or how a Scholarly Communications Officer Encourages Intellectual Inquiry and Upholds the Law

Kevin Smith

In my many years as an academic librarian, one of the things I have liked best is library patrons’ appreciation for librarians and the work that we do. So, when I became a lawyer as well, I was surprised by the realization that I would be spending a lot more of my time dealing with angry or unhappy people. Nevertheless, the work I now do at Duke is exactly what I hoped to find after law school, and it has been tremendously rewarding, even though I am sometimes the bearer of bad news.

I became Duke’s first scholarly communications officer in June of 2006 after fifteen years as a librarian in liberal arts colleges and theological seminaries. Throughout my career as a reference librarian and library director, I was fascinated by copyright, intellectual property licensing, and the array of other legal issues that a modern academic library encounters. When I had the chance to attend law school in the evenings while still retaining my “day job,” I took it, even though I never really planned to practice law in the usual sense. While I was in law school, I became aware of the growing trend among academic libraries to hire people specifically to address scholarly communications; I knew that was the kind of position I had been training for.

Scholarly communications is a broad and vague term, which has different meanings at different institutions. At some colleges and universities, scholarly communications pertains primarily to support for digital publishing or advocacy for open access to scholarship. Both are elements of my position; however, copyright is my principal focus. My background and interest in copyright law meshed well with the perceived need at Duke for someone to assist faculty, staff, and students in complying with copyright.

When I first accepted this position, several friends teased me about the title and asked if a scholarly communications officer carried a badge. Good-natured ribbing aside, one of the images I struggle against is that of “copyright cop.” Although my first responsibility is to advise faculty, staff, and students about the application of copyright law to their varied and changing activities, I try to do that without always saying “no.”

Current U.S. copyright law is tremendously restrictive and has not kept up very well with advances in technology. Often the limitations the law imposes on new modes of teaching and learning are very frustrating to both faculty and students. While I sometimes have to uphold those restrictions, I also work at a very practical level to help members of the Duke community, individually and in small groups, to structure projects and courses in ways that will allow them to accomplish their goals without running afoul of the law. In 2007 I had over 250 such consultations.

Smith confers with Associate University Counsel Henry Cuthbert.

Copyright law predominates in these conversations, and the most frequent copyright questions concern the use of materials (print, electronic, audio, and visual) for teaching, especially in electronic course reserves and on Blackboard course sites and external websites like iTunesU. The questions that arise are very “fact-specific” and require careful discussions with faculty about the type of material being used, the amount being copied into the site, extent of access to the materials, and whether or not permission to use the materials is readily available. All these factors are weighed in determining “fair use,” a broad but maddeningly vague and shifting exception to our copyright law. Much of contemporary teaching and learning depends on fair use, but it is nearly impossible to clearly define its boundaries. From my point of view, that uncertainty by itself represents full employment for the scholarly communications officer.

Fair use notwithstanding, many other copyright issues also cross my desk: may a student re-master LP recordings from the 1950s, 60s and 70s as part of a class project? This question is especially difficult to answer since a major change in the protection of copyrighted materials occurred right in the middle of that time period. May the library digitize some comic books published in France by the Nazi propaganda machine in the early 1940s for a digital collection? Inherent in the formation of digital library collections is the core balance that copyright is intended to strike between protecting authors’ interests, especially their ability to profit from their creativity, and the need to use and often repurpose older work in order to support teaching and to encourage new creative endeavors. This particular issue also highlights the tangled relationship amongst the copyright laws of different nations, as well as the various international treaties that are in force, and the sticky question of how to treat a copyright granted by a government that no longer exists.

As much as copyright dominates my work, I also offer assistance to the Duke community in the areas of intellectual property licensing and, especially, scholarly publishing. I am particularly anxious to help scholars navigate the treacherous waters of publication, where technology creates many new opportunities to disseminate scholarly work and publication contracts are all different and change as often as the tides. Sometimes my role is simply to explain the language of publishing contracts to authors so that they have a clear idea of what rights they will, or will not, continue to have in their published works. These days scholars not only want to distribute print copies of their own work to the students they teach, they also may want to put their work on a web page or in a disciplinary repository. They frequently hope to use the work, or the underlying research, in conference presentations, PowerPoint displays, or even in a later book. The ability of an author to take advantage of any of these opportunities will depend on the specific terms of a publication agreement.

