Piracy_ The Intellectual Property Wars from Gutenberg to Gates - Adrian Johns [266]
FIGURE 15.3. Samurai in the den. D. Sherbo, "Video Wars." Washington Post, May 2, 1982, fr. © The Washington Post. All rights reserved. Used by permission and protected by the copyright laws of the United States. The printing, copying, redistribution, or retransmission of this material without express written permission is prohibited.
Sony's victory in the Betamax case proved pyrrhic, of course. Betamax was soon overtaken by the rival VHS standard. Reflecting on the failure, Sony came to a momentous decision. It decided that it resulted from a basic rift between technology and "content" in the electronics and culture industries. That is, in an emerging information age the divide between industrial and creative properties could be fatal. Implicit in the Betamax experience, therefore, was a message about how international capitalism and creativity intersected-or failed to. It was on this reasoning that Sony launched what became the largestJapanese acquisition of all. It first bought CBS Records for $2 billion. Then, in September 1989, it moved to buy Columbia Pictures, priced at the time at $3.4 billion ($5.6 billion including debt). The rationale was to connect together intellectual properties in technology and creativity.
Needless to say, the bid stirred up intense controversy, involving all the issues of the previous half-century of piracy debates: public responsibility, curatorship, canonicity, and nationalism. Columbia's huge backlist of classic films represented something close to the American "soul," it was said. What did it mean for a nation to sell its soul? Moreover, the deal happened to come to fruition at a moment of extraordinary global uncertainty. It culminated just as the Berlin wall fell. With the Soviet bloc in terminal disarray, a fundamental reconfiguration of global politics was in the offing. Washington's anxieties about the place ofJapan in that process found a focus in the Sony bid.43
What epitomized the fear was a pirated book. The original had been published in Japan back in January and swiftly sold five hundred thousand copies. It was entitled `No" to iern Nihon (TheJapan That Can Say No). Its authors were Akio Morita, Sony's chairman, and the novelist-cumpolitician Shintaro Ishihara. Morita's contributions were relatively sober. They voiced a critique of American capitalism that was, if not exactly welcome, at least familiar. Ishihara's, on the other hand, were intensely controversial. Then fifty-six, Ishihara's views were idiosyncratic but often extremely nationalist, and he was about to launch a maverick but startlingly strong bid to lead the LDP. Japan should feel free to flex its muscles, Ishihara exhorted, and could afford to do so. The United States' nuclear deterrent had become