In March 2022, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office (“CIPO”)  its first artificial intelligence (AI)-authored copyright registration of a painting co-created by the AI tool, RAGHAV Painting App (“RAGHAV”), and the IP lawyer who created RAGHAV, Ankit Sahni. RAGHAV is the first non-human “author” of a copyrighted work. However, Canadian courts  that “[c]learly a human author is required to create an original work for copyright purposes” (para 88). Though the AI tool is a co-author with a human, the registration suggests that both RAGHAV and Ankit Sahni can constitute an author under the copyright regime and  amongst Canadian artists. Though the landscape in Canada is still unclear, the US Copyright Office (“Office”)  a clarification on March 16, 2023, about its practices for examining and registering works that contain material generated by artificial intelligence (AI) technology.

The Human Authorship Requirement

The Office  that the term “author,” used in both the US Constitution and the Copyright Act, excludes non-humans. To qualify as a work of ‘authorship,’ a work must be created by a human being and works produced by a machine or mere mechanical process that operates randomly or automatically without any creative input or intervention from a human author are not registrable. This threshold reflects the Canadian copyright regime,. The author  significant original expression to the work that is  to be characterized as a purely mechanical exercise.

The US Copyright Office’s Approach to AI-Generated Work

The Office provided important  on assessing the protectable elements of AI-generated works. It begins by distinguishing whether the ‘work’ is one of human authorship, with the AI tool merely being an assisting instrument, or whether the protectable elements of authorship in the work (literary, artistic, or musical expression or elements of selection, arrangement, etc.) were conceived and executed not by man but by a machine.

If the machine produced the expressive elements of the work, it is not copyrightable. This guidance is critical for  surrounding Chat-GPT, where the AI tool receives a prompt from the user, and the user does not exercise ultimate creative control of the output. The Office provided an  where a user instructs an AI tool to “write a poem about copyright law in the style of William Shakespeare”. Given that the user contributes little to no expressive elements to the AI-generated output, the output is not a product of human authorship or protected under the US Copyright Act.

However, the Office also  that, in some cases, AI-generated works might contain sufficient human-authored elements to warrant copyright protection. This may apply in cases where the human selects or arranges the AI-generated elements or modifies the AI-generated material to a degree where it constitutes original expression. The analysis seeks to determine whether a human had ultimate creative control over the expression and formed the traditional elements of authorship.

This guidance is in response to a recent review by the Office of a  titled “Zarya of the Dawn” containing human-authored elements combined with AI-generated images. While the Office  that the author, Kristina Kashtanova, owned the work’s text and the selection, coordination, and arrangement of the work’s written and visual elements, copyright protection did not extend to the images generated by the AI tool, Midjourney. Though Kashtanova edited the Midjourney images, the Office held that the creativity supplied did not constitute authorship.

How will this apply in Canada?

Given the registration of RAGHAV as an author under Canadian copyright law last year, it remains to be seen whether CIPO will follow a similar assessment as the US Office and revisit the decision to register an AI-generated work as a work of joint authorship. However,  question whether moral rights, which are not part of the US regime, will extend to AI authors and if AI authorship will alter the copyright term of the last living author’s death plus 70 years. The increasing traction of AI warrants similar guidance from CIPO regarding the status of AI authorship under Canadian copyright law.

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Shannon Flynn is a Guest Writer and the Managing Editor of Rehack Magazine.

You may subscribe to the idea that after you craft something, creatively or professionally, it is automatically yours by right. That is not always the case; at the heart of legal ownership is intellectual property rights. IP is thrown around a lot in business, especially as it relates to software development and creative projects. But how do IP rights apply to software? In this article, I will explore what software engineers and developers need to know to protect their work in both the U.S. and Canada.

Deconstructing Intellectual Property Rights

Intellectual property rights can be broken down into four different types. Copyright protection covers many creative works, including computer programs, databases, technical drawings, and mobile applications. Developers should also consider acquiring software patents and trade secrets. Trademarks may also apply to protect the company’s names, symbols, and brand assets.

Ultimately, intellectual property rights refer to an intangible form of ownership over a creation or finished product (in this case, a software application). Patents, copyrights, trade secrets, and trademarks each offer a specific kind of protection for software.

Software Patents

In the United States, patents offer creators exclusive monopoly to manage an invention. Patent holders are free to produce, use and sell the item as they see fit. The trade-off is that they must describe their product in full detail to the U.S. Patent Office, which publishes this information publicly.

Unfortunately, “there is no legal or conclusive definition for a software patent.” This is because does not allow for the patenting of abstract ideas.

However, software patents can be obtained for systems, methods, algorithms, techniques, display presentations, UI features, and similar mechanics. They must be presented as new ideas with practical use and they must be “non-obvious.”

Copyright Protection

Copyright is probably the most important intellectual property protection for software.

Copyright protection complements patent protection. While patents protect the inner workings of a software application, as well as novel ideas and concepts, copyright protection extends to the manifestation of those ideas. It for literary, artistic, dramatic, or musical works. In other words, it covers the source code, creative elements, and UI and visual elements.

For example, consider if someone creates an application that allows users to rent out items they own to members of their local community. The underlying code and deployment of that application are protected under copyright law, along with the unique UI elements, visuals, and content. However, the idea itself, a rental app, can be copied by others without repercussions, so long as they do not use the same source code and content.

Trade Secrets

A trade secret refers to any medium discovered and maintained by the original owner that remains private and usually provides a competitive advantage. It can include but is not limited to formulas, recipes, patterns, devices, compounds, tools, processes, and mechanisms. There is no federal trade secrets law or statute in Canada. Instead, Canadian trade secret laws are or civil law.

There is no time limit on trade secrets, as they can be kept private forever. The only exception is if another party discovers them on their own, which is possible. Because they are hidden, trade secrets may only be stolen as opposed to being infringed upon.

Cybersecurity events pose a major risk as trade secrets may be stolen or required as collateral by the attackers. Not protecting trade secrets and intellectual property when working with other parties can have serious consequences, like the case with Aerojet Rocketdyne Holdings Inc. and its efense.

With software, trade secrets are kind of tricky. They might include proprietary code and the inner workings or ideas behind it. But if those ideas can be gleaned through reverse engineering, or someone independently discovers them, there is no legal redress.

Trademarks

Trademarks are designed to related to a business or venture. They are “concerned with a company’s need to identify its goods or services among its customers and potential customers.”

Trademarks protect a company’s name, domain, images, and product design elements. They must be registered to activate the legal protections. Some popular trademarks include Nike’s iconic check, Coca-Cola’s logo, and Disney’s Mickey ears.

In the software world, Microsoft’s Windows logo is an excellent example.

Open Source and IP

In the software development world, things can get confusing because of a few different practices. For example, open-source software and agreements can be difficult to navigate. Many open-source projects on depositories, , allow a community of creators to participate.

“When you tap into GitHub [...], you’re free to access any of the files hosted on the platform, and you can even use the content as you wish. You can download the code and use the resulting software, study it to better your own projects, or build upon and improve it to make the existing project better.”

However, releasing an open-source project does not necessarily forfeit intellectual property rights. There are different licenses to choose from, and the permissions granted to umbrella users must be followed closely. They must abide by licensing rules, or they .

Author versus Owner

When it comes to software, the author of various elements like code or visuals isn’t necessarily the legal owner entitled to intellectual property rights. This is a particular concern for employer-employee relationships, where developers work at a large company with dozens or even hundreds of others.

Unless it is otherwise stated, the employer owns what is . Even independent contractors must abide by a legally-binding contract unless they’ve negotiated rights ownership.

Section 13(1) of the "author of a work” is the first owner of the “copyright therein.” In addition, Section 13(3) of the Act stipulates that any works created under a "contract of service" by employees are owned by the employer.

Protecting Your Work

The best way to protect your work, secure intellectual property rights, and lockdown trade secrets, where applicable, is to make sure you understand these concepts and how they apply to your project. If you’re working on a software application by yourself or with a small team, it will be your responsibility to protect your content and systems.