Less frequently, the publication issues I address are much more complex than simply reading a contract, although that can be arduous enough. I have been asked, for example, to help research the copyright status and find the rights holder of one of Thomas Wolfe’s short stories—which he originally sold for the price of a winter overcoat—for a professor who wanted to reprint that story in a book he was writing. I have also helped a faculty member convince her publisher that illustrations she wanted to use in her book about changing images of family life could be republished, as fair use, even when it was not possible to get permission to use all of them. Recently, I was called on to help sort out all of the rights involved (and the paperwork necessary to account for those rights) in creating a translation of a German-language biography of a prominent female physicist of the mid-20th century and publishing that translation on the Web.

New technologies have created intellectual property issues that are difficult to sort out. Podcasts are recordings that are posted on the Internet for people to listen to and download onto portable devices. But may faculty download podcasts in order to insert “chapters” into them so that students can be assigned to listen to parts of the (altered) podcasts without having to search for the appropriate section? And sometimes the questions are low-tech but still thorny. For instance, can a student group interested in global health issues sponsor a documentary film series for other interested students without purchasing a public performance license for each film?

In addition to the individual assistance I offer to faculty and students, I also make quite a few presentations, both on campus and to external groups. I also monitor legislation and court cases that impact the role of intellectual property in higher education so that I can advise the University about how to formulate policy and when to take a stand on some decision pending in Congress or at the U.S. Copyright Office.

Smith addresses graduate students attending a Responsible Conduct of Research forum.

One issue that has arisen only very recently is sure to occupy quite a bit of my attention in coming months. Just after Christmas President Bush signed a massive spending bill that included, buried deep in the appropriations for the Department of Health and Human Services, a clause that will affect researchers who are funded by the National Institutes of Health, which supports more than $20 billion of research each year. The clause requires NIH researchers to deposit copies of the published peer-reviewed articles about their research in the open access PubMed Central database within one year of publication. Open access means that anyone with Internet access can read the articles available in PubMed Central. Congress decided that medical information, especially when it derives from taxpayer-funded research, is too important to disseminate only in highly specialized academic journals that are often very expensive and sometimes held in only a few libraries.

Taxpayer access to publicly funded research sounds like a great idea, and it has the potential to provide a significant public benefit. But there are many questions yet to be answered and many fears to be calmed. Publishers are concerned that public access to the same articles that they are publishing in their journals could further depress subscriptions. The one-year gap allowed between publication and open access availability is designed to reduce this potential impact. Researchers will need to be informed about this new deposit requirement and will need to consider it when they negotiate with publishers. Contracts will have to include clauses to permit this open access deposit along with all the other provisions regarding copyright ownership. Most of all, researchers and authors, who are always busy and have little time for external distractions, will need help with all the aspects of compliance with this new mandate. Providing this assistance will be added to the responsibilities of the scholarly communications officer.

When I became Duke’s scholarly communications officer, I was surprised at how quickly people sought me out to ask questions; I literally had several inquiries waiting for me on my first day at work. Word-of-mouth is still my best “advertising,” but over the past year I have become more assertive about encouraging questions, offering resources and discussing issues. The principal vehicle for this increased communication with potential clients and any other interested readers is a website built around a web log, or blog, that I maintain with help of several library colleagues. “Scholarly Communications @ Duke” (http://library.duke.edu/blogs/scholcomm/) features weekly commentary about a host of issues including copyright and trends in publishing and technological innovations. I also post information about resources related to copyright in the classroom and scholarly publishing. Finally, there are lists of links to many other sites that offer further information and reflection.

