// January 28th, 2010 // 9 Comments » // Libraries, Photography, Random, Web Stuff, librarians
If you know me at all personally, you know that I have a dark side, and that dark side is prone to depression, despair and self-loathing. My problems have been so black—yet so fucking mundane—that there have been many times in my life that my only thought was escaping the pain. This tendency runs in my family, which makes me at once electrically fearful and fiercely vigilant for the psyches of my daughters. My purpose here is not to address the stigma of mental illness. I inherited bad brain chemistry; would you shame me for medicating my poor cholesterol? No. Moving on.
My outward confidence is a carefully-rendered house of cards, whole wings of which flutter to the ground after the merest of stumbles. I am stupid. I am ugly. I am fat. The sum of me is less than zero. Nothing I do or say is of any importance. We are all our own worst critics, but my hypercritical nature knows no bounds.
Until today.
Something happened this week that two years ago would have sent me into a weeks-long depression. It’s interesting to note that, this time, my inner voice has not withdrawn into a spiteful litany of self-loathing but has instead said, “Hey! Wait a minute. I don’t like being treated that way.” A first, after nearly forty years of spinning highs and crushing lows.
Earlier this week, one of my photos appeared in an online newsletter, with no accompanying credit. Fine, that happens—nearly every single time, I contact the author or other appropriate person, and they address it. I emailed the publisher, in this case, who responded almost immediately that they take their responsibility of crediting art and photography very seriously. A link back to my photos was added right away. Cool.
BUT, the photo in question—which clearly had been downloaded from flickr and posted as-is—was not only licensed Creative Commons – Attribution, it was also licensed Non-Commercial. Interpretations of all attributes of Creative Commons vary, of course, but the web page in question was not a mere blog post, it was an article published in a regular newsletter, by a very well-known industry publisher. Pretty clearly NOT “non-commercial.”
The publisher’s response to my inquiry was to add credit to the article, saying that they had been sent a jpg file of unknown provenance (ok, that happens sometimes, too), and—rather pointedly, I thought—leaving the question of the NC attribute completely unaddressed. “Ha! You are a meek librarian!” they roared. “We can have you for a song! You are worth nothing!”
Right. The old me would have quailed at this. Instead, I pushed on.
Meanwhile, I contacted the subject of the photo to let her know this was going on. She sent me the email that she had sent to the article’s author, which did not have a jpg attached to it, but had a link to the flickr page and listed my name as photographer.
Uh… what’s going on here? Wires crossed? Someone not owning up?
So, I pointed out the NC attribute and asked how they could address that, figuring the response would be something like “Oh, you’re right. Sorry, we can’t pay you, but we’d very much like your permission to keep the photo with the story.” Which I would have granted.
Instead, the response was: “I’ve taken the photo down.” The publisher reiterated that this was an innocent mistake; they had no idea about the rights status of the photo.
Yes, I am a meek librarian. They sure showed ME.
Screw that.
I let the publisher know that I was aware that they had been sent a link *and* my name, and that I was disappointed that this happened. The response: We have acted in good faith. We have taken the photo down. What more can we do?
That’s a good question—what do I want here? I don’t want money. I don’t want the photo reinstated, though I would be fine with that. What do I want? I think I want to get to the bottom of the story, the culprit of which I suspect to be carelessness rather than malice. I can imagine the reporter honestly not remembering the contents of the email sent by the photo’s subject, after having clicked the link, downloaded a satisfactory image and sent it on without another thought. I can imagine—and I understand and support—the publisher inquiring and believing the reporter assurances. We are all busy; there was a deadline to meet. I cannot imagine that there is any deliberate lying here, or covering up.
Stay tuned for the rest of the story as I await a conclusion and reflect on what this means for redefining the sum of me.