have been one of the easiest registrations he received. Now he is being called to account. The application brought by CIPPIC seeks a declaration either that there is no copyright in Sahni’s image, Suryast, or, alternatively, if there is copyright in Suryast, that the Respondent (Sahni) is it sole author. It also seeks an order to expunge the copyright certificate in question or to rectify it by deleting the painting app as a co-author.
The fundamental problem of course is not Sahni or his AI app, (although like me, he may have been mischievous) but rather the way in which copyright registration is offered and maintained in Canada. It was not always this way. Once upon a time, to register a work in Canada you were required to not only pay a registration fee, (which is still the case today) but submit three copies of the work, one for the Copyright Branch (which was part of the Department of Agriculture), one for the Canadian Parliamentary Library and one for the British Museum. Because of these depository requirements, today we have a record of many early copyrighted works in Canada, such as the famous early 20th Century Inuit photographs of Canada’s first professional female photographer, Geraldine Moodie, about whom I wrote a few years ago (“Geraldine Moodie and her Pioneering Photographs: A Piece of Canada’s Copyright History”).
When the first international copyright convention, the Berne Convention of 1886, was established among a limited number of countries, there was a push by authors to abolish the registration requirement because it was burdensome to have to register in all Berne countries. Initially, registration in the home country was supposed to provide protection in all member states of the Convention, but this proved difficult to put into practice. Consequently, in 1908 at the Berlin revision of the Convention, the following provision (which is today part of Article 5(2) was adopted, “The enjoyment and the exercise of these rights shall not be subject to any formality”. Canada was a member of Berne because Britain had acceded, but was nonetheless a reluctant conscript (even though then PM Sir John A. Macdonald had acquiesced to Canada’s inclusion). In 1921 Canada finally passed its own Copyright Act (coming into force in 1924, a century ago this year), and subsequently joined Berne in its own right in 1928. I suspect that registration as a requirement, along with depository and examination conditions, was dropped at that time. That is probably when the current (but non-automated) voluntary registration process was established.
Despite the abolition of a registration requirement by Berne Convention countries, Canada is not the only country that maintains one. In the US, which only joined Berne in 1989, both registration and renewal were required for a work to enjoy copyright protection. When the US joined Berne, it maintained the registration requirement for US citizens who wished to take legal action to enforce their copyright. This is allowed under Berne. As such, the US has maintained a robust registration system where a legal deposit of the work is required, registrations are examined and can be challenged or refused.
We know that is not the case in Canada, but Canada is not the only country to have a voluntary registration system. In a recent study by WIPO (World Intellectual Property Organization), some 95 countries were identified as having either a voluntary registration system, a recordation system (for transfer of copyrights) or a legal deposit requirement. What is notable, however, is that of all these countries, only three (Canada, Japan and Madagascar) do not require a deposit of the work seeking registration. Canada does review applications but only to ensure they meet all the formality requirements (name and address of the owner of the copyright; a declaration that the applicant is the author, owner of the copyright or an assignee; the category of the work; its title; name of the author and, if dead, the date of the author’s death, if known. For a published work, the date and place of first publication must be provided and, perhaps most important, payment of the prescribed fee). Nothing else. In fact, if Mr. Mickey Mouse, address Disneyland Way, filed a copyright application for a work and paid the required fee of $63, I am sure a Canadian copyright certificate would be issued. It used to come in the mail, printed on nice quality paper but, alas, in the interests of efficiency, it is now only available in PDF format on CIPO’s website. Print it yourself.