If you’re working for an employer, they likely already have protections in place, and you need to understand where you fit in. For instance, you probably do not own the rights to the content or code you are creating.

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Quoting musician Greg Gillis (a.k.a. “”), Lessig illuminates the concept as “[t]his appropriation time where any grade-school kid [who] has a copy of Photoshop [….] can download a picture of George Bush and manipulate his face how they [sic] want.” This redefinition of authorship in the digital age is echoed in the Ecce Homo v. Ecce Mono controversy too, because it questions whether copyright should be used to protect something that “defaces” or reduces the value of the original work, even if it falls within the four traditional areas of copyrightable works.

In early October, Vladimir Umanets, co-founder of the so-called art movement “,” at the Tate Modern gallery in London. In his own eyes, this was not an act of vandalism, but a redefinition of a piece of art as not-art, and therefore, as a piece of Yellowism. Whether or not I actually understand the nuances of Umanets’ manifesto, I do wonder about the implications his actions might have on the perception of what remix culture constitutes. To me, this art-(and now, not-art)-is-in-the-eye-of-the-beholder perspective is being used as a justification for vandalism here. Of course, I might only be saying this because the underlying work in question is a famous painting in its own right, and the Yellowist’s (Umanets refuses the labels “artist” or “vandal”) contribution to it is detrimental to its innate value, at least for me. Umanets would disagree, believing that he has through its inclusion in the folds of Yellowism. His act asks whether the value of a derivative work is inherently linked to the effect of increasing or decreasing the original’s worth, or if it can have a separate and stand-alone value as a new work of art.

The parallel Ecce Homo v. Ecce Mono debate considers whether the value of a derivative work rests on public reaction, if its economic and artistic values are confused with each other, and if something can be “valuable vandalism.” For instance, , perhaps the most famous guerilla artist of our time, has often probed the murky philosophy behind the legal definition of “art,” by producing enduring stencilled works on state-owned property, which have had a lasting and positive effect on the public’s view of art, while creating .

What then, is the difference between Banksy, Cecilia Gimenez (the Ecce Mono creator) and Umanets? Is it the perceived value attached to the purpose that the work serves, perhaps making it worthy of being categorized as art? Or is it the real (monetary) value that the work is given, so that it is only considered art because it commands a price, which sends the (inaccurate) message that a work of art is only so if it is considered economically valuable? Or is it that the very act of vandalism is a blunt manifestation of the abstract concept of the “remix” in remix culture, where all derivative works are vandalised versions of the originals to some degree?

Copyright law does not take it upon itself to determine the quality of a literary, dramatic, musical or artistic work but only decides if it is copyrightable, . Derivative works , arguably falling into both categories at times (thanks to the oft-contradictory perceptions of the originality requirement in copyright). For cases of vandalism, it may well be that the process of defacement creates a new work that is itself worthy of protection, independent of its perceived quality. For Banksy, this may be the recognition of his works as distinctive expressions of thought, but for Gimenez, it may be the distinctiveness attributed to the Ecce Mono by its circumstances, resulting fame, and the money it generates for the Sancti Spiritus foundation.

Umanets’ act is arguably neither of the above, even as it incorporates elements of both. The defaced painting could well be copyrightable; the issue with it, as it is may be with all “vandal works,” is whether it is ethically worthy of copyright protection, even if legally found to be so. This contemplation may be debatable in the application of copyright law, but is, I believe, one of the fundamental questions that remix culture-at-work raises.

Mekhala Chaubal is a JD Candidate at Osgoode Hall Law School and is currently enrolled in Osgoode’s Intellectual Property Law and Technology Intensive Program.  As part of the program requirements, students are asked to write a blog on a topic of their choice.

