EU Parliament shoots down controversial copyright treaty; EU Commission ignores them

Meet CETA, the new ACTA

Acta, the Anti-Counterfeiting Trade Agreement, is a proposed international agreement which aims to create cross-national standards on what constitutions copyright infringement. This fantastic Wired primer goes into greater detail about it, but the short version is that it has been seen as Europe's answer to SOPA, the American law which sparked the wave of website blackouts in protest earlier this year.

The treaty was negotiated behind closed doors, and required signatories to criminalise civil copyright infringement, all while implying false equivalencies between piracy and counterfeiting. As with SOPA, it drew large – although more low key – protests, which appeared to have done the trick. Last Wednesday, the European Parliament voted overwhelmingly against Acta, 478 to 39.

Olivia Solon wrote:

In a statement, the EU recognised the "unprecedented direct lobbying by thousands of EU citizens who called on it to reject Acta, in street demonstrations, emails to MEPs and calls to their offices". It also acknowledged a petition that had been signed by 2.8 million citizens urging them to reject Acta.

But just because the parliament rejected Acta, doesn't mean the battle's won. The Canada-EU trade agreement, a pending agreement between the two nations, contains word-for-word the same clauses which made Acta so concerning.

The pressure group La Quadrature du Net writes that :

CETA literally contains the worst of ACTA, in particular: general obligations on enforcement, damages, injunctions, DRM circumvention, and border measure rules. The worst and most damaging parts for our freedoms online, criminal sanctions and intermediary liability, are word for word the same in ACTA and CETA.

In all coherence with last week's vote, the European Commission must drop CETA negotiations (or expurgate it from all the aforementioned, copyright-related provisions), or else be humiliated once again when the European parliament get to vote on CETA.

Canadian journalist Michael Geist breaks down the similiarities. For example, this is a passage from CETA; the bolded lines are straight from ACTA:

Each Party shall provide adequate legal protection and effective legal remedies against the circumvention of effective technological measures that are used by authors, performers of performances fixed in phonograms, or producers of phonograms in connection with the exercise of their rights in, and that restrict acts in respect of, their works, performances fixed in phonograms, and phonograms, which are not authorized by the authors, the performers of performances fixed in phonograms or the producers of phonograms concerned or permitted by law.

Other passages are even worse, reproduced verbatim.

Wired's Liat Clarke sums up the problem:

The 4 July vote saw the EU's trade committees publicly acknowledge the potentially dangerous vagaries in the agreement relating to civil liberties. But it seems to be just these vagaries that have reappeared in Ceta, including mention of "cooperative efforts" that could lead to ISPs being forced to take down content, compulsory disclosure of information on any user accused of copyright infringement and the incredibly ambiguous concept of weighing penalties on the accused of "any legitimate measure of value that may be submitted by the right holder, including lost profits".

Criminal liability for "aiding and abetting" infringement also crops up again, and is one of the key clauses that initially troubled EU trade committees since it suggests data centres and ISPs might be open to penalties ranging from prison time to extortionate fines. Ceta has already gained negative press due to clauses referring to EU pharmaceutical patent fees that could dramatically increase Canada's healthcare costs. Attention being drawn to these new obstacles could potentially scupper the agreement entirely.

Generally speaking, if a democratic body votes something down, it's not the prerogative of an undemocratic one to resurrect it. Clearly at the EU, things work differently.

Members of the European Parliament hold placards reading 'Hello democracy goodbye ACTA' as they take part in a vote on ACTA. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser