Can Open Mean Terbuka? Negotiating Licenses for Indonesian Video Activism
Alexandra Crosby - University of Technology, Sydney, Australia
and Ferdiansyah Thajib - KUNCI Cultural Studies Center, Indonesia
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Abstract: Since the fall of Suharto’s New Order regime in Indonesia, space has been opened up for the emergence and development of new practices of media production and distribution, such as the use of video for social change. As access to the technology for producing, distributing and watching video becomes increasingly democratised in Indonesia over this period, a spectrum of approaches to licensing are developing in response to ideology as well as economic impetus. These include the full adherence to the global norms of intellectual property rights, market-driven piracy, politically based rejection of any restrictions, and a burgeoning interest in Creative Commons.While Indonesia hosts one of the most enthusiastic cultures of digital sharing, this article argues that there is not yet a solution for the issues of copyright management that fits the Indonesian context. We examine the work of several groups who are currently active in producing social and environmental video in the archipelago. These include VideoBattle, Forum Lenteng, and the EngageMedia network.
Introduction
In Yogyakarta, in a small local shop selling T-shirts and music tapes, you come across a pile of video compact discs in striking red and black packaging. They are a numbered series of compilations of independently selected videos called Video Battle. You start to sort through the 13 boxes. Most of the pictures on the covers are instantly recognisable and thick with irony: there is a montage of all the actors who have played James Bond and a dramatic scene from Michael Jackson’s Thriller. These images are so obviously in the public domain that the fact they are unattributed on the cover design is hardly noticeable. You choose number 12, with the title ‘On the Ring’ and an image of Muhammad Ali. Turning over the box, you see “copyleft” printed on the back. Later, while watching the videos on your laptop, you go to the Video Battle website (http://video-battle.net) and find that the discs are also sold online. You scroll down to the licensing info at the bottom of the webpage “Copyright © 2010 ((VIDEO BATTLE )) - This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0”.
Licensing can be a confusing issue for video activists in Indonesia. There is a broad spectrum of approaches to creative property rights within this domain and, as illustrated by the above example, even within groups themselves. Sometimes, international copyright law is fully adhered to. Sometimes, piracy is used as a method of distribution. At other times, activists express a total rejection of any form of control of knowledge. Increasingly, as video activists mix more with their international peers within the flourishing global digital network, they are beginning to adopt open-content licensing forms such as Creative Commons.
While Indonesia hosts one of the most enthusiastic cultures of digital sharing, this article argues that there is not yet a solution for the issues of copyright management that fits the Indonesian context. Legal terms often fail to translate the diversity of practices that exist in practical terms. Government regulation remains inconsistent to say the least. Local video activists are left stumped over the default legal implications of copyright, and the differences between large-scale distribution rights and screening rights on a local level. One sticking point is that the distinctions between individual and collective production in activist video are frequently blurred, making clear attribution almost impossible. These gaps continue to loom over video activists in Indonesia, influencing decisions over copyright approaches and, in turn, affecting distribution methods and scope.
This article focuses on the discussions of rights over content among Indonesian social justice video activist in implementing both off-line and online distribution of their work. Activist video is an important litmus test for understanding how digital culture generally will adapt licensing solutions with the pressure of globalisation. Indonesia is one example among many post-colonial countries that reveals the complexities of these issues. Video activists all over the world grapple with how the processes of production and distribution are linked to the issues of licensing.