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The idea that the purpose of copyright law is to provide incentives for creativity is among the most fundamental and most established ideas in North American copyright discourse.[1] There can be no doubt, of course, that copyright discourse in North America is highly contested. Some regard it as nothing less than the site of so-called “copyright wars,” of intense struggles—intellectual as much as practical, political as much as theoretical—between copyright maximalists and copyright minimalists, advocates of high copyright protection and advocates of low copyright protection. [2] This manifest presence of vibrant, vigorous, and vivid controversy, however, obscures the depth of the latent agreement that frames it. Few, if any at all, would contest the bedrock idea that copyright law is about providing incentives for creativity.[3] The pervasiveness of the hold that instrumentalism has over the North American copyright imagination is paralleled only by the ease with which that imagination summarily rejects or dismisses rights-based accounts of copyright law—accounts rooted in a vision of the inherent dignity of authorship.

One of the nodal points of the copyright wars is the ongoing discussion about the expansion of copyright scope and copyright subject matter since the enactment of the Statute of Anne,[4] the world’s first copyright statute, in eighteenth century England. Predictably, whereas copyright minimalists object strenuously to this expansion, copyright maximalists support it. Equally unsurprisingly, both maximalists and minimalists formulate their position from the shared standpoint of instrumentalist copyright theory.

My purpose here is to offer minimalists some words of both caution and comfort. The cautionary aspect is that minimalism ought to be far more suspicious than it actually is about the instrumentalist hegemony in copyright discourse. Instrumentalist discourse is, in my view, part and parcel of the very expansion that minimalism seeks to counter. Copyright protection has consistently expanded since Donaldson v. Beckett [5] affirmed (a) the supremacy of the Statute of Anne over common law copyright, and (b) the still prevailing view that copyright law is not a juridical recognition of rights inherent in the act of authorship but rather a policy instrument designed to promote the public interest in creativity. Thus, historically speaking, copyright expansion has taken place and continues to take place under the supremacy of instrumentalism. To be sure, this historical correlation is not by itself sufficient to persuade us that instrumentalism is necessarily complicit in the constriction of the public domain. It does strike me as sufficient, however, to generate significant unease about any uncritical adoption of the instrumentalist paradigm in the name of the expansion of the public domain.[6]

The comfort I seek to offer is that there are, of course, alternative accounts of copyright law. These accounts are none other than the rights-based accounts that, in its habitual endorsement of instrumentalism, minimalism dismisses far too summarily. One of the major complaints that minimalism levels against rights-based discourse is that, once enshrined as a matter of inherent dignity, the rights of authors under copyright law cannot be easily constrained. With this complaint in mind, I want to emphasize that, on the contrary, rights-based discourse envisions not only the claims of authorship but also, and therefore, those of the public domain as a matter of inherent dignity. The rights-based account of authorship is also a rights-based account of the public domain. My purpose is, in short, to generate minimalist unease about instrumentalism and to evoke the as yet largely unexplored potential of a rights-based minimalism.[7] At the very least, I seek to undo the widespread apprehension that rights-based accounts are necessarily maximalist accounts.

Following a sketch of the shared terrain on which the copyright wars take place (Part II), I make some observations about minimalism as a critical stance seeking to oppose a particular normative conception of copyright law to the realities of copyright expansion (Part III). I then briefly describe the historical correlation between instrumentalism and copyright expansion (Part IV). I conclude with some remarks about the absence in instrumentalist discourse of an account of the necessary role of the public domain in copyright law, and about the presence of such an account in rights-based discourse (Part V).

[1] See William Fisher, Theories of Intellectual Property, in NEW ESSAYS IN THE LEGAL AND POLITICAL THEORY OF PROPERTY 168, 169–73 (Stephen R. Munzer ed., 2001).

[2]  See, e.g., WILLIAM PATRY, MORAL PANICS AND THE COPYRIGHT WARS 1–41 (2009). For discussion of copyright maximalism and copyright minimalism, see Neil Weinstock Netanel, Copyright and a Democratic Civil Society, 106 YALE L.J. 283, 285–88 (1996). For discussion of copyright politics, see JESSICA LITMAN, DIGITAL COPYRIGHT (2001).

