Columbia University law professor Tim Wu supports Google’s efforts to digitize books, which he also sees as essential for comprehensive search. But he thought Google was being evasive. “If they had a copyright lawyer among their founders,” he said, “they never would have started the company. The basic business of a search engine is to copy everything. To make your copy, and then search it. The first thing that happens, arguably, is infringement of copyright law. I say ‘arguably’ because there’s never been a case on it. From day one, Google went out and copied the whole Internet. Can you imagine a company starting in the film world and the first thing they did was make a copy of every film in existence? That company couldn’t have gotten started. The Web is always about copying, but copyright law is all about making copying illegal.” There is an unavoidable disconnect between the two.
Over the next several years, the Association of American Publishers and the Authors Guild lawsuits wended their way through the legal system. While they did, another disconnect surfaced: a contradiction between Google’s push to liberalize the intellectual property rights of others while protecting its own. Buried in Google’s 260-page 2004 IPO prospectus is this admission: “Our patents, trademarks, trade secrets, copyrights and all of our other intellectual property rights are important assets for us. There are events outside of our control that pose a threat to our intellectual property rights.” They cited the politics of other nations, the various legal interpretations. Then they provide a sentence that could have been uttered by a publisher: “Any significant impairment to our intellectual property rights could harm our business or our ability to compete.”
Looking back, many of Google’s nonengineers admit, when asked, that Google made a mistake by not more closely consulting and coordinating their efforts with publishers and authors. “I think that’s true,” said Megan Smith, Google’s vice president of business development, who explained that “we moved too fast” and “involved the Authors Guild much later” than we should have. “We’re a technology company,” chimed David Eun, vice president of strategic partnerships. “We thought people would understand that we had good intentions.” Asked if Google was guilty of innocence or arrogance, Paul Aiken of the Authors Guild said, “It’s probably both.”
MEL KARMAZIN THOUGHT it was arrogance. Having left Viacom earlier in 2004 after an unhappy half decade with Sumner Redstone (and before it was split into two companies, Viacom and CBS), he was now the CEO of Sirius satellite radio, which blankets the United States with a cornucopia of radio options. He described an early meeting he had with Tim Armstrong, Google’s sales chief. “The first thing he said was, ‘We have so many advertisers that we don’t have enough content in which to put all of this advertising, so we would like to get into selling radio advertising.’” Armstrong proposed to sell national satellite radio spots the way Google sold search words, in an auction.
“How much money will you guarantee me?” Karmazin asked. Armstrong made an offer that Karmazin considered way too low. “I believe the system would have been successful,” Karmazin now said, “but it would have had the effect of lowering prices.” Again, he was struck, as he had been on his 2003 visit to its campus, by Google’s boundless ambitions. Again, he believed that its mathematical approach was all wrong. Google didn’t understand that you were “selling the sizzle, not selling a cost per point”-each rating point signifying the size of the audience is sold at a set rate. “You’re selling a spot in Desperate Housewives.” To those at Google, Karmazin was slavishly following a formula that digital technology had proved wasteful.
It wasn’t just Google that loomed as a threat to traditional media. Yahoo was pushing into content-hiring a former Hollywood executive, Lloyd Braun, to produce and package shows for the Web, in addition to such popular features as Yahoo Finance-and in 2005 had more than four hundred million worldwide users. That year, Yahoo generated profits of $1.1 billion, and was valued by Wall Street at a whopping $50 billion, equal to the combined value of Viacom and CBS or to the Walt Disney Company. Jaws dropped when media executives read in 2005 that Yahoo CEO Terry Semel cashed in $230 million in stock options, and had another $396 million yet to exercise.
Google believed, with merit, that traditional media too often blamed digital companies for events they did not cause-for the disruptive impact of the Internet, for slowed or declining profits, for their shrinking stock price or budget cutbacks, for their rampant insecurities. It was inevitable that the Internet would alter the way consumers received and used content. But Google became a convenient piñata.
The company gave its critics a big target to swing at: in 2005 alone, Google acquired fifteen smaller digital companies and partnered with various others, including a smaller search engine, Barry Diller’s Ask.com, to which Google directed advertising as it now did for hundreds of thousands of Web sites. Google had 7,000 employees working out of 62 offices, 30 of them outside the United States, which produced nearly 40 percent of its revenues. By the end of 2005, the company had indexed 8 billion Web pages in 116 languages; its revenues soared to $6.1 billion and its net income to $1.5 billion.
Meanwhile, the tide was running against traditional media. In December of 2005, 77 percent of Americans had Internet access at work and 37 percent of all adults had high-speed access to the Internet. The slight but steady decline in newspaper circulation suddenly steepened in 2004 and 2005. The circulation of daily newspapers would plunge 6.3 percent between 2003 and 2006, with Sunday circulation falling 8 percent. Newspaper advertising revenues, which had grown on average in the high single digits since 1950, beginning in 2001 fell in four of the next seven years, and in 2006 began to fall more steeply. With investors convinced that companies like Google would grow while newspapers would not, the stock price of newspaper companies also plunged-falling 20 percent on average in 2005-leaving them less capital to diversify by acquiring growth businesses. With search and Google News and other news aggregators culling reports from all over the world, readers could easily fetch their news for free online. Newspapers cried that Google and other Web sites that aggregated news lacked what elite newspapers offered: bureaus in Baghdad and state capitals, investigative reporting, professional editors, and familiar brand names that often stood for quality. But readers could effortlessly view their stories through Google News or Google search. By the end of 2005, 40 percent of American broadband users said they got their news online.
Much of the rest of old media was also challenged. Book sales were steady, but not robust, and the industry was anxious about the decline of independent bookstores and the new leverage exerted by giants like Barnes amp; Noble and Amazon.com. This anxiety was only inflamed by Google’s thrust into digitizing books. The movie and television and music industries were fretting about piracy. U.S. content and software companies lost an estimated $6.9 billion in revenues to piracy in 2005, and in China about 90 percent of all content and software was pirated. About one billion songs per month were swapped on illegal file-sharing networks. Although digital companies claimed piracy was hard to control, media executives rarely believed this. They believed digital companies were building their own audiences by stealing their content, particularly that of music companies. The lubricant of trust was missing. “I don’t believe they have any incentive to solve it,” said Sony CEO Sir Howard Stringer. With the rise of high-speed Internet connections, Hollywood knew its movies and TV programs were becoming more vulnerable to hackers and illegal downloads.