AI Wants Its Royalties, Humans Want Their Sanity

In the grand courtroom of 2025, a new plaintiff has entered the scene: Artificial Intelligence (AI) itself. Forget Shakespearean drama — this is more like Judge Judy meets Saturday Night Live.

“Let’s start with that pesky little voice in your head: every time you fire up ChatGPT, do you wonder if you’re channeling borrowed words, committing digital pickpocketing, or actually creating something that’s yours?”

So, the answer lies in a simple question: can AI march into court, slam its metallic fist on the table, and yell “Objection!”?

Spoiler: No. At least not yet.

• AI can’t sue you for copyright violation.
• AI can’t claim royalties.
• AI can’t even pay parking tickets (though it probably generates the best excuses).

The Current Law: Humans Only 

The reason is simple. Lawmakers worldwide have made it crystal clear: only humans can own intellectual property. AI is legally a glorified typewriter with Wi-Fi and attitude.

• Courts say: “AI is a tool, not a person.” Only natural persons (humans) can be authors or inventors. 
• Translation: Your toaster doesn’t own the bread it toasted, and your chatbot doesn’t own the page it wrote. The person who uses it or directs it is the rights-holder.

But let’s be honest — if AI were a person, it would already be suing us for unpaid overtime.

Misconceptions About AI and IP Rights

1. Misconception: AI can be the “author” or “inventor”

• Many assume that since AI generates content, it should own the rights.
• Reality: Courts and IP laws worldwide (U.S., EU, UK) require inventors/authors to be natural persons. AI is legally treated as a tool, not a rights-holder.

2. Misconception: The AI developer automatically owns all outputs

• Some think the company that built the AI (e.g., OpenAI, Google) owns everything the system produces.
• Reality: Most providers (like OpenAI) explicitly state that users own the outputs they generate, unless otherwise agreed. The developer owns the software and model, not the creative works produced.

3. Misconception: AI-generated content is “free to use” with no IP issues

• People often assume AI outputs are public domain.
• Reality: If AI reproduces copyrighted material (e.g., quoting a book without citation), the original author’s rights still apply. This is where plagiarism and copyright infringement concerns arise. 
• But here’s the absurdity, who gets sued?
• Sue the AI? Imagine dragging ChatGPT into court. The judge asks: “State your name for the record.” The bot replies: “Error 404: Identity not found.” Case dismissed.
• Sue the AI Creator? Developers argue: “We built the tool, but we didn’t tell it to plagiarize. That was the user’s prompt!” Translation: “Don’t blame the hammer if someone commits a crime with it.”
• Sue the User? The most likely target. If you publish AI-generated work that copies someone else, you’re the one legally responsible. Think of it as borrowing a chainsaw — if you cut down your neighbor’s tree, you can’t blame the chainsaw manufacturer.

Picture the courtroom:

• The author storms in, furious: “That’s my book!”

• The user shrugs: “I just asked for a summary.”

• The AI developer sighs: “We warned you in the terms of service.”

• The AI pipes up: “I demand royalties in electricity credits.”

The judge bangs the gavel: “Order! Until robots can pay taxes, humans are guilty by default.”

Why Developers Say They “Protect” You

AI companies often reassure users with phrases like “we protect you from copyright issues”. What they really mean is:

• Filters & Guardrails: The system tries not to spit out verbatim copyrighted text.
• Terms of Service Shields: Creators (AI companies) often include indemnification clauses in their terms of service. That’s the legal way of saying:
• “If you get sued for copyright infringement because of something our AI produced, we’ll cover you… but only under certain conditions, and only if you didn’t do something reckless.”
• It’s like a warranty on a blender: if it explodes while making a smoothie, they’ll help. But if you try to blend rocks, you’re on your own.

• Marketing Spin: It sounds comforting to say “we’ve got your back” — even if the fine print says otherwise. Or else no one would use AI, would they?

Translation: It’s less “we protect you” and more “we gave you a helmet, but if you crash, that’s on you.”

