I’m
watching with great interest what’s going on in the European Union. The EU
Court of Justice has ruled in favor of the Right to be Forgotten, a concept I
discuss in my book, Issues in Internet Law: Society, Technology, and the Law. Europeans have a profound commitment to individual
privacy, considering it a fundamental human right, whereas Americans value free
speech as a core principle of a democratic society. When the two values
conflict, the winner will depend upon the locale.
Europeans believe individual privacy is a matter of dignity. They
believe personal information about one’s life is, to put it simply, no one
else’s damn business. They think everyone should have the right to remove
information about himself or herself from the Internet. That embarrassing
drunken photo, your bankruptcy record, your divorce proceedings, your DUI
record, your misdemeanor mugshot, the decade-old news report of your sexual
abuse by a parent, or the details of your rape are likely to come up on the first
page of search engine results when a neighbor, a date, or a potential employer
searches for your name. Europeans have a quaint idea that an individual should
be allowed to assert a Right to be Forgotten – to make search engines de-link
from the offensive material upon request.
Americans take the position free speech should trump individual
privacy. After all, this is a nation of reality television that loves to gossip
about the titillating details of other people’s lives. America is a “tell-all”
nation, while Europe is a “tell none” union.
I have to side with Europeans on this one.
When I was a boy, the president of the United States was the most
admired and important man in the world. Especially in the wake of the
assassination of President John F. Kennedy, like any other patriotic American
boy, I wouldn't have hesitated to take a bullet for the president. Any
president. Democrat or Republican; young, like JFK or old, like LBJ; it didn't matter. The president was the president, and we were taught to be patriotic:
every morning, we stood beneath the American flag and a framed photograph of
the president, and recited the Pledge of Allegiance. We knew we might one day
be called to give our lives in defense of our country, and stood ready to give
our lives in defense of our president, however unlikely the latter might be.
Oliver Sipple was ready the day fate called upon him. He was in a
crowd outside a San Francisco hotel, waiting to catch a glimpse of President
Gerald R. Ford emerging, when he saw a woman aiming a .38 caliber pistol at the
president. Oliver lunged at Sara Jane Moore as she squeezed the trigger,
causing her to miss her target. Oliver became a national hero. He also became a
public figure which, in American jurisprudence, effectively meant he no longer
had a right to privacy. The press found out Oliver was gay. He begged them not
to reveal that portion of his life to the public. Being outted in 1975 meant
social ostracism, loss of family and friends, and potential job loss. Although
it had nothing to do with the news story, it made for a salacious second day
lead.
When his family found out, Oliver’s mother disowned him. Oliver
sued the San Francisco Chronicle and the reporter for invasion of
privacy. He lost. Oliver Sipple, the American hero who had saved a president’s
life, just wanted his privacy and a bit of dignity. He wanted the right to be
forgotten. Instead, his private life in San Francisco became public fodder for
the news media and titillating gossip for the neighbors of his Midwestern
family. Ultimately, Oliver committed suicide.
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