That is the current situation, but why has CIPPIC gone to the Federal Court to dispute the wording of Sahni’s copyright certificate, No. 1188619? While the Registrar of Copyrights can accept requests for correction of a copyright certificate (either because of an error in filing or because the Office itself made a mistake), it cannot by itself amend or remove a registered work from the Register. Instead, the Registrar needs the Federal Court to effect such action. Section 57 of the Copyright Act states, with respect to Rectification of Register by the Court;
(4) The Federal Court may, on application of the Registrar of Copyrights or of any interested person, order the rectification of the Register of Copyrights by (a) the making of any entry wrongly omitted to be made in the Register, (b) the expunging of any entry wrongly made in or remaining on the Register, or (c) the correction of any error or defect in the Register
However , while CIPPIC is seeking expungement of this particular copyright registration, it is the system it is really going after. This is clear from its memorial to the Court;
(23) “In automating its copyright registration process, CIPO is derogating from its obligations to administer copyright in a fair and balanced manner under the Copyright Act.” (24) “The consequence of this system is that content that does not merit copyright can…easily obtain the benefits of registration.” (25) “Copyright registrants obtain certain benefits under the Act – such as litigation presumptions – and users and defendants are correspondingly burdened. Once a “work” is registered, the Copyright Act…shifts certain presumptions such as subsistence and ownership….In this very case, as a result of CIPO’s oversight failures, the burden rests on CIPPIC to prove the image Suryast lacks originality and that an AI program cannot be an author.”
Moreover, CIPPIC notes that it brought this case to the attention of CIPO but it refused to correct the Copyright Register, instead encouraging CIPPIC to seek resolution in court. Assuming it is granted standing, CIPPIC may well prevail and have the Suryast registration amended or expunged. But will that really achieve its goals? If its goals are to get CIPO to stop “derogating from its obligations”, then simply cancelling or amending this one registration won’t do it. What is the solution?
One option would be to eliminate the voluntary registration requirement altogether, but is this the right course of action? The WIPO document referenced earlier points out some of the advantages of a voluntary registration system. It can ensure that information about authorship and copyright, including date of registration, become publicly available. This benefits not only authors and rightsholders, who can use the registration as a rebuttable presumption of copyright in court, as in Canada, but also provides information to the public to verify ownership claims and trace title. A voluntary system does not, however, provide a definitive list of what works are under copyright and which are not. Another factor is that an automated voluntary system, such as the one operated by CIPO, is not burdensome for registrants and presents no meaningful obstacle. The problem is that its barriers to registration are so low that it is easy to trick the system. Is a Canadian copyright certificate worth the paper it is printed on if there is no verification?
A second option is to improve the registration process to make it meaningful, but this will require resources. Current fees are low (but the US system which is much more robust has a similar fee structure). Nonetheless, to institute a USCO type system would require substantial additional resources that are unlikely to be forthcoming in the present fiscal environment. One would have to ask whether the extra cost could be justified. It’s a conundrum. Meanwhile, the government has circulated a paper on the issue of Copyright and AI and the Canadian cultural community has weighed in with its views. Prominent among these is the position that copyright protection should be accorded only to human-created works. (This is not currently specified in the Copyright Act).
CIPPIC’s court action puts the spotlight on the current copyright dilemma. The current system seems to be not fit-for-purpose, but an economically viable alternative is not immediately apparent. At the very least, Canada should amend the Copyright Act to prevent AI-created works from obtaining copyright registration.
It is so ludicrous it’s hard to believe the ads—real ads but using a fake news story to promote a fraudulent product–appeared in mainstream media in Canada and elsewhere. But it happened. The Canadian Press has an in depth report about the ads that appeared in digital editions of such publications as the Toronto Star and Edmonton Journal claiming that NDP Leader and Member of Parliament Jagmeet Singh had a “fatal accident” while on live TV, inadvertently revealing a secret way of earning revenue during an interview with CTV’s Vassy Kapelos. The “fatal accident” appears to be the revelation of the secret rather than Singh’s demise. He is very alive and kicking. The supposed “accident” was clickbait for a cryptocurrency scam, an easy way of earning money that Singh allegedly knew about but the “authorities”, such as the Bank of Canada, didn’t want the public to have access to. What sheer and utter nonsense.
The doctored image was a clear violation of the copyright of the original broadcast, owned by Bell Media’s CTV. However, it is hard to believe that CTV will bother going after anyone for copyright infringement, although perhaps the perpetrator (no doubt a shell company) could be tracked down through Google, which facilitated the ads. Google, of course, claims that it is not responsible even though the ads violated its policy against impersonation of public figures. And it seems no one at the reputable media outlets where these scams were featured under their byline bothers to check ads like this. It is only after the fact, when they are made to look foolish, that they act to have them removed. They just collect the money from an ad placement firm.
