We encourage you to submit questions once the event has started. Rep. Rosa DeLauro (D-CT) will participate in the chat alongside Cannon.
We encourage you to submit questions once the event has started. Rep. Rosa DeLauro (D-CT) will participate in the chat alongside Cannon.
Some people have labored under the impression that “net neutrality” regulation was about the government stepping in to ensure that large corporations would not control the Internet. Now that the issue is truly joined, it is clear (as exhibited in this Wall Street Journal story) that the debate is about one set of corporate interests battling another set of corporate interests about the Internet, each seeking to protect or strengthen its business model. The FCC is surfing the debate pursuing a greater role for itself, meaning more budget and power.
Tim Lee’s paper, The Durable Internet, dispels the idea that owners of Internet infrastructure can actually control the Internet. The preferred approach to “net neutrality” is to let Internet users decide what they want from their ISPs and let ISPs and content companies do unmediated battle with one another to create and capture the greatest value from the Internet ecosystem.
If the FCC were to reduce its power by freeing up more wireless spectrum—either selling it as property or dedicating it to commons treatment—competition to provide Internet service would strengthen consumers’ hands.
I fear that with the PATRIOT Act on the brain, I’ve been remiss in continuing the colloquy on behavioral ads and privacy regulation that I’d been having with Jim Harper—who flattered me by responding in a long and thoughtful essay a couple weeks back. Because there’s so much interesting stuff there, I hope he won’t mind if I restrict myself to the first part of his reply here, in the interest of making this all a bit more digestible to those whose fascination with the topic may not be quite as consuming as ours. I’ll consider briefly the constitutional issue Jim raises, and turn to some of the specifics of the issue—and the relative merits of the common law alternative—in another post.
So first, let’s grant that there’s one type of “original intent” that everyone ought to care about, whatever their more general interpretive stance: what Ronald Dworkin calls the linguistic intent of the Framers. That is, if words like “commerce” and “regulate” had narrower meanings in 1787 than they do today, we must, of course, read them now in that light: “Commerce” means actual interstate traffic in goods and services, rather than economic activity more generally, and “regulation” is centrally about establishing uniform rules and procedures. With these appropriately narrowed readings in mind, I think it’s still a slam-dunk that online ads are covered.
Now, Jim’s reason for questioning this seems to be that the primary concern of the Framers was to prevent states from creating trade barriers. That may be, but if we skip ahead to Article 1, Section 10, we find that Congress knew perfectly well how to enact general and purely prohibitory bans on such shenanigans using more apt “no state shall” language. Instead, they used precisely the same language for interstate commerce as they did for international commerce, where history suggests that the Framers (many of them steeped in the mercantilist economic theories of the day) had been above all concerned to preserve the ability to erect protectionist trade barriers. So we’re left with a choice between ascribing to the Framers a frankly stunning level of linguistic incompetence or supposing that the Constitution actually does grant the affirmative power that a facial reading suggests.
Needless to say, this does not require us to adopt the post–New Deal reading that places anything with the least potential influence on economic activity under Congressional purview. But we’re pretty close to the core here. Indeed, one of the early cases I know Jim considers a lodestone for the “no trade barriers” reading, Gibbons v. Ogden, involves a congressional grant of a license to operate steamboats. The court found that this superseded the monopoly New York had sought to grant another steamboat operator, which fits Jim’s point to an extent, but it’s crystal clear from that (1824) ruling that the power of Congress here is a broad authority to grant or withhold a privilege to operate interstate vessels, and establish conditions on such vessels, including restrictions on ownership and personnel. It seems to me you’d have to get awfully creative to read the clause in a way that authorizes that kind of authority over an “instrumentality” of commerce (water navigation) but forbids Congress from specifying the kind of notice a merchant must provide when initiating an actual interstate commercial transaction.
