Why is IP regulation required for jokes?

Certain expressions are already copyrighted. The copyright may be claimed over the specific performance (videos) or the collection such as in case of books. However, this post aims at focusing only on the content of a joke. We may, in principle, agree on the premise that when a comedian puts some creative efforts, his creative skills should be protected. Whenever we face an object that can be regulated, law seems to be the obvious regulator. However, the question that arises is, should this regulation be based in law? Lawrence Lessig, in his book, Code 2.0, suggests that essentially, there are four regulators: Market, norms, law and architecture. In this post, I adopt this very framework of regulation discussed by Lessig to understand the regulability of jokes.

Market and evolving architecture of jokes

In early 20th century stand-up comedy, the jokes mainly comprised of one-liners which were considered to be the common property. Later, the creation of jokes itself became more important. This can be attributed to the market where competition required the generation of joke content and not just performance. Therefore, comedians found themselves more invested. This was also affected by several changes in comic markets which furthered the demand for content.  This market demand also changed the structure of jokes in stand up comedy. The jokes, which earlier took the form of one-liners, were now divided into set-up and punch line. This shows the interaction of market and architecture as regulators of stand-up comedy industry. In the following sections, I will discuss the relevance of market and architecture in evolving norms and legal rules.

Evolution of norms in Stand-up comedy

Some of the classic writings on jokes considered the protection purely in terms of copyright. However, the later studies have argued that due to the existence of the norms in the industry of stand-up comedy, there is no need of legal protection. The norms governing the industry, though informal and without any legal backing are effective and extend from ostracism and badmouthing to at times, physical violence.

Earlier, when the jokes were mainly one-liners, the repetition of jokes was more acceptable and the rights of the creator existed in performance rather than in the joke content. However, a study conducted by Oliar and Sprigman shows that with later changes in the structure of jokes, the norms that exist in the industry of stand-up comedy no more recognise joke-theft justified. Further, the norms of the industry no more recognise the jokes themselves as commons. Therefore, these market changes also affected the change in norms of stand-up comedy industry.

Law as a regulator of IP rights over joke

A joke is essentially a literary creation like a poem, story etc. Therefore, at least in theory, it will merit copyright protection. However, the theoretical protection itself is not sufficient to sustain a substantial legal claim. This is because of the idea-expression dichotomy that lies at the heart of copyright. Copyright law protects the expression and not the idea. Another important, though not doctrinal concern is the costs attached with litigation. Sometimes, the costs may just overwhelm the market value of joke. Though not through copyright, the issue of joke stealing has come up in front of courts in several different forms. For one-liners, the tort of passing off may be claimed, if that one liner is an identifier line for the comedian. One such claim was also successfully made in in Foxworthy v. Custom Tees, Inc. (879 F. Supp. 1200 (N.D. Ga. 1995)). In some instances, the cases have also been filed under the claim of misleading advertisement.

No property regulation can ensure the eradication of theft, but it should ensure that enough protection to property is given that investing in property remains worthwhile. At the same time, we should be careful in expanding legal protections to every creative activity. This also works with jokes. Therefore, the essential question that will have to be asked is: whether the regulators other than ‘law’ are sufficient to protect the creativity? As demonstrated above, market, architecture and norms collectively provide sufficient protection to creativity in context of jokes.

On one of those tiring internship days in Delhi, I stumbled upon an interestingly titled book written by Ravish Kumar “Ishq Mein Shahar Hona” amongst the numerous books laden on one of the typical bicycle book vendors right opposite to Triveni Kala Sangam at Tansen Marg. Ishq Mein Shahar Hona is a compilation of micro-fiction stories, each story being only a few sentences long. A loose translation of Ishq Mein Shahar Hona is ‘a city in love’. This is obviously my own inference, but the point should nevertheless be made: The phrase conveys a message completely different from “Shahar mein ishq hona”, which would be ‘love in a city’. The book is not about how the experiences of love in rural setting are different from experiences of love in urban setting. Instead, it is about how one’s being in love can affect his urban experiences. The book is about the blending of experiences of love and experiences of becoming and being ‘urban’. While on one hand, it gives us a different picture of Delhi, on the other hand, it also creates its own niche in the ways we read and write about the themes of ‘love’ and ‘urban’.