It used to be that if an ad appeared in a major daily newspaper, there was some expectation of a degree of truth in advertising and an assumption that the paper would not allow itself to be a platform for fraudulent promotions. No more is this true, it seems. It’s all pretty distressing. It is also a wonder that such ads work, pulling in gullible people. If they didn’t work, the promoters would not be wasting their money promoting these scams.
Somewhere in the multilayered bureaucracy that comprises Canada, there must be some entity with the authority to try to stop this. The Canadian Anti-Fraud Centre, a body established in 1993 by the RCMP, OPP and Competition Bureau with a mandate to assist “Police of Jurisdiction” with enforcement and prevention efforts, would seem to be the place to start. But who are the Police of Jurisdiction for an online ad campaign that appeared in papers across the country and well as in UK and US outlets? The short answer is “nobody”. This is just one of thousands of such scams. Maybe the best the Anti-Fraud Centre can do is to raise awareness of such activities among the public. So, while it is a violation of copyright law, and no doubt fraud, there are other violations of the law—such as a hijacking of Singh’s image and personality–although in Canada the remedies are not easy to use.
In Canada, there is no general “right of publicity” or “personality right” that protects a person’s image, voice, etc, as exists in some US states. However, according to this law firm website there are publicity rights arising from provincial privacy legislation, in BC, Manitoba, Newfoundland and Saskatchewan, and elsewhere a common law civil remedy available on a limited basis. In common law there is a “common law tort of ‘wrongful appropriation of personality’, sometimes referred to as ‘misappropriation of personality’, being the unauthorised commercial exploitation of a person’s name, image, voice or likeness.” The right is enforced through civil litigation so Mr. Singh would have to bring suit against the shady operators of the crypto scam. That is not going to happen.
There is draft federal legislation in the US that, if passed, would deal with situations like this (should they occur in the United States). The NO-FAKES (Nurture Originals, Foster Art, and Keep Entertainment Safe) Act, 2024, is a bipartisan bill introduced into the US Senate in July of this year, after an earlier discussion draft was floated in 2023. If adopted, it would prevent the “production of a digital replica without consent of the applicable individual or rights holder” through civil law action unless part of a news, public affairs, sports broadcast, documentary, or biographical work. It includes exceptions for parodies, satire, and criticism (which are fair dealing exceptions in Canada and considered fair use in the US). In particular it is designed to protect both entertainment figures and political personalities from having their likenesses either manipulated (so that Taylor Swift didn’t really endorse Donald Trump) or used to endorse products or ideas they don’t support. A companion bill was introduced into the House of Representatives with bipartisan support shortly after. The bills were widely supported by major entertainment companies and unions (SAG-AFTRA) but also AI companies such as OpenAI. Apart from providing a civil remedy, it will require platforms to take down offending images upon notice with financial penalties if they do not comply.
According to one of the Members of Congress who introduced it, the NO FAKES Act will:
Recognize that every individual has a federal intellectual property right to their own voice and likeness—including an extension of that right for the families of individuals after they pass away;
Empower individuals to take action against bad actors who knowingly create, post, or profit from unauthorized digital copies of them;
Protect responsible media platforms from liability if they take down offending materials when they discover them;
Ensure innovation and free speech are protected; and
Provide a nationwide solution to a patchwork of state laws and regulations by January 2, 2025.
Many US states have versions of a right of personality law. If passed, the NO FAKES Act will pre-empt any relevant state legislation, unless in force prior to January 2, 2025. The proposed federal legislation creates the new national publicity right as an intellectual property right, which gives it an exemption from the notorious Section 230 immunity in US law that allows platforms to ignore virtually any requirement to regulate content posted on their platforms by users. The application of the Act to the platforms (i.e. a take-down requirement), including potential removal of the Section 230 immunity for hosting digital fakes (when the platform has knowledge, usually through a takedown notice) has brought out the usual Silicon Valley suspects (EFF, Public Knowledge, CCIA etc.) to oppose the legislation. They argue that it impinges on free speech, is too blunt a weapon, and so on. In my view, a major reason for their opposition is that it would require the big internet platforms to actually take some responsibility for the content they profit from disseminating.