A slightly more controversial suggestion: When the specific substantive intent of the Framers is not explicitly embedded in the Constitution’s language—by which I mean, the specific use they thought a wise Congress would make of enumerated powers in light of contemporary economic theories, whether liberal or mercantilist—I am not inclined to give it very great weight. Or more bluntly, when the legal language is abstract, I don’t think we’re bound by an original conception of how or where it applied in specific cases—to the extent such a consideration is even intelligible when we’re talking about Internet advertising. Manifestly, very few people at the time of the passage of the Fourteenth Amendment believed that the abstract guarantee of “equal protection” entailed a substantive right of black children to attend public schools the states restricted to whites. But insofar as what they wrote into law was the abstract guarantee, I don’t think we’re required to care what they believed. Our modern reading should be constrained by the original sense of the words used, and to some extent by the original structural purpose served (translated as necessary). But in specific application—whether privacy rules for online ads are encompassed within “regulation” of “commerce”—then even if you pulled out the Ouija board and got a personal verdict from James Madison, it would just be one more opinion.
Finally, and maybe most controversially: What kind of recommendations should we make in a world where our preferred interpretation of the Constitution lost the fight a long time ago? If the question is what we should recommend to judges, presumably we want to recommend that they start shifting back in the direction of a reading we regard as better justified. But what about when, as Jim imagines, we’re advising legislators? Should we only recommend what we believe to be authorized by what we hold to be the best reading of the Constitution, or will it sometimes make sense to endorse legislation that is plainly allowed by the current regnant interpretation, but that might be outside the scope of the interpretation we regard as superior? I think it will, partly for theoretical, and partly for pragmatic reasons.
At a practical level, both legislators and citizens widely believe Congress to have broader policy discretion than most of the authors here. So very generally speaking, I don’t think it serves limited government to refrain from weighing in on the relative merits of policy options that wouldn’t be on the table at all if our arguments had fared better at the meta-level. (Recall the old joke about the principled pacifist answer to how to respond to World War II: Don’t sign the Treaty of Versailles!) Now, on this particular question it’s not a sure thing that Congress or the FTC will act, and maybe “hands off” is the best advice to give. But there are plenty of areas where there’s no realistic chance that Congress is going to abstain altogether, even if we think that’s what the best interpretation of the Constitution requires. In those cases, I think it’s at least sometimes appropriate to flag the meta objection and then say something about the policy merits. Obviously there are limits—I don’t expect I’ll ever express a view on the “best” way to run a torture chamber—but there are plenty of issues where it seems perverse for the people most concerned with limited government to sit out the day-to-day debates and focus on getting Wickard v. Filburn overturned, glad as I am that there are folks hammering that.
That dovetails with the theoretical reason, which has to do with the broader question of why constitutional principles are binding on us at all. I assume it is not because the Founders, brilliant though they were, enjoyed some divine right of command that the inheritors of their institutions are compelled to obey. Partly it’s that the principles embedded in the Constitution are good ones, but a substantial piece of the answer, I think, is that they provide a stable framework within which we conduct our political and private lives. Judges give weight to stare decisis even when they think the case at the fountainhead of a line of precedent was poorly decided, in part because the legitimacy and authority of law are to a great extent a function of its predictability, of the way it allows us to take actions and make agreements and know pretty much what the legal consequences will be, however much else may remain unpredictable. Constitutional restraints do this one level up, establishing (albeit roughly) a domain of legal variation over the longer term. This is not, for what it’s worth, wacky postmodern Critical Legal Studies stuff; it’s an extrapolation from Hayek. To imagine that you can remake a society’s institutions wholesale—even if your guide is the best interpretation of a founding document, and even if you’re pretty sure that interpretation held sway a couple centuries ago—is the fallacy of constructivist rationalists.
Now, I think the right account of why we should regard the Constitution as binding starts with considerations along these lines, but this has the (perhaps unfortunate) consequence that even if you had a super-awesome unanswerable argument for why the Constitution mandates libertopia, at least when read properly absent the accretions of precedent, you still wouldn’t have an argument that judges, legislators, and government officials must all start acting on this understanding as of tomorrow. What you’d have is a good starting point for a much more gradual process of paring government back down. Not, to be clear, because I think the Constitution “means whatever the Supreme Court says it does”—that would be incoherent, since the court’s practice is unintelligible, and its legitimacy illusory, unless we assume there’s an independent meaning for them to strive toward. But an “independent” meaning can be located in a community of interpretation and practice that extends beyond the framing generation. By analogy: If I want to use language “correctly” to communicate, I don’t get to just assign whatever meanings I like to words. It’s even possible to make a strong argument that the majority of speakers at a particular historical moment are using a word—like “decimate” or “hopefully” or “brutalize”—improperly. But neither does it mean that the first person to coin the term gets to specify its legitimate uses forever. And, in fact, anyone who insisted on using “decimate” to mean only “reduce by ten percent” would probably find his attempts at communication misfiring badly. To say that meaning is necessarily public and independent—consult Hayek’s cousin Wittgenstein here—does not require a baptismal view of meaning. Or at any rate, whether it does or not depends on the function your interpretive practice serves.
So yeah, that’s all pretty far removed from our original discussion—and I’m hoping far enough below the fold that it doesn’t put me on the wrong end of another dozen arguments with colleagues. I’ll do another post later this week where I actually get to the policy question, and some potent objections that both Jim and Tim Lee have raised.
I’m delighted that Julian Sanchez has joined us at Cato. He’s as smart as they come. I’m equally pleased that I’ll have an intellectual sparring partner here on some of my issues from time to time. I encouraged Julian to share here some of what we had been discussing about privacy notices via email.
There are lots of dimensions to our conversation, but I’ll summarize it as follows: Can federal statutes protect Web surfers’ privacy? (We’re talking about privacy from other private actors, not privacy from government. Government self-control expressed in federal statutes could obviously improve privacy from government.)
Julian can see a couple of statutes helping: a requirement that third-party trackers provide a link explaining what they do, and a requirement that privacy policies be enforceable.
I think the former is a fine thing if people want it. I’m dubious about its benefits, though, and wouldn’t mandate it. The latter is the outcome I prefer—strongly!—but a federal statute is the wrong way to get there.
As you read Julian’s comment and mine, I think the divide you’ll see is a common one among libertarians. Some of us love efficiency and wealth creation, which is such a delightful product of free markets. And some of us love freedom for its own sake, not just for free markets, efficiency, and wealth creation. We’ll give up a little efficiency and wealth (in the short term) to protect liberty.
I’ll discuss the topic in the order I would as a legislative staffer (which I was), treating first the subject Julian left to last: whether the federal government has a constitutional role.
Is It Constitutional?
As we all know, the U.S. constitution gave the federal government limited powers, reserving the rest to the states and people. This was for a number of reasons, including contemporary experience with the imperiousness of a remote government.
Technology and communications might eventually change things, but so far nothing has overcome the proclivity of remote powers to misunderstand their subjects and act badly toward them, ignorant of their needs. (I’ll discuss how little the federal government—or anyone—knows about consumers’ privacy interests below.)
The constitution did give the federal government power to “regulate commerce with foreign nations, and among the several states, and with the Indian tribes.” Under the articles of confederation, the states had fallen into trade protectionism, and the purpose of this power was to suppress this form of parochialism.
It’s a straightforward inference from the grant of like authority over international, interstate, and tribal commerce that this was not a general grant to regulate all things we today call “commercial.” It was authority to make regular the buying and selling of things across jurisdictional lines. The Supreme Court allowed the limits on the commerce power to be breached in the New Deal era.
Has the constitutional design of our government been rendered quaint by the emergence of national markets for goods and services? By that international marketplace for goods, services, and ideas that we call the Internet?
No. Because the constitution and the commerce clause were not a commercial charter. They were the design of what we would today call a “political economy.” The framers designed in competition for power among branches of the federal government and between the states and federal government. Government powers contesting against each other would leave the people more free. I won’t recite how federalism works in every detail, but I encourage people to familiarize themselves with its genius.
National markets and the Internet do weaken federalism in some respects. They make it harder for businesses to exit states that make themselves unfriendly through high taxes, poor services, and inefficient regulation. Thus it is harder to hold state officials accountable. But this is no argument for removing their power to a more remote level of government, from which consumers and businesses have no power of exit save leaving the country! Establishing federal commercial rules would cut tendons in the political economy that the constitution created.
And with the whole country under the same rule, there would be almost no way to learn whether a better rule is preferable. A national rule established in ignorance of what the future holds (and they all are) stands a decent chance of being inefficient, unjust, or ill-adapted to new developments in technology, consumer demand, or business models. But there’s no corrective mechanism. Short-term efficiency gained by stabilizing expectations comes at the cost of long-term sclerosis.