[3] For examples of such contestation, see ROBERTA ROSENTHAL KWALL, THE SOUL OF CREATIVITY 23, 53 (2010); Abraham Drassinower, Authorship as Public Address: On the Specificity of Copyrightv vis- `a-vis Patent and Trade-mark, 2008 MICH. ST. L. REV. 199; Wendy J. Gordon, A Property Right in Self-Expression: Equality and Individualism in the Natural Law of Intellectual Property, 102 YALE L.J. 1533, 1548 (1993); Justin Hughes, The Philosophy of Intellectual Property, 77 GEO. L.J. 287, 303–04 (1988); and Alfred C. Yen, Restoring the Natural Law: Copyright as Labor and Possession, 51 OHIO ST. L.J. 517, 518 (1990). See also Maurizio Borghi & Stavroula Karapapa, Non-Display Uses of Copyrighted Works: Google Books and Beyond, 1 QUEEN MARY J. INTELL. PROP. 21 (2011) (arguing for protection of non-display uses of digital works through data protection law in order to account for authorship rights more adequately than traditional copyright law); Kim Treiger-Bar-Am, Kant on Copyright: Rights of Transformative Authorship, 25 CARDOZO ARTS & ENT. L.J. 1059 (2008) (calling for a recognition of the tradition of authors’ rights extant in the Anglo-American copyright regime).

[4] 1710, 8 Ann., c. 19 (Eng.)

[5] 1774, 1 Eng. Rep. 837 (H.L.)

[6] For varying formulations of that unease, see Anne Barron, Copyright Infringement, ‘Free-Riding’ and the Lifeworld, in COPYRIGHT AND PIRACY 93 (Lionel Bently et al. eds., 2010); Maurizio Borghi, Copyright and Truth, 12 THEORETICAL INQUIRIES L. no. 1, art. 2 (2011), http://www.bepress.com/til/default/vol12/iss1/art2; Maurizio Borghi, Owning Form, Sharing Content: Natural-Right Copyright and Digital Environment, in 5 NEW DIRECTONS IN COPYRIGHT LAW 197 (Fiona Macmillan ed., 2007); Abraham Drassinower, From Distribution to Dialogue: Remarks on the Concept of Balance in Copyright Law, 34 J. CORP. L. 991 (2009) [hereinafter Drassinower, From Distribution to Dialogue]; Abraham Drassinower, A Rights-Based View of the Idea/Expression Dichotomy in Copyright Law, 16 CANADIAN J.L. & JURIS. 3 (2003) [hereinafter Drassinower, A Rights-Based View]. See also Stephen Breyer, The Uneasy Case for Copyright: A Study of Copyright in Books, Photocopies, and Computer Programs, 84 HARV. L. REV. 281, 350–51 (1970) (arguing that instrumentalist account provides a weak general case for copyright protection); Diane Leenheer Zimmerman, Copyright as Incentives: Did We Just Imagine That?, 12 THEORETICAL INQUIRIES L. no. 1, art. 3, at 29, 54–58 (2011), http://www.bepress. com/til/default/vol12/iss1/art3 (juxtaposing instrumentalist account of copyright law with issues concerning the nature of the creative process).

[7]  See Hugh Breakey, Natural Intellectual Property Rights and the Public Domain, 73 MOD. L. REV. 208 (2010); Abraham Drassinower, Taking User Rights Seriously, in IN THE PUBLIC INTEREST 462 (Michael Geist ed., 2005).

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Like many words, “authorship” takes on distinct meaning in the realm of copyright law.  However, it may be difficult to divorce historical values associated with the term even when it is used in the legal realm.  In his article, “”, Alan L. Durham explores the paradigm of romantic authorship which he views as a persistent influence on modern American copyright doctrine.  The romantic model, in Durham’s view, tends to misrepresent the author as a wielder of self-generated, personal, and even “magical” creative power.  Thus, using the conceptual framework of information theory, Durham examines two alternative and more inclusive redefinitions of authorship. 