The ridiculous Singh “newscast ad” highlights a significant loophole in Canadian law. It is much more than a copyright violation. Even though it would be difficult to track down the perpetrators, why aren’t there stronger legal penalties for such actions, as well as liability for failing to assume responsibility for hosting obvious and known fakes? Why isn’t there an obligation on platforms and media to remove fake content that hijacks the personality of a well-known person? The US is trying to grapple with the problem, although whether the NO FAKES Act will be enacted during the current lame duck session of Congress is doubtful given Silicon Valley’s mobilization against it, plus all the other pressing business that Congress will have to deal with (like funding the government) in the few weeks that remain.
Misappropriation of the image and voice of well-known personalities, and a proliferation of AI generated fakes, can be increasingly expected to flood the internet for both political and commercial gain, sometimes even with subversive intent. The ludicrous nature of the Jagmeet Singh ads attracted immediate attention but next time, the fake content could be more insidious and less easy to spot. With the advent of a US President who is willing to say and do just about anything, how will we know what is fake and what is real? Maybe the NO FAKES Act will eventually pass in the US, and maybe Canada needs something similar.
The new, improved and “unlosable” Canadian poppy (Photo:author)
I am preparing for our annual Remembrance Day ceremony on November 11 at the Community and Fire Hall in our little community of Willis Point, some 20 kilometres north of Victoria, BC. The Volunteer Fire Department will control traffic on the road by the flagpole, and a local resident, who is a naval officer at the Base will, in his full-dress uniform, lay the wreath. There will be the usual reading from “In Flanders Fields”, the Last Post will be played, and after the solemn ceremony we will all repair into the Hall for coffee and hot chocolate (and sometimes something a bit stronger) and view a local resident’s military memorabilia. It will likely be raining. Everyone will be wearing a poppy.
If anything, this year it seems the poppy stands are more ubiquitous than ever, many beside cash counters in grocery and drug stores and in coffee shops, but some at the entrance to stores staffed by friendly Legionnaires. The Royal Canadian Legion is doing a good job of getting out the message. And every politician at every level of government will be sporting a poppy at all their public and media appearances. It seems to be the one thing that unites the country—and Lord knows we need more unifying symbols and behaviour.
Last year I commented on the uncanny ability of the poppy you have just bought to fall off your lapel in the parking lot while you walk to your car, necessitating buying another the next time you go shopping. The alternative is to walk in shame past the smiling Legionnaire by the door with his or her tray of fresh, new, pin-on poppies. I lamented there was no way to better secure them other than by a flimsy pin, but to my surprise, this year my Legionnaire offered me a choice of the standard “fall off” variety or one secured by a clip on the back. The black centre of the poppy has a pin that pierces your jacket and fits securely into the clamp. It is clearly Legion-approved. A long-overdue innovation. I will probably still buy more than one because I will forget to wear the jacket that has the poppy on it, and am unable to pass by those veterans at the door without the protection of my poppy. But it’s all in a good cause.
I notice there’s a lot of interest at this time of the year in a couple of the blog posts I wrote previously on the history of the poppy as a commemorative symbol, at the same time pointing out some of the intellectual property issues arising from its role as a registered trademark of both the Royal Canadian Legion and Royal British Legion. Despite the trademark protection for commemorative poppies in Canada and Britain, not to mention copyright protection of the designs of various products displayed on their websites, unauthorized versions proliferate at this time of year, marketed through online platforms. Veteran’s welfare organizations have to work just as hard as other rights-holders to protect their IP; the internet offers all sorts of creative new outlets for unauthorized commercial exploitation. Amazon has knock offs but also the real thing, as the Legion has done a deal with the web retail giant to sell Legion poppy products, apparently with some considerable success So if you are going to buy a poppy this year, buy it from your friendly local Legion representative or at least from the Legion’s website, the Poppy Store in Canada and the Poppy Shop in Britain–or even through Amazon. It’s probably too late this year anyway, bur remember for next year.