There are ways consistent with the constitution to harmonize state laws while leaving states free to innovate in response to change, I hasten to point out.
The “national markets” argument for federal preemption is supported by many efficiency-oriented libertarians. But as markets globalize, the argument will support global regulation equally well. This is something that many of those same libertarians oppose. Perhaps they believe that American politicians can be trusted but not foreign ones—I don’t know, and I don’t see much difference between them. There are many good reasons for preferring local or personal regulation to national or global.
Does Notice Work?
But let’s assume the federal government is going to act in this area, and that we have been assigned to write a statute that promotes the privacy of Web-surfers. Does requiring third-party trackers to provide notice do that? I don’t think so.
First, let’s be more precise about the problem we’re trying to fix. Julian says that there exists a set of consumer expectations that are not being met. “Empirically,” he says, most people don’t expect to be monitored all the time unless they’ve been explicitly warned otherwise. I take Julian’s point to be that this lack of notice is depriving them of information they need to exercise privacy-protective self-help. The result is less privacy than consumers would have with notice and lower consumer welfare.
I haven’t seen the research on which Julian bases his statement about consumer expectations, and I don’t know of any public opinion research that has overcome the deficits Solveig Singleton and I identified in our 2001 paper on privacy polling.
If people have these expectations, they’re counterfactual. I’m willing to be corrected if it’s no longer true, but I believe that most servers record and store the IP addresses from which they have received requests for data, monitoring and archiving records of all visitors in at least an elemental sense.
My preference is for consumers to be empowered and required to protect themselves from cookie-based tracking that they don’t want. I believe consumers are responsible for their choices in computers, software, Internet connection, and security. No computer is ever “coaxed” into releasing information if it hasn’t been set up to allow it.
Protection against unwanted data release isn’t easy in a changing technology environment, but Internet users have a great deal of help in making their choices, and they will get better at it if their well-being requires it. The alternative is nannying and regulation of the type most libertarians object to.
In his post, Julian appears to agree that people shouldn’t expect privacy in messages posted to public fora but then switches the subject slightly. Drawing an analogy between Web surfing and a changing room at a clothing store, he suggests that much online behavior is like undressing in a cordoned-off area on someone else’s premises. Decency (and, Julian says, law) requires notice when people might be observed in that setting.
I fear that Julian has lumped a lot of very different kinds of interaction together, making the online world legible for the purpose of writing a uniform rule about how it should work. Planners must do away with complexity, of course, but that is why planning fails so badly compared to the self-organizing done in markets and reflected in common law rules.
Again, given the thousands of different contexts of online communication, I don’t think people’s expectations are settled or static. People’s expectations when clicking from site to site sweep across a much wider, newer landscape than when they are buying a toaster, in which expectations truly are relatively settled.
But assuming that people do have the expectations Julian says, will notice that their expectations are not being met make them aware of it? Will it empower them to protect their privacy? Our experience with first-party tracking suggests otherwise.
In the late 1990s, the U.S. commercial Internet adopted a strong custom of posting privacy policies. It’s worth noting that this was adopted without government coercion (though there was the threat of coercion—in our business, we never get controlled experiments). Well-intended though this was, it has not spawned a culture of privacy.
What evidence there is suggests that people don’t read privacy policies. When people choose online service providers, they don’t compare the written policies of different providers. Their sources of information instead include news stories, friends, blogs—a marketplace of information much more robust than these privacy policies.
Consumers do adjust the online products and providers they use, mostly by shunning what they find scary. Firms adjust their privacy practices in light of their own and other firms’ flubs. I think much or all of this would happen regardless of whether there was a privacy notice on every homepage. (Again, we lack controlled experiments.)
The few privacy advocates who read notices—and even many privacy advocates don’t bother—routinely complain about how permissive they are. Many notices say, essentially, “We care about your privacy a lot! And we do whatever we please with the information you give us!”
