The Ethics of Piracy: What “Dream Count” Forces Us To Acknowledge

Following a twelve-year interlude since her last novel, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie returns with her feverishly anticipated fourth novel, Dream Count, which tenderly maps the lives of the novel’s four lead characters as they grapple with the limitations of today’s patriarchal society. Since her literary debut with 2003’s Purple Hibiscus, Adichie’s profile has not only risen in literary circles—as is usually the case with many venerated writers—but also among the general public. She’s revered and doted on in equal measure by old and young; rich and poor; bourgeoisie and proletariat. All of which is to say that she’s our generation’s closest thing to a literary superstar. 

Dream Count’s brilliant rollout—which garnered the type of publicity typically reserved for music heavyweights or film stars— only functioned to amplify her celebrity. In the weeks leading up to Dream Count’s release she loomed over public discourse with spectacular intensity, appearing on the cover of The Guardian in February, and stirring conversations around her imminent novel through carefully constructed narratives on the book; such as her Vogue essay which delicately excavates the manifold shards of her personal experiences that served as fodder for the book, as well as an excerpt which she released in The NewYorker.

As far as stoking excitement for the book goes, her spectacular promotional efforts have paid off handsomely and the results are in plain view. Social media is strewn with bubbly photos of fans posing with signed copies of the novel. Some super fans even have pictures where they pose with the literary stalwart, from the pop-ups Adichie has organized in the past few weeks. Bystanders caught in the thrall of FOMO have also compulsively expressed their intent to purchase a copy of the book. Amid this hubbub, bad actors have begun to show their hand. Just as ecstatic fans raved about their copies of the book, certain others waxed excitedly about illegally downloading the digital version of the book. Some have even ventured to share links and carefully constructed guides on downloading the pirated version.

Piracy is hardly a new problem or topic of contention. Since the dawn of the personal computer era, illegal reproductions of copyrighted works have increasingly blighted the art world, rocking the literary and music scenes with indiscriminate ferocity. But perhaps on account of the Dream Count’s singular popularity, the conversation around the impacts and ethics of piracy has been revived. On one end of the spectrum, people have condemned piracy, carefully delineating the many ways it harms artists. On the other end, however, dark horses have made interesting cases in support of the rogue act.

You might feel the impulse to dismiss this defense of piracy in its entirety—after all, piracy is not just an ethical infraction but a crime in many parts of the world—but hold your horses, it gets interesting. The greater sweep of this defense has been populated by ignorant rhetoric trotted out by individuals unaware of the existential threat it poses to the arts. This category of rebuttals is relatively easy to address—carefully spelling out how piracy harms authors should get holders of this view to acquiesce or at the very least reconsider their position. The other category of this defense of piracy is, however, more profound, pulsing with philosophical questions that poke at binary notions of morality.

Champions of this line of thinking contend that given Nigeria’s impoverished status—according to the NBS 63% of persons living within Nigeria (133 million people) are multidimensionally poor—enforcing strict moral or legal edicts against piracy is tantamount to excluding millions of people from access to information, or the pleasure of engaging with the joys of reading. The reality is that the average Nigerian barely earns enough to cover their most basic needs, and so, spending anywhere between fifteen and twenty thousand Naira on a single book is aspirational to most. Regardless of what ethical or moral values one might consider this situation against, the reality of Nigeria’s grim economic situation simply means that without bootleg copies of books, films, or TV shows, quality entertainment would simply be out of reach for most. And what quality of life can one be said to be living when in addition to rising costs of food, unlivable housing conditions, and tedium of commuting in a country plagued with a decrepit transportation infrastructure, one is deprived of enjoying the reprieve of losing oneself in a movie or a book?

Further complicating matters is the fact that sound education—of which art and cultural literacy is an integral component—is perhaps the most effective vehicle for upward social mobility. Without access to culturally relevant literature, films, and music, individuals from impoverished backgrounds are further setback in life. These arguments perform the function of testing our rigid and binary assumptions of the world, the certitude with which we define good and evil, and the speed with which we mete out justice to those who fall short of our moral standards. 

In Augustine’s City of God, he narrates an exchange between Alexander The Great and an apprehended pirate. Bound by shackles and faced by the mythic figure that is Alexander, the pirate ventures to question the moral superiority Alexander wields over him, by drawing parallels between his actions on the sea and Alexander’s conquests of faraway lands. After an impassioned exchange between the two, the pirate brings the conversation to a close with a stirring monologue that raises more questions than it provides answers. “Laws are but the words of those in power. Do they truly serve justice, or merely the interests of their makers?” The lesson here is not that laws are arbitrary or that piracy is permissible. 

Authors and creatives in general channel immense efforts into their work, and deserve to be compensated financially. Piracy doesn’t only thwart the earning potential of artists but puts the existence of art in jeopardy. If art stops being commercially viable, it will struggle to exist in our capitalist society. There’s however a calming sense of contrition that comes with recognizing ethical grey areas and working out actionable solutions. Piracy must be condemned emphatically, but in the context of Nigeria’s sordid situation, it’s merely a starting point. We need more government intervention in bridging the literary divide through book subsidies and other initiatives of this stripe. Private individuals with means also need to step up with charitable initiatives aimed at increasing the affordability of books. The alternative to this is a further fractured society where millions are automatically excluded from the joys of reading on account of their diminished purchasing power.