If you are not aware of the history of the poppy campaign and the challenges it has faced from unauthorized competition, here is my original Remembrance Day blog post in 2019, with a few updates.
Remembrance Day Poppies and Intellectual Property Controversies
At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, the guns on the western front in Europe fell silent. An armistice was declared. Germany didn’t formally surrender although it soon collapsed, and the 1919 Treaty of Versailles treated it as a defeated country (with the results twenty years later that we all know about). Thus Armistice Day, now known as Remembrance Day in many countries including Canada, the UK and Australia, and Veteran’s Day in the US, was born.
Today, in particular in Canada and the UK, Remembrance Day is marked by the wearing of poppies. They spring up on the lapels of TV news broadcasters, politicians, and members of the public like mushrooms in autumn. In the US, although they are not so ubiquitous as north of the border or in Britain, they are more typically worn on Memorial Day, which is in May, and in Australia and New Zealand I am told that poppies generally blossom around Anzac Day, April 25. It is probably fairly well known (although with today’s young people it is perhaps wrong to make assumptions) that the wearing of the poppy is a memorial to the sacrifices made by those who fought and died, initially in WW1 for the Allied cause, today more generally extended as a memorial to all those who perished in wars. Poppies grew prolifically in the killing fields of Flanders in Belgium, and still cover the countryside today. The poppies were made famous by the poem “In Flanders Fields” written by Canadian military doctor John McCrae in 1915 after seeing poppies on the battlefield after the loss of his friend in the second battle of Ypres.
It was an American teacher, Moina Michael, who campaigned to make the poppy the international symbol for remembrance of Allied war veterans, and to use their sale for veteran’s welfare. (Another prominent campaigner was Anna Guérin, who took inspiration from Ms. Michael and actively promoted adoption of the poppy). Between 1920 and 1922 the poppy was adopted by veterans’ organizations in the US, Britain, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. In Britain an organization known as the “Poppy Factory”, which still exists today, was set up to manufacture the paper poppies for sale for the support of veterans causes. That leads us to the main point of this blog, the intellectual property (IP) controversies that have arisen around the sale of poppies and poppy-related memorabilia.
There is an important intellectual property angle as to who gets to produce and sell poppies, although it is more of a trademark than a copyright issue. There have been controversies in both Britain and Canada involving production and sale of the little red flower. In both countries (and possibly elsewhere) the poppy is trademarked, by the Royal Canadian Legion (RCL) and the Royal British Legion (RBL), respectively, both respected veterans organizations. The Royal Canadian Legion’s website notes that the trademark was conferred by Act of Parliament in 1948, and is limited to the use of the poppy in remembrance;
“The Canadian trademark for the Poppy includes both the Legion’s Poppy logo, as well as the Poppy symbol, as it relates to Remembrance. The trademark does not apply to the use of the actual Poppy flower, unless that usage is misrepresented as the Legion’s Poppy by associating it with remembrance or the raising of monies for a purpose other than the Poppy Campaign.”
However, the trademark extends to any colour or configuration of the poppy when used as a symbol of remembrance. This is increasingly relevant as various groups make their own versions available, from a white poppy symbolizing peace (some would say pacifism) to a rainbow-hued LBGTQ poppy that has caused some controversy.