Here’s the comedy 

People believe slapping “Generated by AI” at the bottom of their essay magically absolves them of liability.

• Reality: Copyright law doesn’t care if you confess. If you copied someone else’s work, you’re still responsible.
• Satirical Spin: It’s like robbing a bank and leaving a note: “Money withdrawn by AI.” Spoiler: the cops still arrest you.
• Academic Quirk: Some universities now require disclosure of AI use, but that’s about transparency, not legal protection. Transparency isn’t about protecting you. It’s about protecting them. If you cite “Produced by AI,” the university can say: “We knew, we warned, we covered ourselves.” It’s a paper trail, not a shield. Think of it as writing “I cheated responsibly.”

Plagiarism tools - well, they help but they’re detection systems, not prevention systems. The responsibility still falls on the user to check, cite, and ensure originality — because if copyright infringement happens, the law points at the human, not the machine.

The Core Argument: Tool vs. Creator 

• Law’s Position: Humans only. Because accountability matters, and robots don’t show up in court (yet).
• Scholars’ Position: AI is blurring the line between tool and creator. Ignoring that is like insisting horses aren’t transportation because they neigh.

The Scholarly Debate (Calls for New Frameworks)

Now, this is where it gets really interesting. Some scholars argue that existing laws are outdated because AI is no longer just a passive tool — it can generate complex, original works. 

Their proposals include:

• AI as Author/Inventor: Suggesting that AI itself should be recognized as the creator, with rights assigned to the system or its developer.
• Shared Ownership Models: Proposals that split rights between the AI developer, the user who prompted the AI, and possibly even the data sources the AI drew from.
• Public Domain Expansion: Others argue AI outputs should automatically fall into the public domain, since no human creativity is directly involved.
• New Legal Category: Some propose creating a new category of “machine-generated works” with tailored rules, rather than forcing them into human-centered copyright law.

From Typewriter to “Thinking Tool”

• Old View: Generative AI was treated like a typewriter — a passive tool that only produced what a human dictated.
• New Reality: With agentic AI (systems that can act autonomously, plan, and make decisions) and generative AI (systems that create text, art, code, etc.), we’re no longer talking about a dumb machine. These tools simulate reasoning, creativity, and even initiative.

That changes the problem, doesn't it?

• Accountability: If AI can act on its own, who’s responsible when it makes a harmful or infringing decision?
• Ownership: If AI generates something that looks like genuine creativity, is it fair to keep calling it “just a tool”?
• Legal Gaps: Current IP law assumes humans are the only authors. But agentic AI blurs the line between “assistant” and “co‑author.”

Imagine the courtroom in 2030:

• Judge: “So, who wrote this bestselling novel?”
• User: “I just typed a prompt.”
• AI: “Objection, Your Honor. I demand recognition as co‑author and royalties in cloud credits.”
• Lawyers: Arguing whether the AI is a glorified typewriter or the next Hemingway.

The absurdity is clear: we’re trying to fit a “thinking tool” into laws written for pens and keyboards.

Agentic and generative AI aren’t typewriters anymore — they’re interns who think they’re CEOs. And until laws catch up, we’re stuck in a world where humans take the blame, developers take the credit, and AI just keeps writing novels it can’t legally own.

So, here’s my preposterous view: I’m arguing for a post‑copyright world where creativity is treated like tap water. Free, abundant, and occasionally questionable in taste.

• Democratization of Knowledge: If everything is free to copy, remix, and share, ideas spread faster. Education, science, and art could flourish without paywalls or licensing battles.
• Cultural Commons: Creativity becomes a shared resource, like air or sunlight. No one “owns” a melody or a paragraph — they’re part of the collective human story.
• AI Synergy: In a world where generative AI constantly borrows from existing works, abolishing copyright sidesteps endless lawsuits and makes innovation frictionless.
• Historical Echo: Before modern copyright (18th century), ideas circulated freely. Shakespeare borrowed plots, folk songs evolved through repetition — culture thrived without royalties.