With the array of various and complex issues that confront me in my new role, I have to say that it is never boring to be Duke’s scholarly communications officer. Sometimes, when folks want simple answers to complex questions or refuse to accept the best advice I can give, it can be a stressful role. But mostly it is an education and a privilege to be involved in a small way with so many of the diverse classes and scholarly projects that are underway across campus. So how does a scholarly communications officer thrive? By listening carefully in order to understand the underlying need or goal behind each question. By avoiding the easy answer of “not possible” and looking instead for creative ways to facilitate each project. By breaking bad news gently, when it cannot be avoided. And, most importantly, by keeping a sense of humor and gratitude for the good fortune that brought me to Duke.

Kevin Smith is Duke University’s Scholarly Communications Officer.

Read More about Copyright

Duke University Center for the Study of the Public Domain. “Tales from the Public Domain: Bound by Law.” Comic book format discussion of copyright and filmmaking available online at http://www.law.duke.edu/cspd/comics.

Paul Goldstein. Copyright’s Highway: the Law and Lore of Copyright from Gutenberg to the Celestial Jukebox. New York: Hill and Wang, 1994.

Jessica Littman. Digital Copyright. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 2001.

Charles C. Mann. “Who Will Own Your Next Good Idea?” Atlantic Monthly, vol. 282/3 (September 1998): 57-82.

Paul Newman. “Copyright Essentials for Linguists.” Language Documentation and Conservation, vol. 1/1 (June 2007). Online journal article available at http://www.nflrc.hawaii.edu/ldc/June2007/newman/newman.html.

Sive Vaidhynathan. Copyrights and Copywrongs: the Rise of Intellectual Property and How it Threatens Creativity. New York: New York University Press, 2001.

John Willinsky. The Access Principle: the Case for Open Access to Research and Scholarship. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2006.

Human Rights Histories in Duke’s Special Collections Library

by Patrick Stawski

My mother recently sent me a letter which she had come across while cleaning out an over-burdened closet. After reading it and digesting its contents, she knew it would pique the interest of her son, an archivist now curating a human rights collection at Duke University. The letter was written in 1984 in Rosario, Argentina, by my mother’s younger sister, Maria Rosa. My aunt composed the letter on a manual typewriter, one without a correction ribbon, onto a now browning 5″ by 8.5″ sheet of paper. Large x’s are superimposed over errors and a red pen has been used for the final editing.

At a time when Argentina was experiencing not triple but quadruple digit annual inflation, paper and letters were precious. This was also the era of government-run telephone companies when Argentines waited for years, usually in vain, to have a telephone line installed in their homes. Amongst the twenty or so households which made up my family, there was only one home phone in 1984. Understandably, the arrival of a letter such as this one at our adopted home of Anaheim, California, from our relatives in Argentina amounted to a small miracle and would have been greeted with a certain degree of fanfare.

Dated February 14, (later corrected to the 22) 1984, the letter begins with the sort of exchange to be expected between two sisters who find themselves thousands of miles apart: news of brothers, sisters, sisters-in-law, squabbles, bickering, business, and property. But the letter takes an abrupt and dark turn as my aunt tries to describe the discoveries that have been made since civilian rule returned to the country. She reports 10,000 estimated “desaparecidos,” or disappeared (eventually the number would climb to 40,000); numerous clandestine prisons, torture camps; secret cemeteries filled with naked, tortured corpses bound with chains and barbed wire, mostly of young men and women; an entire family, including an eight-year-old girl, each executed with a bullet to the head and their bodies buried beneath the public plaza; “bodies and bodies, everyday in the news…”

I mention this letter from my family’s own archives to illustrate from a personal perspective the important and perhaps unexpected nature of human rights documentation that is being collected by the Archive for Human Rights at the Duke Libraries. The disbelief that accompanied the grisly discoveries in Argentina in the 1980s was not unique. Again and again and around the world the uncovering of evidence of massive terror is often accompanied by shock and disbelief. This is precisely because secrecy, disappearance, censoring of independent media, and circumvention of normal legal proceedings and record-keeping protocols are the tools that allow repressive forces to act with impunity. In response, the human rights community has grown into a global network one of whose primary objectives is to counteract silence and the erasing of memory, evidence, and history by monitoring, witnessing, and documenting human rights abuses.

