Yet even if they believe this, we don't have to agree. In the material world, when a razor manufacturer claims that a generic razor blade maker is "stealing my customers" by making compatible blades, we simply laugh. The "hacking" there consists of looking at the razor and manufacturing a blade that will fit. To say this is somehow immoral seems laughable. Is the conclusion changed when the information about compatibility is inscribed in binary code and silicon circuits, rather than the molded plastic of a razor cartridge? What if ensuring the "fit" between the two products is not a matter of making sure the new blades snugly connect to the razor but of making sure the software embedded in my generic product sends the right code to the original product in order to be recognized? Our moral intuitions are a little less confident here. All kinds of bad policy can flourish in that area of moral uncertainty. 100
This leads us to the law. Surely Apple's suggestion that the DMCA might prohibit what Real had done is as baseless as their moral argument? In the United States, the answer is "probably," at least if the courts continue in the direction they are currently taking, but it is a closer call than you would think. Internationally, the answer is even less certain. That is where the iPod war provides its second new-economy lesson. Think for a moment about the way that the law shapes the business choices in this dispute. 101
In a competitive market, Apple would choose whether to make the iPod an open platform, able to work with everyone's music service, or to try to keep it closed, hoping to extract more money by using consumers' loyalty to the hardware to drive them to the tied music service. If they attempted to keep it closed, competitors would try to make compatible products, acting like the manufacturers of generic razor blades or printer cartridges. 102
The war would be fought out on the hardware (and software) level, with the manufacturer of the platform constantly seeking to make the competing products incompatible, to bad-mouth their quality, and to use fear, uncertainty, and doubt to stop consumers from switching. (Apple's actual words were: "When we update our iPod software from time to time, it is highly likely that Real's Harmony technology will cease to work with current and future iPods.") Meanwhile the competitors would race to untangle the knots as fast as the platform manufacturer could tie them. If the consumers got irritated enough they could give up their sunk costs and switch to another product altogether. 103
All of this seems fine, even if it represents the kind of socially wasteful arms race that led critics of capitalism to prophesy its inevitable doom. Competition is good and competition will often require interoperability. But what do we mean by competition? Is it competition if I assassinate your employees or poison the food in your restaurant? If I trespass on your land in order to sell a competing product? If I break into your safe to steal your trade secrets, use my monopoly position in the market to impose resale price agreements, or violate your patent? It is the law that draws the line between competition and theft, between virtuous competitive imitation and illicit "piracy." 104
Sometimes we need to give innovators property rights that allow them to prevent second-comers from free riding on their efforts. We have to do so because it is necessary to encourage future innovation. On the other hand, sometimes we not only allow the second-comer to free ride, we positively encourage it, believing that this is an integral part of competition and that there are adequate incentives to encourage innovation without the state stepping in. Intellectual property policy, indeed a large part of the policy behind all property rights, is about drawing the line between the two situations. Too far in one direction and innovation suffers because potential investors realize good ideas will immediately be copied. Too far in the other direction and monopolies hurt both competition and future innovation. 105
Imagine you are the first person to invest in getting the public to eat burritos for breakfast, or to place a petrol station at a certain crossroads, or to clip papers together with a folded bit of wire. In each case we give you some property rights. The fast-food vendor may own a trademarked phrase or jingle that the public learns to associate with his product. Since the patent office issued a patent for the sealed and crimped "peanut butter and jelly" sandwich I described at the beginning of the book, even a patent is not out of the question if your disgusting concoction is sufficiently novel and nonobvious. But we should not allow you to have a patent over all burritos, or burritos for breakfast, still less over the idea of fast food. As for the paper clip maker, there might be a trademark over the particular paper clip, but the idea of folding wire to secure paper stays in the public domain. The owner of the petrol station gets physical ownership of the land, but cannot stop a second-comer from setting up shop across the road, even if the first-comer's labor, capital, and effort proved that the location is a good one. We positively encourage follow-on imitation in those cases. 106
Now how about the case in point? What does Apple get in the way of property rights? Think back to my description of the intellectual property system in Chapter 1. They can get patents over those aspects of the iPod—both hardware and software—that are sufficiently innovative. Patents are what we use to protect inventions. They also get a copyright over the various pieces of software involved. That protects them only against someone who copies their code, not someone who writes new software to do the same thing. Copyrights are what we use to protect original expression. They get rights under trademark law over the name and perhaps parts of the design of the product—maybe the distinctive look of the iPod—though that is a bit more complex. All of these rights, plus being the first to break into the market in a big way, the brilliance of the design, and the tight integration between the hardware and the service, produce a formidable competitive advantage. The iPod is a very good product. 107
Now if a competitor infringes any of Apple's rights, for example by making a literal copy of the code, using their trademark in a way the law does not allow, or infringing on one of their patents, then Apple can shut them down and extract hefty damages. Quite right, too. But should they be able to prevent someone from making an interoperable product, provided they do not violate any of these existing rights in the process? Laws like the DMCA make that question more complicated. 108
Nowadays, there is software in many, many more products than you would imagine. Your watch, your phone, your printer, your thermostat, your garage door opener, your refrigerator, your microwave, your television—the odds are that if you bought them in the last ten years, they have some software component. In the 1970s the courts and Congress had concluded that software could be copyrighted as original expression, like a song or a novel, as well as being patented when it was novel, nonobvious, and useful. Frequently, different aspects of the same program will be covered by copyright and by patent. But software is a machine made of words, the machine of the digital age. That fact already causes some problems for our competition policy. Will the exceptions and limitations designed to deal with a copyright over a novel work adequately when they are applied to Microsoft Windows? That issue was already unclear. With the DMCA, we have added another crucial problem. Where there is copyrighted software there can be digital fences around it. If the copyright owner can forbid people to cut these fences to gain access to the software, then it can effectively enlarge its monopoly, capture tied services, and prohibit generic competition. 109