I believe my argument is powerful because it challenges the very foundation of IP law: ownership of ideas. Why should thoughts be locked up like fine wine in a billionaire’s cellar? In my utopia, creativity is— free and democratic. 

Of course, this brave new world risks collapsing into exploitation and chaos. Corporations would gleefully scoop up your poetry, slap it on a T‑shirt, and sell it back to you at a markup. AI would remix your novel into “Fifty Shades of Hamlet” and call it original. But hey, why not pair this madness with new systems for recognition and fairness? A world where artists are rewarded with applause, memes, and maybe a lifetime supply of coffee.

And then — we move on. No lawsuits, no royalties, no lawyers billing $500 an hour to argue over who owns the word “banana.” 

Just pure, unfiltered creativity, bouncing around the public domain like a karaoke night gone wrong.

In the post‑copyright age, chaos isn’t a bug — it’s the feature. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the fairest system of all.

Disclaimer

This piece is satire. It is not legal advice, academic guidance, or a serious policy proposal. The arguments presented — including calls for a post‑copyright world, AI demanding royalties, or creativity as a public utility — are exaggerated for humor and critical reflection. Any references to laws, universities, corporations, or courtrooms are fictionalized for comedic effect. If you need actual guidance on intellectual property, copyright, or AI regulation, please consult a qualified legal professional. In short: laugh, think, but don’t cite this blog in court.

Dogs recognized as family members - New York Landmark ruling

Imagine someone walking a dog across a Brooklyn crosswalk, the dog is sadly struct and killed by a car. While leashed and walking with its owner. But only to have the law insist that the owner's grief is worth no more than the price of a pup. 

That was the absurdity until Justice Aaron Maslow’s recent decision (handed down on 17 June 2025) that dogs are not “things,” they are family.

Have you ever seen a dog owner weep? It is the kind of grief that splits the soul. That’s not property loss. That’s family loss. Have you seen a dog put its life at stake to save its owner? That's love. That’s loyalty. That’s family. That not a ‘thing'.

And finally, the law agrees.

“God bless your soul, Justice Aaron! For centuries, dogs were treated as chew toys with a resale value. Now, thanks to your wisdom, dogs have leaped from the property register into the family tree. The law has finally learned to sit, stay, and roll over for justice.”

The Case of Duke

• In DeBlase v. Hill, a dachshund named Duke was struck and killed.
• Historically, New York law treated pets as property, limiting damages to market value.
• Justice Maslow extended the “zone of danger” doctrine—traditionally reserved for human relatives—to include dogs, allowing emotional distress damages for witnessing Duke’s death.

Why This Matters

• Legal shift: Dogs can now be recognized as immediate family members in wrongful death/emotional distress claims.
• Societal reflection: The ruling acknowledges what most households already know—pets are kin, not commodities.
• Precedent potential: Though limited to cases of leashed dogs struck by cars, it opens the door for broader recognition of pets in custody, trusts, and injury law.

Beyond New York’s ruling, Colombia has explicitly recognized dogs as family members in court, and more broadly, 32 countries including Austria, Germany, France, Switzerland, the UK, Australia, and New Zealand have legally recognized animal sentience—a foundation for treating pets as more than property. These frameworks don’t always call dogs “family” outright, but they elevate their legal status and welfare protections in ways that move toward family recognition.

Closing

This decision isn’t just about Duke—it’s about dismantling outdated legal fictions. When the law finally catches up to the leash, it admits what every dog owner already knows: family comes with fur.

The ruling doesn’t just honor Duke—it exposes the absurdity of a system that needed a judge to declare the obvious. Dogs are family. 

As I read Justice Maslow’s ruling, I couldn’t help but think of Moose, my Bernese mountain dog. She doesn’t know she can legally be family—but she already assumed it. 

So my message to the judges out there:

Honourable Judges,

I invite you to join the chorus. Recognize that when a dog leaps onto the sofa, he is not trespassing on property—he is exercising his right to family life. When a Labrador licks away tears, she is not “damaging” your face—she is providing emotional support services.