Consumers do not seem willing to punish them for having such information policies. One possibility is that consumers don’t care about privacy in many circumstances. That’s not crazy. Another is that notices don’t inform. There’s a good chance that consumers take the existence of notice as an indication that they are being accorded privacy, regardless of what’s in the policy. Privacy notices may fool consumers into thinking they’re protected when they’re not.
In the main I can’t say our online culture is necessarily shaping up wrongly, but the presence of notice about first-party tracking has not made consumers much better off in terms of privacy. It may have given information to advocacy groups and watchdogs that they otherwise wouldn’t have gotten so easily, but links on every homepage are just ritual. The privacy conversation happens elsewhere. I don’t think this ritual should be extended and deepened with more notice about more things.
Julian is not alone in thinking it should, of course. There are many who would impose comprehensive notice regimes or refine the ones we’ve got. Many of these people confuse privacy notices with privacy, and privacy laws with privacy. I don’t think mandating privacy notices bears up as an effective consumer protection.
Easier Said Than Done
I also think there are a lot of practical problems and costs to mandating privacy notices.
As so many have before him, Julian asks for an “ordinary-language explanation” of what is going on. But we don’t yet have a reliable and well-understood language for describing all the things that happen with data. Much less do we know what features of data use are salient to consumers. Many blame corporate obfuscation for long, confusing privacy policies, but just try describing what happens to information about you when you walk down the street and the difficulty with writing privacy policies become clear.
Then there’s avoidance. A lot of tracking is fungible, and new innovations in tracking are sure to come, both on the technical side and the business side. If a notice regime were to stir consumer opposition to third-party tracking, the tracking could well shift back to first parties who could then serve up the products of tracking as third parties do now. What will the rule have done, then, but distort and raise costs in information markets without improving privacy?
The answer when notice fails to protect privacy, of course, is to ban tracking altogether, a goal that I think some privacy advocates maintain sub rosa. This would undercut the free-content Internet, which is supported by advertising, and which uses tracking for targeting. Mandating notice is a step toward giving people privacy they may not want while taking away content they do.
Is html the last protocol? How do you implement a link to a privacy notice on services of the future that don’t necessarily use the Web? How much money and time should a revolutionary new Internet device or service using a new protocol spend arguing to the Federal Trade Commission that it should be allowed to proceed?
Of course, every new regulation is wafer-thin. I don’t oppose them because each and every one of them lack any merit—only because the entirety of them do more harm than alternatives would. So let’s now turn to my preferred alternative: common law.
Common Law Rules Rule
Julian analogizes his third-party notice rule to the common law contract doctrine of implied warranty, of which I approve because it has shown over generations to be a fair and efficient rule. Things sold as toasters are supposed to toast bread. If you’re selling a toaster that doesn’t do that, and if you don’t make that clear, you violate a term implied by common law into sales contracts. But rules that haven’t been tested and proven over time like this don’t deserve to be laws.
Until recently (in historical terms), all law was common law. People made up the laws that suited their needs and passed them from generation to generation. Julian’s description of common law as “parasitic” on social practice is inapt. Social practice and common law are on a continuum. When a custom is so deeply ingrained and wrapped up with the rights we accord people, we treat that custom as law and penalize or punish deviations through coercive means. (I don’t think there should be a lot of law, of course.)
With our habit for personality cults, we like to think that Hammurabi, Justinian, and Napoleon were “law-givers,” but what they did was write down law that already existed in the practices of the people. (In an age of mass illiteracy, it’s doubtful that writing something down did much to affect people’s behavior.)
When civil law countries started writing summaries of their law, they took one road: expert lawmakers would decide the rules that govern society. Common law countries went down another path, in which courts formalized the law discovery process but did not seek to supplant it.
Legislatures in both systems today are typically bodies of non-experts—neither legal experts nor subject matter experts—who deign to script how society should work rather than letting society decide for itself. As we see daily in Washington, D.C., the result is not a system that gravitates toward fairness or efficiency, but a series of compromises dividing goodies (money and rules) among the best-represented interests in society, the rest of the population be damned.
No legislature today, and for all his smarts not Julian, has the knowledge needed to write an appropriate rule about what (if anything) people should be told when they go to a Web site or click on a link. With users having the ability to discern what a link does, and having knowledge that the Internet is a big copying machine, I think that the most efficient, fair, and protective rule will probably be caveat clickor. But I am willing to wait and see if that is best.