Another reason that video activism in Indonesia is an important case study is that video has actually been instrumental as a social change tool in Indonesia. The proposition that the rapid development of media technologies is interrelated with social transformation in Indonesia is endorsed by various analyses (Lim, 2003a, 2003b, 2006; Sen and Hill, 1997) that point to how such technologies have helped mobilise dissent within the national political landscape, in particular leading to the demise of Suharto’s three-decade authoritarian government. The experience of the 1998 political uprisings that brought the end to Suharto’s New Order regime contributed insights for video-makers on the power of audiovisual representation and dissemination in generating socio-political changes on a mass scale. People can still remember how, during those times, the private television stations simultaneously and repeatedly aired footage of the shootings of Trisakti University students in Jakarta. These images sparked sentiments of national solidarity leading to the mass student protests denouncing the New Order regime. Also, around the late 1990s, independently shot footage of human rights abuses in East Timor were widely televised, becoming one of the key factors in garnering international support for Timor Leste’s independence (Thajib, Juliastuti, Lowenthal and Crosby, 2009). These activist genealogies in Indonesia demonstrate that approaches to copyright have been informed by a range of issues particular to Indonesia’s national history. It is therefore impossible to generalise in designing solutions to the challenge of copyright there.
The evidence for these arguments has been collected by observation as well as through interviews conducted between January, 2009 and June, 2010. These were mostly carried out in person, in the Indonesian language and then translated into English, and occasionally conducted by telephone or email conversation.
In the first part of this paper, we examine the work of several groups who have emerged from this political landscape and are currently active in producing social and environmental video in Indonesia. These include Video Battle, Forum Lenteng, and the EngageMedia network. By looking at current approaches to licensing, how these approaches affect distribution, and how these activists are considering they might approach licensing and distribution in the future, we argue that this process can be read as an exemplar of an attempt to socialize “konten-terbuka” (open content): a localised repertoire of commons in the internet. The second part of the paper teases out some of the ways that licensing can be considered in more culturally specific contexts. We highlight the gap between the uniform global rhetoric of intellectual property enforcement and the diversity of practices that actually exists within our case studies. The paper ends with a discussion of whether more progressive ways of negotiating licensing for video activists in Indonesia can be leveraged into the commons formation amongst global networks.
Current Approaches
There is a general understanding amongst activist communities in Indonesia that copyright as the norm, copyleft as its counter paradigm, and other licensing forms currently thriving in the digital scene (such as Creative Commons) are possible alternatives. While the range of responses by video activists exists within these understandings, they are not necessarily limited to one or another definition. Many video activists see licensing as a practical experiment rather than a decision with predetermined outcomes. As such, different projects from the same group may use different licensing systems, and one project may even publicise multiple choices.
In line with their general approach to activism, in which many forms and methods are employed, such flexible views of licensing can be viewed as tactical. “Tactical” is used in the sense used by theorists and activists David Garcia and Geert Lovink, extending Michel De Certeau’s (1984) concept of tactics to the field of media activism, by identifying a class of producers who amplify temporary reversals in the flow of power by exploiting ‘spaces, channels and platforms’‘ necessary for their practices (Garcia and Lovink, 1997).
In this way, video distribution methods become hybridised and with these hybrid systems, content is often attributed multiple licenses. This is clear in the example of Video Battle, described above. Online, where it is generally accepted that content is in the international domain, a clear attempt has been made to adopt Creative Commons. Video Battle has created a video subscription channel enabling video podcasting in Miro and iTunes, as well as the ability to watch Flash video versions directly from their website, attributing Creative Commons licenses to the work streamed on this channel.
However, on the streets of Yogyakarta, where “copyright is a colonial legacy” (as a T-shirt worn by an Indonesian video activist puts it), the most tactical approach, that which is most respected, is copyleft. Video Battle discs are clearly branded with copyleft symbols and text. Video Battle has been disseminating its video compilations as disc sets since 2004 and the issues of licensing are inherently part of their creative practice. Video Battle selects and compiles five-minute videos from entries of any style in an effort to challenge preconceived “genres”. The video-makers selected are encouraged to duplicate and sell copies of the compilation for their own profit. While the VCD distribution Video Battle offer is relatively limited, its open endorsement of duplication, presented as a celebration of piracy, has contributed to its recognition not only within Indonesia, but also with international audiences, including in Australia and Europe.