Whether either of the Legions would take legal action against someone for producing and selling poppies of a colour other than red is an interesting question, but a few years ago in Britain a seller at an outdoor market pleaded guilty to selling red poppies that had no association with the RBL. In Canada a group of knitters who were knitting poppies for the price of a donation, which they say they intended to give to the RCL, were reminded that they were violating the Legion’s IP. In addition to its statement of trademark, the RCL has a very clear copyright warning on its website;
“The material on this site is covered by the provisions of the Copyright Act, by Canadian laws, policies, regulations and international agreements. Reproduction of materials on this site, in whole or in part, for the purposes of commercial redistribution is prohibited except with written permission from The Royal Canadian Legion…”
And what materials are marketed on the site? Just about anything that you can stick a poppy symbol on—playing cards, bags, baseball caps, pins, brooches, watches, T-shirts, magnets, umbrellas, scarves, toques, mittens, stuffed animals, even cellphone cases. You get the idea. And then there are digital versions of the poppy that you can purchase and use to embellish your Facebook page. All the proceeds go to the Legion and then on to its veterans’ welfare programs (although the Legion is not a registered charity).
Well, who knew that the innocuous looking poppy on people’s lapels on Remembrance Day carried such weighty IP concerns on its shoulders? When you drop your donation into the collection box, and pin your poppy on your jacket or shirt, remember…even the humble poppy can be controversial when it comes to trademark and copyright issues.
Image: Théâtre D’Opéra Spatial, Jason B. Allen (not protected by copyright)
Last week I wrote about Stephen Thaler’s quixotic and determined approach to obtain copyright registration in the US for his AI generated artwork, “A Recent Entrance to Paradise”, created (he claims) exclusively by his AI “machine”, the so-called Creativity Machine. So far, despite repeated efforts, he has drilled a dry hole. An alternative approach to claiming copyright for an AI-generated work is by asserting that the AI used to produce it was simply a technological assist. The essence of the work was produced through human creativity, using AI only as a tool, and therefore the work should be eligible for copyright protection, or so the argument goes. Unlike the example of Kristina Kashtanova, discussed in last week’s blog, under this theory the entire work is protectable because it was human created, with AI playing only a facilitating or assistive role. This line of attack has most recently been pushed by the creator of the work “Théâtre D’Opéra Spatial”, Jason B. Allen.
Allen made headlines a couple of years back (September 2022) when he entered Théâtre into the Colorado State Fair’s annual art competition in the category of “digital art/digitally manipulated photography.” He labelled the piece as having been created by him, “via Midjourney”, the popular generative AI art algorithm that had recently been released. He won first prize, incurring the opprobrium of many artists who accused him of crashing a contest for human creators. Writing just a month later, in October of 2022, I posted my own AI produced artwork, based on the style of Monet (whose works are in the public domain) in this blog post, (AI and Computer-Generated Art: Its Impact on Artists and Copyright). My effort was substantially less artistic than Allen’s but was an original work of sorts, created with the help of AI. I used the program DALL-E2, which is similar to Midjourney. Both were freely available and a tool that any rank amateur “artist” (like me) could use.
Generative AI as a source of art burst into the public’s consciousness in 2022 because of the public release of these programs, but AI generated art has been around for a few years before that although used exclusively by art specialists. The New York Times reports on a sale at Christie’s Auction House four years earlier, in October 2018 (not exactly eons ago, but generations in internet/AI time). A portrait with blurred and distorted lines produced by an AI algorithm sold in New York for $432,500 (with fees). Christie’s, in inimitable auctioneering style, billed it as “the first portrait generated by an algorithm to come up for auction”, according to the Times. Now AI generated art is a dime a dozen. In fact, often it is hard to tell what is AI generated and what is not.
If the question of copyright protection for AI generated content is a big issue, an even bigger one is currently being played out currently in the courts; content owners, ranging from the New York Times to Getty Images to music labels to authors, are suing various AI development companies for unlicensed use of their content to train AI programs. The Copyright Alliance has a good summary of the various lawsuits in play here. The ultimate outcome is undecided, but if the courts find that the wholesale unlicensed and unauthorized ingestion of copyrighted content to train AI algorithms is not fair use (in the US) or does not fall within specified text and data mining exceptions in other jurisdictions, then the table will be set for serious negotiation between rights holders and AI developers. Some of the parameters of this negotiation are already pretty obvious;
a transparent inventory of what copyrighted works were accessed for training;
the ability of rights holders to be able to opt out or opt in;
various options for licensing content for training purposes.