If consumers want to know something before they click, they are well equipped to let Web sites know their preferences. Let social customs evolve to meet the needs of consumers in light of ongoing multi-layered change in the Internet and its use.
“But doesn’t an ever-changing Internet make the case for some modest regulation? The Internet is so new! We really must have baseline rules or we’ll have costly disorder! We pay the price every day for our failure to regulate because people aren’t going online like they would if they were confident of their privacy!”
These are arguments regulators and social engineers make to sound “market friendly.” The problem is that they rest on the same unsupported assertions that Julian has made about privacy expectations, notice, human wants, and the interactions among these things.
There is plenty of surmise but little good evidence that people are staying offline because of privacy concerns. There is little understanding of how to get people to protect their privacy. Notice is at best an unproven technique, more probably a waste of time.
You can regulate in haste, but you won’t necessarily achieve anything. And it’s not the job of legislators—certainly not Congress—to make the privately owned and operated Internet more user-friendly.
Julian has it backward to suggest that statutes should move in to stabilize expectations when technology is fast-changing. That’s precisely the wrong time to congeal the rules.
When existing law doesn’t serve new conditions, custom followed by common law slowly discover adaptations to satisfy them. It takes some time—and it’s time that should be taken. The alternative, statutory law, has no corrective function to undo regulations that fail to suit later circumstances.
The notice rule Julian proposes is planning of the type we deplore when it comes to industrial production, the layout of towns and cities, transportation, energy, educational curricula, and so on. Why support it when it comes to online rules of engagement?
In my withering, fun attack on Julian’s notice rule, I’ve left out whether privacy notices should be enforceable. They should. As contract terms. I look forward to that rule being adopted at common law. I regret it each time the Federal Trade Commission disrupts the conditions that would establish that rule. And I’m eager to learn how society will solve the problem of damages.
My colleague Jim Harper and I have been having a friendly internal argument about Internet privacy regulation that strikes me as having potential implications for other contexts, so I thought I might as well pick it up here in case it’s of interest to anyone else. Unsurprisingly, neither of us are particularly sanguine about elaborate regulatory schemes—and I’m sympathetic to the general tenor of his recent post on the topic. But unlike Jim, as I recently wrote here, I can think of two rules that might be appropriate: A notice requirement that says third-party trackers must provide a link to an ordinary-language explanation of what information is being collected, and for what purpose, combined with a clear rule making those stated privacy policies enforceable in court. Jim regards this as paternalistic meddling with online markets; I regard it as establishing the conditions for the smooth functioning of a market. What do those differences come down to?
First, a question of expectations. Jim thinks it’s unreasonable for people to expect any privacy in information they “release” publicly—and when he’s talking about messages posted to public fora or Facebook pages, that’s certainly right. But it’s not always right, and as we navigate the Internet our computers can be coaxed into “releasing” information in ways that are far from transparent to the ordinary user. Consider this analogy. You go to the mall to buy some jeans; you’re out in public and clearly in plain view of many other people—most of whom, in this day and age, are probably carrying cameras built into their cell phones. You can hardly complain about being observed, and possibly caught on camera, as you make your way to the store. But what about when you make your way to the changing room at The Gap to try on those jeans? If the management has placed an unobtrusive camera behind a mirror to catch shoplifters, can the law require that the store post a sign informing you that you’re being taped in a location and context where—even though it’s someone else’s property—most people would expect privacy? Current U.S. law does, and really it’s just one special case of the law laying down default rules to stabilize expectations. I think Jim sees the reasonable expectation in the online context as “everything is potentially monitored and archived all the time, unless you’ve explicitly been warned otherwise.” Empirically, this is not what most people expect—though they might begin to as a result of a notice requirement.