The strong relationship between art and broader society is still a part of many activist identities in Indonesia. While many new practices have been introduced to develop different dynamics in cultural production, it is video and digital culture projects that appear to operate on the largest and most intense scale. In the context of video, Forum Lenteng’s project of AkuMassa, for example, is an attempt to construct video experiences in local contexts, viewing society as much more than a subject or an audience. Aku Massa is a series of video initiatives empowering small communities to tell their stories on video. Forum Lenteng then encourages the communities to embed their videos in a dedicated blog. Forum Lenteng, like other Jakarta-based video groups such as ruangrupa, is founded by artists. In many instances, however, the roles of artist and activist coincide to become indistinguishable. For example, artists are involved in non-governmental organisations as facilitators, creative activities are merged with community empowerment programmes, and arts organisations present socio-political video projects as part of their programs. In such situations, reaching consensus about licensing content can clearly become a challenge as projects involve a range of participants with different levels of literacy and concerns around licensing.
The gaps between those who are constantly exposed to the internet (activists, NGO workers, media professionals) and those who are not can create a cultural chasm; a local manifestation of what has been globally termed “the digital divide” (Gunkel, 2003). The AkuMassa site uses copyleft, but it is fair to say that as a wider project AkuMassa uses no licensing system at all. Files of videos generated are distributed via flash discs or VCDs and screened freely. Much more important to the participants and organisers is the generation of discussion and energy around the content than creating any restrictions on distribution. Organisers have expressed an interest in the possibilities of using Creative Commons for their projects. Activist groups such as Forum Lenteng, however, are usually under-resourced and working on licensing has not been a priority. While Creative Commons may be in theory the best option, they simply do not yet know much about its advantages. Hafiz from Forum Lenteng (12 January 2009) as well as wok the rok from Video Battle (interviewed 8 January 2009) both identified copyleft as the “activist alternative” to copyright.
As one example of activists that are much clearer in their approach to licensing, using exclusively Creative Commons, we look at the practices of EngageMedia. EngageMedia originates in Australia. However, it also has an Indonesian base in Jakarta. The primary focus of EngageMedia’s activities is the EngageMedia.org video-sharing site. All videos on the site use open-content licenses. Downloading for off-line redistribution is encouraged. This means to upload videos to the site, users must agree to a CC license. EngageMedia General Manager, Andrew Lowenthal, however, expressed doubts as to whether all users consciously agree to these licenses. ‘Because it is the culture of online agreements and because the licenses are in English, many may simply tick the box.’ (Andrew Lowenthal, 26 April 2009).
The Creative Commons system employed by EngageMedia is seen by the organisation as a step towards addressing the barriers to clear licensing faced by social-justice video activists in a period of transition from off-line to online distribution of video. The fact that the organisation is a regional network with local bases is very significant to their decision to use Creative Commons. With a focus on the distribution of activist content worldwide, clear and open licensing has been a priority from the inception of the network, one that takes precedence over flexibility or irony. ‘We are working on regional and global scales as well as local. So creative commons is important to us, to our funders, and to our users around the world, although it may not yet be important to Indonesian activists. We want to ensure that when Indonesian content leaves Indonesia it carries a signifier that says “share me” (to encourage further distribution) and also carries the protection of CC for that sharing.’ (Andrew Lowenthal, 26 April 2009).
Creative Commons is utilised by a handful of online information producers in Indonesia, including many bloggers and website administrators such as yesnowave.com and kunci.or.id. However, there are no local groups who express such a strong commitment to Creative Commons, or even a conviction about the need for clear licensing. In our interview with Wok the Rock of Video Battle, he strongly criticised the implementation of any systems of intellectual property rights that regulate ownership, he feels that ”these powerful mechanisms overstate the distinct position between those claimed as key cultural producers and those who are weaker and functioning as consumers of culture“ (Wok The Rock, 20 January 2009). Bandung-based documentary distributor, KoPI permits any form of copying of their work by tagging their DVDs with copyleft labels as part of their viral distribution scheme.