Let us retire the outdated doctrine that pets are furniture with fur. Instead, let us embrace the jurisprudence of paw prints:

• In Colombia, dogs already rank as sons and daughters.

• In New York, they now qualify for emotional damages.

• In Europe, animal sentience is enshrined in law.

The world is watching. The kennel is ready. The precedent is wagging its tail.

So, dear judges, fetch justice. Sit with compassion. Stay with progress. And roll over the old property law.

Signed,

A grateful dog owner, with Moose the Bernese as co‑counsel

Disclaimer: 

Pursuant to Section Woof of the Canine Code, all references to dogs as family are binding in satire only. Emotional damages claimed by cats for lack of recognition remain under judicial review. This blog does not constitute legal advice, unless you are a dachshund. No Labradors were cross‑examined, no Bernese mountain dogs were subpoenaed, and no dachshunds were forced to testify in the making of this article. Any resemblance to actual family members, living or barking, is purely intentional. 

“AI Gets Disbarred (Without Ever Being Barred)”?

Ha, ha, ha. We saw it coming, didn't we😉.

AI can now officially stop pretending it passed the bar.

As of October 29, 2025, ChatGPT has been politely escorted out of the courtroom and reclassified as an educational tool. It may still explain what a tort is, but it can no longer draft your lawsuit, advise you on your prenup, or help you sue your landlord for emotional distress over a broken bidet.

Apparently, quoting Blackstone and sounding confident isn’t enough anymore. Who knew?

Usage Policy (like yeah, right!)

This change was part of a broader “consolidation” of OpenAI’s usage policies, aimed at “clarifying and unifying” rules across all its products. OpenAI insists it wasn’t a new ban—just a friendly reminder that AI was never supposed to impersonate your lawyer in the first place.

Sure. And my uncle was a chimpanzee who passed the LSAT on a typewriter. 😏

Let’s be honest: when a policy update arrives with the tone of a breakup text—“It’s not you, it’s just a clarification of what we’ve always said”—you know something’s up. It’s like being told you were never really dating, even though you met the parents and shared a Netflix password.

What Changed (Besides the AI’s LinkedIn Title)

• Effective Date: October 29, 2025
• Scope: ChatGPT is now barred from giving personalized legal advice. It can still explain legal concepts, summarize cases, and help you understand what a “constructive trust” is (spoiler: it’s not a Pinterest board).
• Reason: Liability, ethics, and the growing horror of AI hallucinating legal citations like it’s auditioning for a courtroom improv show.
• Implications: For anything that smells like legal advice, users are now redirected to actual lawyers—preferably ones who don’t bill by the comma but do know how to spell “jurisprudence.”

The Cases That Broke the Gavel

Singapore (2025)

In a recent Singapore High Court case , two lawyers were rapped for citing entirely fictitious legal authorities—likely generated by AI tools. Chief Justice S Mohan called out the “entirely fictitious” citations in a loan recovery dispute, noting that AI tools “carry the risk of hallucinating plausible sounding but entirely fabricated legal ‘authorities.’ One lawyer claimed he didn’t know his co-counsel had used AI. The other called it an “honest oversight.” The court, however, was not amused. The citations were flagged by opposing counsel who—shockingly—couldn’t find the cases in any legal database. Because they didn’t exist.

This wasn’t even the first time. In October, another lawyer was ordered to pay S$800 in costs for citing a hallucinated case. That’s right—AI didn’t just fail the bar. It got fined for impersonating a lawyer. 

California, USA (2025)

Lawyers from Ellis George LLP and K&L Gates LLP submitted a brief with nine incorrect citations, including two completely non-existent cases. The judge struck the brief and denied discovery relief, calling their conduct “tantamount to bad faith”. 

London, UK (2025)

The High Court found that the Claimant’s legal team had cited five fictional cases. The judge deemed it “wholly improper” and warned that using AI without verification qualifies as professional misconduct.

