Canada’s most important science fiction author spent years writing about the future.
William Gibson, who coined the term cyberspace and wrote one of the most critically acclaimed science-fiction novels of all time – Neuromancer, in 1984 – described a digitally connected virtual world long before it actually existed.
Today, Mr. Gibson is convinced the sheer speed of technology’s progress has made it impossible to predict not only what comes next, but also the uses and lifespans of current technologies. Simply put, we have little idea in what direction our digital tools are taking us.
“I’ve been telling people that emerging technology drives change and that the change is now exponential,” he says.
“[Even] the people who create new technologies have no idea, often, what [will be] the most significant societal changes their technology causes.”
Brisk and unpredictable technological change has had a profound impact on almost every aspect of society. But many of its most surprising side effects have occurred in cultural industries.
For years, Canada has attempted to protect its cultural content – books, music, television, film – from being overshadowed by those of larger nations, notably the United States. Canadian private television broadcasters such as CTV and Global are required to spend 30 per cent of their gross revenues on Canadian programming. Thirty-five per cent of the songs on Canadian commercial radio stations must be by Canadian artists.
(Listen to the entire William Gibson interview. Right-click on the link and "Save Link As/Save Target As" to download or left-click to stream)
But such rules were written long before the Internet transformed culture, its dissemination, and its reach. Look at Canada’s most recent cultural success stories and you’ll find the likes of Justin Bieber, an international teenage pop sensation whose low-budget YouTube videos were viewed 55-million times before he ever sat down with a record label executive.
But at a time when we use 21st-century tools to disseminate culture, we are in many ways using 20th-century laws to regulate it.
So how do we protect and promote Canadian culture in the digital age?
Right now, the answer to that question is intertwined with the fate of Canada’s copyright policies. The federal government is on the verge of passing Bill C-32, which would rewrite much of our laws on copyright, a vital if contentious pillar of cultural industries.
Although many debates have framed the copyright issue as an economic one, or a matter of consumer rights versus business concerns, the copyright bill will have a great impact on Canadian culture. If Ottawa institutes too many regulations telling Canadians what they can and can’t do with their movies, songs and other digital content, consumers may feel their rights are being curtailed in favour of record companies and movie studios. If those same movie studios feel Canada is too lax on laws to prosecute people who copy or distribute movies, Canada’s film industry may suffer as a result. The stakeholders are plenty and pleasing all of them seems almost impossible.
But the controversy over copyright policy overlooks the fact that real-world borders that used to make U.S. dominance Canada’s biggest foreign cultural worry no longer exist for culture. The Internet has made it possible to easily push Canadian creations to the rest of the world, and for the rest of the world to do the same to Canada. If the laws that govern how this country’s cultural industries are used by consumers fail to strike the right balance, Canada may find itself at a disadvantage as creators flock to friendlier jurisdictions, or consumers opt for the endless global content available on the Web.
Although there is no shortage of differing opinions, everyone seems to agree that our existing and outdated copyright regime is in need of change.
“If you told the average Canadian that recording a television show was still an active infringement in Canada, I mean, they would laugh,” says Michael Geist, Canada research chair of Internet and e-commerce law at the University of Ottawa.
Back in 1979, years before anyone had heard of Napster, the copyright debate of the day centred on that very thing – the potentially disruptive technology of videotapes.