On the opposite pole, there are some groups, such as Gekko Studio and Beoscope, which uphold traditional copyright approaches. Beoscope, founded in 2008, runs a website where users pay to upload video. Beoscope also undertakes off-line activities similar to activist groups, such as organising video-production workshops for beginners. In addition, Beoscope assists those unable to upload video directly on the web by arranging the physical or postal delivery of video. Gekko Studio also distributes documentary but focuses on environmental issues.
Kawanusa, which works with village communities, particularly in Bali, to organise screenings and festivals, tends to ignore the issue of licensing altogether. Kawanusa organiser, Yoga Atmaja stated “somebody else can take care of the copy rights issue if it is that important to them. Our hands are already tied up with day to day work with our grassroots constituents”. (Yoga Atmaja,14 February 2009) However, within this spectrum of responses, many activists are also looking for alternative forms to the existing copyright system that still protect the rights of video-makers. Jakarta-based Konfiden, for instance, came up with its own rights management scheme, which it called “cultural rights”. According to Konfiden, this was established so that video-makers can understand their rights without having to submit to the mainstream copyright regime. Without major backing, however, it will be difficult to get an entirely new rights initiative up from scratch, particularly one a critical mass of people will agree on.
However, in discussions regarding the future of copyright and licensing among video activists in Indonesia, Creative Commons is brought up as a possibility. Several organisations are questioning how they can share content in a different way that is more in tune with their political aims. Formed in 2006, Kampung Halaman, based in Yogyakarta, works with youth living in what they term the “transitional districts”. “Transitional” refers to areas located between urban centers and/or communities undergoing socio-economic changes. For Kampung Halaman, the increasing demand from commercial video sites for participatory videos prompted a focus-group discussion in December 2008 to discuss the possibility of legally employing Creative Commons in Indonesia. Creative Commons has not yet been imported to Indonesian law, though there are groups working toward this.
In interviews for this study, some activists raised an important issue around the public perception of Creative Commons in Indonesia. There are activist video makers and some of their audiences who view Creative Commons as being imposed from outside and even part of the imperialist project, which makes it less appealing to many of the research subjects. Another key limitation raised in interviews is that Creative Commons brings the system of copyright with it, relying heavily on an established legal framework, which Indonesia lacks.
Activists interviewed also raised concerns about the scope of rights covered by Creative Commons. Such confusion may arise from the fact that there seems to be very little clear explanation of how Creative Commons or other systems actually work in Indonesian. Our observations are that Copyleft is often interpreted as meaning “in the public domain” (i.e. no copyright), but Copyleft is actually based on copyright. While the intention of Copyleft may be open licensing, its implementation is often vague. Clarifying how alternatives could work in the public domain would be an obvious first step to improving the uptake of such a licensing scheme. The role of Creative Commons, or any other alternative licensing scheme, must be viewed as a re-establishment of interactivity and communication between creators and users. If implemented as merely a replacement of the current copyright system, or a filling for the lack of a copyright system, Creative Commons cannot succeed.
Framing the Problems with Copyright in Indonesia
To delineate the cultural encounters within the legal frameworks that structures the modes of licensing and distributing creative works and to unravel the kind of tensions that it produces amongst video-activists in Indonesia, we identify at least three interrelated issues underpinning their ambivalent responses: (1) the practice of commons in Asia, (2) the capricious institutionalisation of IPR in the governmental agenda and (3) the ubiquity of piracy as the mode of knowledge distribution. Pivotal to these approaches is the deployment of a developmentalist logic as counterargument to the establishment of copyright, perpetuating yet another example of the economic and political cleavage between developing and developed words.
Practice of Commons in Asia
Asian nations have historically been positioned as recipients of licensing systems, both open and closed. Processes of colonisation and globalisation have introduced both mainstream and alternative ideas from the northern hemisphere. However, in the application of such systems in Asia, many problems are inherited, one of which is the diversity of practices that already exist and continue to unfold in local terrains. These practices result from particular historical trajectories, trajectories that collide and intersect with international ideas.