His first model views authorship as the process of adding “noise” to a signal.  Authors are themselves seen as imperfect conduits, adding “conditional entropy” to their work with shaky hands, flawed vision, or other inherent imperfections.  However, in Durham’s view, this approach minimizes the human presence of the author and operates on an incomplete understanding of the role of the artist.  Thus, he prefers a second model of authorship which asks whether the human transmitter in a particular instance freely selected the elements of his or her work from a range of alternatives.  This second theory of authorship focuses on the inevitability of the work in question.  Effectively, where there is more opportunity for choice, the work in question is less inevitable and authorship is more likely to be recognized.

While Durham’s application of information theory leads him to an interesting conceptualization of authorship, his approach is also a response to the unique copyright context of the United States.  His concern about the prevalence of the romantic notion of authorship in copyright doctrine is based in no small part on the American definition of “originality” which includes the requirement that a copyrightable work contain a “modicum of creativity”.  As a result, Durham perceives the American definition of authorship as under-inclusive.  In his view, the “free selection” theory of authorship described above would not exclude protection of any works that have been found to attract copyright to date while simultaneously expanding the scope of copyright to include new and perhaps uncreative works.

In contrast, the Canadian definition of “originality” as stated by McLachlin J. in is explicitly defined as falling somewhere between a creativity standard (like the American model) and the Lockean “sweat of the brow” standard.  Rather than insisting on a modicum of creativity, Canadian law simply requires that a copyrighted work be more than a mere copy.  To determine whether a work meets this standard, courts will ask whether the expression in question required skill and judgement to produce.  This approach appears to be more inclusive that the American standard and may resolve many of Durham’s concerns in the Canadian context by sufficiently removing romantic creative elements from the legal definition of authorship.

While the CCH decision can be seen as broadening the definition of originality when compared to the American model, it is interesting to consider if and how Durham’s “free choice” standard of authorship differs from the current Canadian paradigm.  Like Durham’s model, McLachlin J.’s definition of “judgement” in CCH, considers whether the production of the work in question involved “evaluation by comparing different possible options”.  On the other hand, the Durham article theorizes that works of “arbitrary, indeterminate, or mechanical means” might satisfy his proposed “free choice” originality requirement and attract copyright protection.  It is certainly conceivable that works of this kind would fail to meet the current Canadian “skill and judgement” standard.

If Durham’s “free choice” model of authorship would in effect increase the scope of copyright protection beyond the current Canadian legal definition, it is relevant to ask whether such an expansion would serve the policy aims of the copyright system.  Like many scholars, Durham has noted, “if copyright law is to benefit the public as intended, it must balance the opposing tugs of author incentive and consumer access”.  We should therefore ask: are arbitrary, indeterminate, and mechanical works currently being under-produced because they are not adequately protected?  Is there a social benefit in attempting to increase production of this kind of work through fortified copyright protection?  These are questions that Durham does not address in substantive detail, yet they are relevant to a discussion of authorship and originality in the context of copyright law.

It is also possible that a copyright monopoly is not the appropriate means of ensuring protection for certain kinds of expression that would be defined as copyrightable by the Durham model.  Mechanically produced databases, for example, may arguably be better protected by unfair competition law or even by a sui generis right to data.  Although Durham acknowledges that his proposed theory of authorship would have to operate in conjunction with the “traditional dichotomies of copyright law”, he does not explore how far his new copyrightable territory would extend or the implications of the expansion.

While Durham’s article prompts many questions, especially in the context of Canadian copyright law, it also adds valuable perspective.  Defining authorship in relation to free choice and “indeterminacy” bolsters the increasingly popular view that most authors are essentially engaged in the process of selecting and recombining pre-existing elements.  The article also prompts us to re-examine some of the biases and assumptions that affect our approach to the legal constructs at the heart of our copyright system.  It is not entirely clear whether Durham is advocating substantive legal change in these areas or simply encouraging readers to consider them in a new light.  However, if we are to restructure the legal definition of terms like “originality”, due consideration must be given to the policy objectives that underpin copyright law in addition to prevailing conceptions of authorship.

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