If these conditions governing inputs were met, rights holders might be somewhat more sympathetic to arguments for copyrighting the output of generative AI programs. As it is, AI developers, and the users of AI programs, want to have their cake and eat it too. Jason B. Allen of “Théâtre D’Opéra Spatial” is Exhibit No. 1.
Allen is currently appealing in court the US Copyright Office’s ruling that his work cannot be registered under copyright. He claims that because of all the publicity about his work, and the USCO’s subsequent decision to deny copyright registration on the grounds that it was an AI generated rather than human creation, the work has lost value and impacted his ability to charge industry-standard licensing fees. Moreover, he claims that without copyright protection, he has no ability to stop others from using his work without authorization. (Like me, posting Théâtre on this blog post). Apparently, people are selling copies of the work on Etsy. One has some sympathy for his position, as it is one faced by many artists whose copyrighted works are also being ripped off on the internet.
Allen argues he had substantial creative input into the production of the work, using no fewer than 624 prompts to create the work to his mental specifications. Of course, we have no idea of what those specifications were. What Midjourney produced may have been an accurate reflection of what Allen had in his mind and intentionally created, or it may have taken him on a journey where he eventually settled on the output offered. One thing is likely, if not certain. Were he to enter those exact same prompts into Midjourney today, the outcome would not be identical to the current “Théâtre D’Opéra Spatial”. This raises the question of who, exactly, is guiding the creative process, the artist making the prompts, or the algorithm responding to the prompts.
Because of the way AI works, there is a large degree of randomness in the results, requiring more and more precise prompts to narrow the range of possibilities and guide the algorithm to the desired destination. But it is almost impossible to recreate precisely the route to an outcome. This suggests to me that, in the end, it is the algorithm that is in control, not the human issuing the prompts. (Although not everyone agrees with this thesis). To my mind, this is what distinguishes AI-generated art from photography, where the photographer, while using a mechanical assist, is nevertheless in full control at all times and has the ability to adjust for extraneous inputs such as light, shadow etc. rather than being controlled by them.
Allen’s appeal of the USCO’s rejection of his copyright claim takes place against a backdrop where Midjourney, the AI program he used, is itself being sued by a group of artists for appropriating their work without permission in order to train Midjourney’s art generation algorithms. Does anyone see any irony in this? However, the fact that Midjourney takes the works of others without permission for training and development purposes is not really Allen’s fault. He and other users of the program could perhaps be considered victims almost as much as the artists whose works have been appropriated. Nevertheless, if Allen is ever successful in getting Théâtre registered, this will be not just to his benefit, but also to the benefit of Midjourney and all the other AI developers who are in a similar position. On the other hand, if the output of their programs cannot be copyright protected, it diminishes the value of the AI product. So, perversely, the more Allen pursues registration for Théâtre, the more he undercuts those who make a living from producing art.
I see one possible scenario that could help resolve the issue of AI outputs being unprotectable. If the key elements of respect for copyrighted work (transparent inventory, opt in/out, licensing) were to be adopted by AI developers, then perhaps rights-holders would be more amenable to accepting at least some degree of copyright protection for AI created or assisted outputs. But right now, the AI industry wants it both ways; total freedom to appropriate copyrighted works for training and development purposes while claiming the same copyright protection they have just trampled for AI generated outputs. Jason Allen and other digital artists who use AI to produce art or other works are caught in the middle.
At the moment there is no clear solution. The most likely outcome–after all the legal dust has settled—is probably going to be some ability to copyright works produced with AI, dependent on the extent and degree of human intervention in a given work (which could possibly be carefully tailored prompts), balanced by a commitment by the AI industry to recognize the property rights of those holding copyright over the content it is using to create the AI program in the first place. This will necessarily involve an appropriate sharing of the added value being produced by AI in the form of licensing fees. This will take a few more years, a few more lawsuits, a few court decisions, and a few government interventions in the form of legislation–but I can see no other way forward. In the interim, neither Stephen Thaler nor Jason Allen are likely to get what they want.