One logical place to begin in tracing some of the roots of indigenous ideas of property rights is in the management of tangible property, particularly land; the ever-dispersing cultural products that flow across cultures and geographic locations; and the massive informal flow in “Asian” knowledge production (Liang et al., 2009). Without falling into the trap of crude cultural relativism on “Asian values”, which reifies the exhaustive tension between the West and the East, we echo the words of Liang et al. in his collective monograph How Does an Asian Commons Mean by attending to local historical tensions in reading today’s ambivalent responses to property issues.
Land, forest and natural resources management that evolved from pre-colonial (Lombard, 1990) to modern times (see Tsing, 2005 for in-depth discussion on this particular issue) in different local contexts across what is now Indonesia raise important questions for copyright. The perpetual confusion between the notion of privately owned property and the notion of publicly used property has meant that determining and defending legal ownership has required an enormous amount of attention. Many indigenous modes of property exist that do not fit into imported legal definitions. This has often manifested in violence, involving the dispossession by those in power, through the enforcement of property regimes as well as corrupt and militant practices, of marginal communities that had been nurturing a sense of belonging to certain lived, common grounds (such as forests, city public spaces, “wastelands” etc.).
Another factor that reveals the incompatibility of copyrights within local settings is the not codified and unified Adat norms (customary law) prevailing in the everyday life of many Indonesians. Under this norm, ownership in intellectual works or inventions is unknown. Adat does not allow individual rights of possession to override principles of the public interest and the social function of goods. The focus of adat law protection is not on individuals, but for the benefit and interest of communities or the “public good” (Kusumadara, 2006). The living practices of the commons can also be traced from the disordered flow of literatures, folklores, performances and other cultural products to its most recent digital forms. One example regards the intensifying conflict between Indonesia and Malaysia, which both claim exclusively as their national heritage, what are actually shared cultural products and practices, such as batik, a traditionally crafted cloth, and dangdut, a music and performance style.
All of the above illustrations pointed to the intricacy, if not impossibility, of circumscribing the boundaries of culture under the terms of intellectual property. The free movement of cultural artefacts in Asia can also be situated within copy-culture and non-legal distribution networks (such as piracy). These operate as modes that enable knowledge production in space dominated by a scarcity of access to such resources.
With an understanding of these issues, activists become more susceptible to the notions of collectivity within their production. With the increasing application of “participatory video”, where video-makers collaborate with existing communities, activists are increasingly aware that communities are in fact the “owners” of the information produced. As with AkuMassa, clear agreements about what this actually means for distribution are still rare. The still limited availability of technology resources, mainly due to financial constraints, also often prompt these activists to improvise by sharing whatever tools necessary to achieve their goals. One final example is the widespread “borrowing” of images, sounds, and representations either among activists themselves or from other resources (sometimes even by breaching copyrighted works), that are conducted in order to tactically ensure that the message they wanted to communicate can reach its target audience. The collective nature of these kinds of works complicates the attribution of ownership and calls for a more versatile licensing platform that could facilitate the employment of collaborative approach in a video production and distribution.
Contingencies in Copyright Enforcement
The term “hak cipta” (Indonesian word for Copyright, but literally meaning “creating right”) was created in 1951 in Bandung, as a part of “Kongres Kebudayaan Indonesia” (Riswandi, 2009). At this conference, cultural artefacts were viewed as co-modifiable products for the construction of national identity, as they were throughout the formative years of the newly independent Republic of Indonesia. The term was invented as a substitution of “hak pengarang”, a derivative of the Dutch legal product called Auteursrecht (or “author’s right”). As the former Dutch-Indie colony, Indonesia inherited its membership at the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works from the Dutch coloniser which has been a formal member since 1912.