Now, as Jim well knows, there are many cases in which the law sets defaults to stabilize expectations. Under the common law doctrine of implied warranty, when you go out and buy a toaster, you do not explicitly write out a contract in which it’s stipulated that the thing will turn on when you get home and plug it in, that it will toast bread without bursting into flames, and so on. Markets would not function terribly well if you did have to do this constantly. Rather, it’s understood that there are some minimal expectations built into the transaction—toasters toast bread!—unless the seller provides explicit notice that this is an “as is” sale. This brings us to a second point of divergence: Like Jim, I think the evolutionary mechanism of the common law is generally the best way to establish these market-structuring defaults. Unlike Jim, I think sometimes it’s appropriate to resort to statute instead. This story from Techdirt should suggest why:
It’s still not entirely clear what online agreements are actually enforceable and which aren’t. We’ve seen cases go both ways, with a recent ruling even noting that terms that are a hyperlink away, rather than on the agreement page itself, may be enforceable. But the latest case, involving online retailer Overstock went in the other direction. A court found that Overstock’s arbitration requirement was unenforceable, because, as “browserwrap,” the user was not adequately notified. Eventually, it seems that someone’s going to have to make it clear what sorts of online terms are actually enforceable (if any). Until then, we’re going to see a lot more lawsuits like this one.
Evolutionary mechanisms are great, but they’re also slow, incremental, and in the case of the common law typically parasitic on the parallel evolution of broader social norms and expectations. That makes it an uneasy fit with novel and rapidly changing technological platforms for interaction. The tradeoff is that, while it’s slow, the discovery process tends to settle on efficient rules. But sometimes having a clear rule is actually more important—maybe significantly more important—than getting the rule just right. These features seem to me to weigh in favor of allowing Congress, not to say what standards of privacy must look like, but to step in and lay down public default rules that provide a stable basis for informed consumers and sellers to reach their own mutually beneficial agreements.
Finally, there’s the question of whether it’s constitutionally appropriate for federal legislators, rather than courts, to make that kind of decision. I scruple to say how “the Founders intended” the Constitution to apply to e-commerce, but even on a very narrow reading of the Commerce Clause, this seems to fall safely within the purview of a power to “make regular” commerce between the several states by establishing uniform rules for transactions across a network that pays no heed to state boundaries. A patchwork of divergent standards imposed by judges and state legislators does not strike me as an especially market-friendly response to people’s online privacy concerns, but that appears to be the alternative. If there’s a way to address those concerns that’s both constitutionally appropriate and works by enabling informed choice and contract rather than nannying consumers or micromanaging business practices, then it seems to me that it makes sense for supporters of limited government to point that solution out.
One of the high points of last week’s Gov 2.0 Summit was transparency champion Carl Malamud’s speech on the history of public access to government information – ending with a clarion call for government documents, data, and deliberation to be made more freely available online. The argument is a clear slam-dunk on simple grounds of fairness and democratic accountability. If we’re going to be bound by the decisions made by regulatory agencies and courts, surely at a bare minimum we’re all entitled to know what those decisions are and how they were arrived at. But as many of the participants at the conference stressed, it’s not enough for the data to be available – it’s important that it be free, and in a machine readable form. Here’s one example of why, involving the PACER system for court records:
The fees for bulk legal data are a significant barrier to free enterprise, but an insurmountable barrier for the public interest. Scholars, nonprofit groups, journalists, students, and just plain citizens wishing to analyze the functioning of our courts are shut out. Organizations such as the ACLU and EFF and scholars at law schools have long complained that research across all court filings in the federal judiciary is impossible, because an eight cent per page charge applied to tens of millions of pages makes it prohibitive to identify systematic discrimination, privacy violations, or other structural deficiencies in our courts.
If you’re thinking in terms of individual cases – even those involving hundreds or thousands of pages of documents – eight cents per page might not sound like a very serious barrier. If you’re trying to do a meta-analysis that looks for patterns and trends across the body of cases as a whole, not only is the formal fee going to be prohibitive in the aggregate, but even free access won’t be much help unless the documents are in a format that can be easily read and processed by computers, given the much higher cost of human CPU cycles. That goes double if you want to be able to look for relationships across multiple different types of documents and data sets.