These abuses leave deep and profound scars in communities, families, and individuals. Thus, the substance of human rights history is found not only in organizational and government records but also in family and personal papers. It comprises letters, photos, research files, newspaper clippings, legal documents, even PowerPoint presentations. The diversity of the sources is evidence that human rights and their abuse are not just a matter of government policy and strategies; they are as profoundly personal as they are political. This relationship between the personal and the public is apparent in many of our collections.

In the case files of the Center for Death Penalty Litigation (CDPL), for example, researchers can find official police reports and legal affidavits alongside handwritten correspondence between death row inmates and their counsel. The Center for International Policy (CIP) records contain notebooks filled with the firsthand impressions of a CIP associate who traveled to Colombia in 2001 and 2004 to investigate human rights repercussions of the drug wars. The same collection preserves the PowerPoint presentations that CIP created to lobby Congress for changes in U.S. drug trafficking policy.

One collection of international significance, and one that I find personally compelling, is the Marshall T. Meyer Papers. The guide to the collection prepared by our staff explains that Marshall Meyer received his education at Dartmouth College and, a year after being ordained rabbi in 1958, moved his family to Buenos Aires, Argentina, where he became rabbi of Comunidad Bet El. During his tenure at Bet El, Meyer reinvigorated Argentina’s Jewish community while living and working through the political and social implosion that rocked Argentina in the 1970s and 1980s.

Progressive, politically engaged, and an activist by nature, Meyer spoke out against the human rights abuses perpetrated under the rule of the military junta. He visited and counseled prisoners in clandestine jails, lobbied national and international authorities for their release, and brought the world’s attention to the crimes being committed by military forces. After the return of democracy to Argentina in 1983, Argentine President Raul Alfonsin recruited Meyer to serve on CONADEP (translated as the National Commission on the Disappearance of Persons), which led a national investigation to establish the extent of the abuses Argentineans suffered under the military junta.

The Meyer papers contain rich documentation representative of the many fronts on which human rights battles are fought. A case in point: in 1977 Argentine police forces entered the house of sixteen-year-old D. and her family, assassinated her brother before her eyes, and then kidnapped her. D. spent over four years in prison without any charges being brought against her before finally being released in 1981 with the help of Meyer and other advocates. The dossier Meyer compiled a as he worked with and for D. provides a record of his negotiation of roadblocks erected by the military and his efforts to help D. maintain her humanity during years in prison.

D.’s ink drawing decorates a notecard she made using a piece of lined paper. She sent to card to Rabbi Meyer while she was being held in the Devoto Prison.

On September 30, 1980, Meyer made application to the Canadian Embassy for D.’s immigration to Canada. On December 19, 1980, the second secretary for immigration at the Canadian embassy writes to Meyer’s Seminario Rabinico Latinamericano informing them that the embassy’s request to interview D. has been denied because she has also applied to go to Israel and a decision (by the same military authorities who kidnapped and imprisoned her) has not yet been made on that request. There are many more examples of political action taken on behalf of D. and others: letters to the Dutch and German counsels, to then President Ronald Reagan, and even to the Vatican. Often the letters are accompanied by what must have been disheartening replies that reveal thwarted communication and due process obstructed by vague charges, legal technicalities, and other government-contrived obstacles. Intermingled with these papers is evidence of the profoundly personal side of Meyer’s work: his applications to the government ministries to serve as spiritual counsel for the detained and telegrams to the families of prisoners bearing news of a child or husband’s health, prisoners’ wishes, and sometimes news of a joyous release. Then there are the letters from people like D. in Devoto prison and others like her, detainees who give thanks for a visit or the gift of a book, who describe their treatment or mistreatment, or who express the hope to be reunited one day with loved ones. At times it is clear that the very act of writing the letter has been an act of survival and defiance.