However, in 1958, the Indonesian government, under the then prime minister Juanda’s cabinet, withdrew membership from the treaty in order to “develop the national identity of the newly born country without the restriction of knowledge, particularly through translated works” (Oppusunggu, 2009). This decision, in turn, unleashed a massive surge of cultural production, particularly in the local popular music industry. The music scene in Indonesia continued to thrive from the 1960s through the 70s via various modes of copying and repurposing of Western songs into Indonesian. So great was the level of commercial piracy in the cultural industry, that American folk musician Bob Geldof slammed Indonesia in the media after learning that his “Live Aid Concert for Ethiopia” had been distributed in the international market with a “made in Indonesia” label whereas he himself never recorded there (Sasongko and Katjasungkana, 1991).
Entering the 1980s, foreign pressure for the state to ratify the international law on copyright escalated. It was marked by the US government’s petition that threatened to remove Indonesia’s exporting privileges if there was no actual enforcement in the field of intellectual property law. This was then responded by the state (from Suharto’s cabinet up to now) by the most rapid turnover in the country’s legislation history. From 1982 to 2002, the Indonesian Copyright Bill had been amended three times, all due to foreign pressure, particularly the US as one of the main players in the world’s IPR-based industry (Haryanto, 2009).
In reality, however, the promptness of actions for copyright enforcement only holds up on paper. Despite the state’s agreement with various copyright protection schemes such as the Universal Copyright Convention and the Agreement on Trade Related Aspect intellectual Property Rights (TRIPs) with the World Trade Organization and including a renewed membership with the Berne Convention in 1997, its implementation is fraught with contradictions and vulnerable to internal power play. Under the New Order regime, for instance, crackdown on piracy is often convoluted with an agenda of political censorship. The government manipulated the laws in its campaign to prevent the distribution of pirated videocassettes in the mid-1980s, claiming the intention to protect Indonesian cultural identity from “unwanted foreign influences” (Video Base, 2009). There remain serious incongruities between what has been legislated nationally and what is being implemented in local governance level. Emblematic to this set of problems is the development-oriented justification saying that the widespread diffusion of IPR is the most effective way to distribute knowledge that will eventually lead to economic development and power (Mertha, 2006, p. 24). These imperial and (post-)colonial turns to copyright enforcement become a performative discourse in pointing towards the gap of knowledge-production in which piracy becomes one of the main solutions.
Such relationships warrant a more complex discussion of intellectual property than one focusing on just the legal aspects. Various historical strains infuse the new frictions between claims of ownership and use of creative property and the general production of culture. As well as collective production, copying and reusing are common practices that have lead to the establishment of “piracy” as a local mode of knowledge production and distribution in Indonesia (Juliastuti, 2008). Under the ambiguous radar of the Indonesian legal system, piracy of video content has grown to become an important sector of the economy where businesses based on piracy and those based on “legitimate” practices build an interdependent relationship. In the context of many Asian societies, this is true. Indian media observer Ravi Sundaram (2001, pp. 96) argues that there is a certain readiness for piracy in places where the creation of new techniques as well as ‘breaking the laws of global electronic capital’ are required to generate access to information and power.”
There are more than just a few players benefiting from the rampant piracy of video content in Indonesia. Besides commercial distributors, many independent film-makers “borrow” footage or techniques from bootlegged VCD/ DVD films. Since its inception, Video Battle has encouraged their video compilations (which often include videos that have directly appropriated copyrighted material) to be freely copied. The ninth round of Video Battle is branded with a jolly roger. Ruangrupa branded their 2005 “OK.Video” festival with the theme “piracy” as a way to reconsider piracy as a form of subversion. But how can existing networks formed around the distribution of pirated video be harnessed for the distribution of social-change video?
Piracy was espoused by some video activists interviewed as being integral to the expansion of off-line distribution channels. The viewing of pirated activist videos is still limited to the fringes of society compared to the mass piracy and distribution of commercial film and music in Indonesia. We found no examples of video activists collaborating with these networks or even researching their methods.