The most enthusing part of the book is its introduction titled “shahar ka kitaab banna”, which can be vaguely translated to mean, ‘a city turning into a book’. The introduction narrates Ravish’s personal experiences of ‘becoming urban’, for one who migrates from a typical rural environment. Beautifully described by him, the journey of becoming ‘urban’ begins with a distinction between ‘temporary address’ and ‘permanent address’ which hovers over the newly urbanising people, constantly reminding them of the insecurity of still not having procured permanent address. He describes the process of transforming from a quintessential ‘rural’ to ‘becoming urban’ as one where clear lines between ‘permanent’ and ‘temporary’ first become fuzzy and subsequently, the feeling that the city after all is just a temporary address vanishes away. The process where city transforms from a ‘temporary’ address to a ‘permanent’ address is, according to him, what essentially characterises the process of becoming urban.

Delhi is read and written about from different lenses: political corridors, historical monuments, famous moments etc. While Delhi is burdened with the heavyweight of historicity and politics in our readings, in its daily existence, it also shares some light moments with lovers who are historically and politically irrelevant. Ishq mein shahar hona brings out this aspect of Delhi very beautifully, entombed in the shared experiences of the many individuals who constitute its public spaces.

The book covers multiplicity of urban experiences from the occasional middle class protests, the daily travel insecurities to religious and caste tensions. While in some stories, ‘urban’ is shown as anonymous, and thus facilitating closeness between two people, in other stories, ‘urban’ is shown as a constantly surveilling state force. In some stories, the lovers are compared to different parts of the city, while others showcase the lovers’ longing for lonely surroundings. The book brings out the dual forces of public anonymity, yet more intimate personal space that a city may breed between two people.

The narrative doesn’t separate the quintessential urban experiences from the experiences of love. Ishq mein shahar hona does not hide the necessary ingredients of Delhi like politics and history. The love stories are not apolitical or isolated in vacuum. In fact, at times, there are strong political commentaries through these stories. The idea that it is difficult to escape from ‘being political’ in Delhi is beautifully portrayed by Ravish. In one of the stories, where two lovers are participating in a political protest, one lover asks the other – “Are we in love or in politics?” To this, the other replies – “How does it matter, if we are in love or in politics? We are in Delhi.” In another story, where one lover mentions that he sees Anna and Gandhi in his dreams, the other replies – “tum bahut political ho gaye ho”(you have become very political).

Ravish also locates the daily urban problems in the context of experiences of love. In one story, the lovers lament that they meet less often now, due to rise in petrol prices. In another story, they are struggling with the status connotations that are attached with different areas of Delhi. Another very prominent theme is the urban obsession with English and its role in status connotations. In one story where a woman uses English to show off her status in a fish shop, Ravish has a very elegant way to express his concern with this obsession -“English is not supposed to be the weapon for every status battle.”

It shows us how even urban love is not really disconnected with what we may ordinarily understand to be stereotypically rural experiences. While urban may be representative of progressive society, the specter of caste and religious divides often haunt the urban experiences. However, the book showcases the sentiment that this doesn’t hold back the young urban from falling in love and imagining a future, which can chart the course that the Constitutional idea of India is supposed to provide for. While the social change that the Constitutional ideals may bring, these lovers place their trust in the Constitution for the limited purpose of struggling through the oppressive social customs for getting united. Portraying this very idea, I conclude this post with my favourite story from this book titled “Khaap kahin aaspaas” (Khaap is somewhere nearby): Two lovers are sitting with each other under the statue of Ambedkar. She asks him, “Why does this man in blue coat always stand there with a book (The Constitution of India)?” After thinking for a while about Ambedkar’s dream of casteless society and the Constitutional ideals, he replies, “I assure you, this book will one day unite us”.

]]> http://www.criticaltwenties.in/reflections-2/of-love-and-urban-experiences-ravish-kumars-ishq-mein-shahar-hona/feed 0 http://www.criticaltwenties.in/reflections-2/all-of-my-demons-guest-post-by-trisha-sunderajan http://www.criticaltwenties.in/reflections-2/all-of-my-demons-guest-post-by-trisha-sunderajan#comments Sun, 19 Jul 2015 10:44:27 +0000 Aradhya Sethia http://www.criticaltwenties.in/?p=5741 Guest Post by Trisha Sunderajan

I sit in my classic white lab-coat, clutching a pen and a pad, entombed by the shelter of my desk. She sits twiddling her thumbs opposite me.  She looks up at me over the landscape of my desk, a classic bundle of nerve, as though unsure of where to start.

“Start from the very beginning”, I flash an encouraging smile. The seconds tick by.  In our profession, we are taught to gently prod the patient and not to coerce them.  “They pay you for your time, listen attentively”, they would say. Every psychiatrist will probably carry this old saying to her grave.

“It all started in the fourth month, when he came home one evening from work”, she begins with a stammer.  “He seemed to have had a bad day, and we got into a fight over something so inconsequential I cannot even remember anymore. When our argument seemed to be reaching no conclusion, he gingerly shoved me into the cupboard.  When I yelled at him to stop, he turned around and hit me across my face”

Her deep, dark secret out in the open, she looked up at me for any signs of shock, maybe even disgust.  “ Was this followed by many other such incidents?” I ask calmly.

“Again after a month. Drunkenly, his strong hands grabbed hold of my waist, and pulled me close enough to growl at me in my face. When I refused to back down, it was followed by the same fate” she continues, more confidently.

I stare at her, my face impassive. Her choice of adjectives, her entire demeanor, it dawns upon me that she might actually enjoy it.  Yet, if she did enjoy it, she surely would not be seeking help for it, would she?

“Was this the first man who treated you this way? Maybe you were witness to this before in your past?” I ask, gauging her every expression, trying to decipher why there was more reverence than disgust in her voice, when she speaks of him.

“My father used to hit my mother” she begins slowly. “At first, it used to be only when he used to lose at chess, and was in an inebriated state. Then, it began to happen more often. My mother’s cries stayed with me, through my adolescence and into adulthood. They reverberated off my college dorm and the images haunted my every dream. I promised myself that I would never allow myself to be a victim of the same. Yet, now, in the face of love, stuck in my very own limbo, I cannot seem to leave” she finally looks up from her fingers. They’re weaving their own imaginary cloth, as she knits them lost in thought.

She seems to be seeking approval, more than an escape route. She just wants a logical explanation for her behavior. She’s completely at crossroads with herself, one path is her logic and her sense of reason, and the other denotes who she is beginning to realize she really is. It occurs to me that this is what she wants. The thought of being dominated over is not as repulsive to her as she once assumed it would be. She’s looking at me with her confused expression, and her most heightened sense is her sense of guilt. Her guilt at how pleasurable she finds it. I begin to unravel, that the only thing that brings her to my office is society’s opinion on how it should be. Maybe, she whispered her woes into the wrong ears and they absolutely insisted that she seek help immediately.

So how exactly does one explain this? We live in a time, where every billboard, every speech or school play is preaching women empowerment. Yet, she stands as a lone exception, clothed in her own definition of domination.  Was she just a patient of Stockholm syndrome or maybe just a victim of her own deluded ideals of self worth?  Is it an absurd idea to enjoy your captivity, to feed off the drama? We could pin this on her demons of her childhood, throw her into the basket we reserve for damaged goods. However, we cannot ignore the fact that people like her still exist. So now what? Does this make her mentally ill? Or even completely bonkers?  Where we see freedom, she sees a long lonely stretch of land. Where we see equality in love, she seeks to be the submissive.

The chiming of the clock interrupts my thoughts. I watch her silhouette pass through the swiveling doors. The sound of her retreating footsteps takes her story with her.  They bring the reality of how during the hour, she has managed to teach me more about life than I could have ever taught her.

You can contact her on trishasunderajan93@gmail.com

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