All familiar enough to transparency boosters. Is there a reason proponents of limited government ought to be especially concerned with this, beyond a general fondness for openness? Here’s one reason. Public choice theorists often point to the problem of diffuse costs and concentrated benefits as a source of bad policy. In brief, a program that inefficiently transfers a million dollars from millions of taxpayers to a few beneficiaries will create a million dollar incentive for the beneficiaries to lobby on its behalf, while no individual taxpayer has much motivation to expend effort on recovering his tiny share of the benefit of axing the program. And political actors have similarly strong incentives to create identifiable constituencies who benefit from such programs and kick back those benefits in the form of either donations or public support. What Malamud and others point out is that one thing those concentrated beneficiaries end up doing is expending resources remaining fairly well informed about what government is doing – what regulations and expenditures are being contemplated – in order to be able to act for or against them in a timely fashion.
Now, as the costs of organizing dispersed people get lower thanks to new technologies, we’re seeing increasing opportunities to form ad hoc coalitions supporting and opposing policy changes with more dispersed costs and benefits – which is good, and works to erode the asymmetry that generates a lot of bad policy. But incumbent constituencies have the advantage of already being organized and able to invest resources in identifying policy changes that implicate their interests. If ten complex regulations are under consideration, and one creates a large benefit to an incumbent constituent while imposing smaller costs on a much larger group of people, it’s a great advantage if the incumbent is aware of the range of options in advance, and can push for their favored option, while the dispersed losers only become cognizant of it when the papers report on the passage of a specific rule and slowly begin teasing out its implications.
Put somewhat more briefly: Technology that lowers organizing costs can radically upset a truly pernicious public choice dynamic, but only if the information necessary to catalyze the formation of a blocking coalition is out there in a form that allows it to be sifted and analyzed by crowdsourced methods first. Transparency matters less when organizing costs are high, because the fight is ultimately going to be decided by a punch up between large, concentrated interest groups for whom the cost of hiring experts to learn about and analyze the implications of potential policy changes is relatively trivial. As transaction costs fall, and there’s potential for spontaneous, self-identifying coalitions to form, those information costs loom much larger. The timely availability – and aggregability – of information about the process of policy formation and its likely consequences then suddenly becomes a key determinant of the power of incumbent constituencies to control policy and extract rents.
A further chapter in Britain’s economic suicide comes from Tax Notes International today (subscription only):
In a move apparently aimed at lowering their tax bills, major U.K. sports bookmakers William Hill and Ladbrokes plan to relocate their sports betting operations to Gibraltar, according to media reports.
The move by William Hill was announced on August 4 and was subsequently followed by Ladbrokes’ announcement on August 6. The moves are projected to cost the U.K. Treasury millions of pounds in tax revenue, according to an August 6 report on www.guardian.co.uk.
The departure of these sports betting firms, particularly if other sports bookmakers follow, could put the U.K.’s entire online gambling market (the largest legal betting market in the world) beyond the reach of either the Gambling Commission or the Treasury, according to media reports.
Ladbrokes CEO Christopher Bell cited “intense competitive pressure” as the main spur pushing his company offshore. “Our award winning sportsbook Ladbrokes.com is the biggest in the U.K. market but faces aggressive competition from offshore operators who hold a very significant cost advantage by operating from low tax jurisdictions. Operating from the U.K. has become unsustainable and we will relocate by the year end,” he was quoted as saying in an August 6 statement on the Ladbrokes Web site.”
The 15 percent tax on online gambling (the industry had lobbied for a 2 percent or 3 percent tax), one of Gordon Brown’s last acts as chancellor of the Exchequer, has been generally seen as an embarrassment for London, which had sought to position the U.K. regulatory approach as world leading. Instead of applying for licenses with the Gambling Commission as the laws’ drafters had hoped, members of the online gambling industry have boycotted the U.K. and headed offshore.
“The U.K. has effectively turned its back on the industry. It will now be almost impossible for a U.K.-based operator to compete with offshore business,” John Coates, chair of the Remote Gambling Association, said in a March 2007 statement. Sports betting became the last gambling subindustry to remain onshore.
Currently, the total tax faced by U.K.-based sports bookmakers includes the 15 percent profits tax, a 15 percent VAT, corporate tax, and a special 10 percent tax for horse racing betting profits. Tax rates in offshore locations such as Gibraltar, Malta, or the Isle of Man are only about 1 percent to 2 percent, according to the statement on the Ladbrokes Web site, and there is no special horse racing profits tax.”
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