Other activists interviewed worry that the piracy situation in Indonesia deters ongoing plans for the sustainable distribution of alternative video commercially. For audiences of alternative video, piracy is already the norm. To change their patterns of consumption to one that respects copyright in any form is next to impossible. Another consideration for these activists is that, if distribution occurs through piracy, it is impossible to measure either the quantity or character of audiences, so it is difficult to be responsive as a producer.
The complacency surrounding copyrights enforcement along with its imperial nuances and its convolution with the outbreak of piracy at the local terrain have continued to loom over video activists’ decision to appropriate normative as well as alternative property rules in distribution. So what are the available options for developing a licensing system that enables fair distribution and supports a democratic dissemination of information? What is the most pertinent attribution mechanism for video works that strive to extend a social justice agenda? Departing from the reflective engagements between the generation of video production within progressive social movements and the structures of attribution working at the local, regional and global levels, some intelligible alternatives can be teased out as strategies for embarking future potentials in realising a licensing scheme that is open, democratic, and able to respond to continuing cultural challenges.
Conclusions
Given the complexity of issues outlined above, it is not surprising that such a range of approaches to licensing digital content exist in Indonesia, even just within the realm of video activism. What becomes clear as we begin to map the current situation is that there is a strong future for Creative Commons in Indonesia. However, what is required to foster this future is a global system that is sensitive to local dynamics. “Organic” initiatives to raise awareness about Creative Commons need to emerge from activist communities that will actually use the licenses. Legal clarity is essential, but such clarity must be extended to include all the cultural issues raised in this paper, whether they relate to digital or non-digital forms. Also necessary are models of participatory approaches in other developing countries. While examples such as EngageMedia are helpful, they are limited by their first world origin. In implementing Creative Commons, Indonesian activists need to look to Malaysia, the Phillippines, South America and other places that share colonial histories.
The barriers to clear and open licensing of digital content in a country like Indonesia, where tourists buy pirated DVDs of new releases on the side of the road for less than USD $1, are immense. To establish a real grounding in the Indonesian legal system, Creative Commons needs mediation by lawyers, a cost that most activists cannot afford.
Language is also a challenge. Not only is a lot of translation from English terms required, the process of socialising Creative Commons requires using familiar, day-to-day languages as well as formal Indonesian, so that people understand the legal definitions of Creative Commons as well as its possible applications. There is already a high level of public disenchantment with anything that has to do with legal systems due to the traumatic level of corruption and nepotism during Suharto’s time. Thus Creative Commons can be perceived as not only imperial (due to its western inception), but also ineffectual (in the face of a long history of corrupting power play in the judicial system).
Despite these challenges, Creative Commons is showing itself to be a real way for Indonesian video activists to participate in a global flow of culture. During the writing of this paper, AirPutih, an important activist organisation that works with all the groups mentioned thus far, has changed to Creative Commons licensing. Facebook, which has more than 22.4 million users in Indonesia (Morris, 2010), now has Creative Commons options for content. Video Battle, whose work opened this paper, is invited to an increasing number of international festivals and screenings, including Next Wave in Melbourne (2010), Oslo Screen Festival (2008), and the Directors Lounge Media Art Festival (2009) in Berlin. Even if Video Battle been able to experiment with licensing concepts until now, this global participation will demand much clearer definitions of how their content is licensed.
The evidence presented in this paper clearly illustrates how Indonesian video activists’ choices of license and attribution are tactically related to options for distribution. We have also argued that Indonesian legacies of particular historical trajectories and overlapping regimes of property rights (ranging from management of natural resources to customary law) inform the contemporary practices of video activism. As licensing greatly affects how content can be distributed, effective distribution in a digital age requires alternatives to traditional copyright. In the future, debates around copyright issues will intensify in Indonesia, hopefully encouraging the development of open-content practices in the digital fields that can coexist with collective cultural production methods.
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