Theft is theft, no matter who does it

It takes me about three months to write a book. I plot it, make sure the story flows, makes sense and builds credibly to its climax. I create characters, turn them into real, believable people who act in ways real, believable people would act, and I craft scenes that will, hopefully, satisfy readers, intellectually and emotionally.

I then edit the story I have written, ironing out inconsistencies, rewriting, clarifying, adding in and taking out passages, including things that are dear to my heart, but which, ultimately, do not serve the book.

When not writing, I research, making sure the details are correct, that my dialogue does not contain a word or a phrase that wasn't in existence at the time the story is set. I check that names, inventions, places, and a whole host of other things existed at the time. I research towns and try to get the details right, so that, for instance, today’s Monson Road in Tunbridge Wells became Monson Street in my novel, just as it really was in 1926.

I have studied, and continue to study, psychology, history, sociology, geography, social and cultural mores, and anything else that crops up.

I spend hours working out solutions to problems. Now and again, I replot the story to incorporate a fact I have just discovered. It can impact thousands of words.

Then, when it is written, polished, edited, checked, rewritten and checked again, I send it to my publisher. If they accept it, we work together to rewrite, edit, check, and polish it all over again. Once everyone is satisfied, the book is released into the world. If we’ve done our jobs correctly, people will read and enjoy it, and maybe, just maybe I will make a little money to pay for all the time, effort and energy I have invested in the project.

I may not ever make a fortune from having written a book. Indeed, it's pretty much a given that I won't. Few of us do.

If my main aim was to make a fortune, I wouldn't be writing. I would set myself up as an AI developer, and then, like them, I would steal the labours of writers, pass their work off as my own, and charge people for the inferior products that my software creates in just a few minutes. I would bypass all the genuine creativity and take rewards I had not earned for work I had not done.

This is theft. It is no different to the theft carried out by, say, a bank robber. In fact, the bank robber probably works harder at what he does than the thieves who use AI do. Bank robberies need to be planned and effort expended in carrying them out. There’s an element of risk. A level of skill required.

Companies that steal the work of writers and other creative people and then use that work to develop AI face no risk, and they need no real skill or talent: any child can learn to code.

Unlike children, though, who usually have a sense of fairness and an inbuilt honesty, the developers of AI who steal creative works are criminals, every bit as dishonest as bank robbers.

They take what is not theirs, ignoring the inconvenient laws of copyright. They do not ask permission to use other people's hard work, and they do not pay compensation for it. In short, they indulge in a form of modern slavery, using other peoples’ labours simply to line their own pockets. These are actions for which they should face far harsher penalties than they do.

These companies seem to think they are “too big to fail.” Nobody is too big to fail. In fact, they already have failed, for if you cannot build a profitable business model without resorting to stealing, then a failure is what you are.

And it’s what you deserve to be.

AI developers have no right, legally, morally, ethically, to steal the works of others, any more than a bank robber has the right to hold up a cashier and take the money from the till. They should not be allowed to succeed. Their businesses should be dismantled, the products they’ve developed using stolen data should be destroyed, the people who did the stealing barred from ever running companies again, and from working in the tech industry. Then honest people, who respect the rights of others can come in and develop truly useful AI models that serve mankind, not just the greed of a few.

If you want to use something that is copyrighted, ask permission, like everyone else does. Pay for it, like everyone else does.

You’re not special. You’re not above the law. The sooner you realise that, the better.

Picture from Alamy