Chapter 1: The Dilemma of Digital Content Ownership

Upon checking my email, I noticed a Google alert for my name. Typically, these alerts involve soccer-playing teenagers with my name, and I usually dismiss them. However, one title caught my eye: “NEWS: Woman on Stepmom.” Having recently penned an article about my relationship with my stepmother, I assumed it was a reprint that another publication had finally shared. Curiosity piqued, I opened it to see the edits made—something that often includes changing my images and refining grammar.

To my astonishment, what I found was not my article at all. Instead, it was a hybrid of a summary and an interview, published by a woman on Newsbreak. Shockingly, 75% of this “article” consisted of quotes from my original piece.

“Interesting,” I thought, as I continued reading.

As I scrolled to the bottom, I noticed that instead of crediting the original source on Medium, she cited the reprint site without acknowledging me as the author—merely presenting herself as the interviewer of a conversation that never occurred.

Then came the flood of comments, with many discussing my story as if it were her creation.

My confusion quickly shifted to frustration, and I rushed into my husband’s office, waving my phone. “What can I do about this?”

He opened the article on his computer and shook his head. “You could try reaching out to her, contact the site, or even consider issuing a copyright infringement claim.” My husband, who works in Big Law and understands legal matters well, said, “Honestly, this is why creating content online is fraught with issues.” My heart sank.

With no contact information available for the woman who called herself a journalist, my teenage son took the initiative to find her on Facebook. I contemplated reaching out but ultimately decided against it, feeling it might be intrusive. Instead, I left a polite comment on her post, requesting proper credit for my original work.

To my dismay, she deleted my comment.

When I recounted my experience on TikTok, fellow writers expressed outrage. However, friends on Facebook had a different reaction, suggesting that her blatant plagiarism was a form of flattery.

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, I worked in public relations for Napster. For those unfamiliar, Napster was the pioneer of music file sharing, akin to iTunes, albeit without compensating artists. My role involved persuading the public that converting songs to MP3s and sharing them online didn’t equate to theft. The company, led by teenagers Sean Parker and Shawn Fanning, was thrilling and hinted at the future landscape of music consumption. Eventually, the RIAA filed a lawsuit against Napster, leading to its demise.

Years later, the iPod revolutionized music consumption, making MP3s standard. Apple found a way to remunerate artists while charging just 99 cents per song, and today, most music is consumed via streaming services or purchased individually. Consumers now resist paying more than a few dollars a month for access to vast libraries of music, with fees divided among the artists whose work gets streamed that month.

Amazon’s Kindle similarly transformed the publishing sector. The company launched a division called Kindle Unlimited, offering subscribers unlimited access to thousands of books for a low monthly fee. Like iTunes, the revenue is shared among authors based on page reads, with most earning less than $50 monthly while Amazon profits immensely.

Years ago, the term 'content creator' was virtually unheard of. Napster, iTunes, and Kindle Unlimited were early steps in a larger trend towards creators receiving minimal compensation for their work, as we are conditioned to produce the content that fuels these platforms, while the companies merely provide the infrastructure. In essence, we have become the content.

But what do we truly own? Our voice? Not really, as it can be transformed into a trending sound on TikTok for others to profit from. Our image? Nope, it can be morphed into a viral meme. Our videos? They can be duetted, stitched, and combined with others' content, resulting in monetized creations that leave us empty-handed.

We are the content, yet we lack control over it. It resembles a pyramid scheme, with higher tiers siphoning ideas and content from those below, while the profits flow upward.

Thus, stealing is redefined; it becomes enhancing, a shrewd monetization strategy. It is akin to an Andy Warhol approach to the internet.

This dynamic is enriching those at the top while the rest of us continue to do the work.

Mia Hayes’s memoir Always Yours, Bee, detailing her husband’s accident and her subsequent struggles with mental health, was recognized by BookBub as one of “15 Powerful Memoirs to Read in 2021.” She is also the author of the Waterford Novels and the upcoming The Has-Beens (October 2022). Mia, an unapologetic eavesdropper, resides in Northern Virginia with her husband, three sons, two cats, and Harlow the Cavapoo.

Chapter 2: The Impact of Theft on Retail and Society

The first video explores the lasting changes in New York City's retail landscape due to theft, highlighting how these shifts are becoming permanent.

The second video discusses the trend of stores permanently closing in New York City as a direct result of theft, emphasizing the serious implications for the retail sector.