Histories, private and public, embodied in the lives of individuals such as Marshall Meyer or by organizations such as the Center for Death Penalty Litigation or the Center for International Policy, are circulated in the world today in response to the abuse and denial of human rights. Duke’s Archive for Human Rights is dedicated to collecting, and preserving these materials and opening the complex and multi-faceted history of human rights to researchers. Through its work the Archive plays a vital part in maintaining the link between our history and our humanity. For as Marshall Meyer said in a speech in 1991, “…when humans are denigrated, humiliated, and persecuted, the sanctity of human life is threatened everywhere. And if there is no longer the sanctity of life, of human life, we lose our course in history and become less than human.”

Patrick Stawski is the Libraries’ Human Rights Archivist. Visit the Archive for Human Rights online at library.duke.edu/specialcollections/human-rights/.

Two items from the Student Action with Farmworkers Records, a collection in the Archive for Human Rights. SAF had its beginnings at Duke in the 1970s when Dr. Robert Coles and Professor Bruce Payne led twelve students in a summer-long migrant project that included an investigation of conditions in North Carolina’s camps for migrant workers.

The Washington Office on Latin America Donates its Archives to the Duke Libraries

The Washington Office on Latin America (WOLA) recently donated its historical archives to the Archive for Human Rights at the Duke Libraries. WOLA is the leading U.S. human rights organization promoting human rights, social justice, and democracy in Latin America. Strong partnerships with colleagues throughout the region inform WOLA’s analysis and foreign policy proposals. Policy makers, elected officials, the media and activisits in both North and Latin America look to WOLA for accurate, timely analysis of U.S. policy and developments in the region.

WOLA was created a year after the 1973 military coup d’etat against the Allende government of Chile, when U.S. activists, church leaders and ordinary citizens came together to push for change in U.S. policies toward Latin America. Today WOLA has a broad agenda that reflects the realities and challenges facing Latin America, ranging from gang violence to organized crime to the effects of free-trade agreements. It works to raise awareness among the U.S. public about how immigration, trade and other issues of concern are linked to problems of poverty and inequality in Latin America.

The agreement with Duke University Libraries provides for the transfer of about 100 boxes of inactive documents and papers from all facets of WOLA’s work. Among the materials coming to Duke are memoranda, correspondence, and publications documenting the organization’s involvement in major issues and events since the 1970s, including the Contra war in Nicaragua, U.S. funding for anti-drug efforts in the Andes, the 1980s civil war in El Salvador, and the Fujimori government in Peru.

Read More about Human Rights

Edwidge Danticat. The Dew Breaker. New York: Distributed by Random House, 2004.

Ariel Dorfman. Heading South, Looking North: A Bilingual Journey. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1998.

Shirin Ebadi. Iran Awakening: A Memoir of Revolution and Hope. New York: Random House, 2006.

Mary Ann Glendon. A World Made New: Eleanor Roosevelt and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. New York: Random House, c2001.

Jean Hatzfeld. Machete Season: The Killers in Rwanda Speak: A Report. Translated from the French by Linda Coverdale; preface by Susan Sontag. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2005.

Adam Hochschild. King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998.

Claudia Koonz. The Nazi Conscience. Cambridge, MA, Belknap Press, 2003.

Alicia Partnoy. The Little School: Tales of Disappearance and Survival in Argentina. Translated from the Spanish by Alicia Partnoy, with Lois Athey and Sandra Bramstein. London, Virago, 1998, c1986.

Samantha Power. A Problem from Hell: America and the Age of Genocide. New York, Basic Books, c2002.

Helen Prejean. Dead Man Walking: An Eyewitness Account of the Death Penalty in the United States. New York: Vintage Books, 1994.

________. The Death of Innocents: An Eyewitness Account of Wrongful Executions. New York: Random House, c2005.

Jacobo Timerman. Prisoner without a Name, Cell without a Number. Translated from the Spanish by Toby Talbot. New York: Knopf: Distributed by Random House.