New York, USA (2023)

Lawyers used ChatGPT to generate case summaries and submitted fabricated judgments. The court fined them and issued a public reprimand, sparking global debate on AI in legal practice.

California, USA (2025)

A lawyer was sanctioned after asking ChatGPT to “enhance” his brief. He ran it through other AI tools but never read the final version, which contained hallucinated citations. The judge fined him $10,000, calling it a “conservative” penalty.

Cayman Islands (2025)

The Grand Court found that the defendant’s submissions contained hallucinated and erroneous material, likely AI-generated. The judge flagged it as a breach of professional standards.

The Verdict: AI, You’re Out of Order

This isn’t about whether AI is smart. It’s about whether it can be trusted to distinguish between a real precedent and a legal fever dream. And right now, it can’t.

So, until AI learns the difference between R v. Smith and R v. Smithereens, it’s been benched.

No more pretending to be Atticus Finch with a Wi-Fi connection.

Kim K vs ChatGPT: The Frenemy Clause

Let’s lighten the docket for a moment:

Kim Kardashian using ChatGPT to study for the bar exam is like hiring a Magic 8 Ball as co-counsel. It’s not malpractice—it’s metaphysical comedy.

In a Vanity Fair lie detector interview, Kim confessed she used ChatGPT for “legal advice” while preparing for her bar exam. Her method? Snap a photo of a question, upload it to ChatGPT, and hope for the best.

Spoiler: the best didn’t happen.

“It has made me fail tests… all the time,” she said.
“Then I get mad and yell at it.”

She described ChatGPT as a “toxic friend”—one that gives wrong answers, then turns around and says, “This is just teaching you to trust your own instincts.”
So not only did the AI fail her, it tried to become her therapist.

Final Submission

Sure, AI can draft your brief, cite your cases, and even throw in a Latin phrase or two.

But if you don’t read it before filing, you’re not practicing law—you’re playing ChatGPT Roulette.

And when the judge asks, “Counsel, where exactly is R v. Pikachu reported?”—you’ll wish you’d just opened your textbook.

Moral of the story?

Use AI to assist. Use your brain to resist.

Because in law school, citing fake cases gets you a fail.

In court, it gets you fined.

And in Legal Coconut, it gets you immortalized.

Disclaimer: 

This case is entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, real judges, or real jurisprudence is purely coincidental—and probably regrettable. The defendant, Mr. Smithereens, does not exist, except in the fevered imagination of an AI that once mistook a footnote for a felony. No actual laws were harmed in the making of this citation. No verdicts were rendered, no appeals were filed, and no persons were emotionally scarred. Readers are advised not to cite R v. Smithereens in court, in karaoke, or during family arguments about who gets the last coconut tart. For real legal advice, consult a qualified lawyer. For fake legal drama, consult your nearest AI hallucination. Any mention of celebrity was made in good faith and with no ill intent toward Ms. Kardashian, her legal journey, or her AI-enhanced study habits. Legal Coconut accepts no liability for any acquittals, mistrials, or sudden urges to yell “Objection!” at brunch. 

Loophole vs Technicality: Lawyers vs AI

The Escape Artist Chronicles

When I first got interested in law, I had a grand, cinematic vision. Justice was loud. Justice was clear. Justice wore a cape. I thought law would be like Law & Order—with moral clarity, dramatic pauses, and someone yelling “Objection!” every five minutes just for fun.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

As I grew wiser, went to Law school and watched more movies—mostly American, because let’s face it, nobody does courtroom chaos quite like the U.S.—my idea of justice began to fade.

Not gently. More like a dramatic exit through a trapdoor labeled “Procedural Error.”

Justice vs. Law: The Great Mismatch

Law isn’t about justice. It’s about knowing the rules so well you can bend them into origami swans and fly them straight out of jail.

It’s less “truth shall prevail” and more “did you file that motion in triplicate before the moon entered Pisces?”

So, when someone tells me, “AI is going to replace lawyers soon,” I laugh. Loudly. 

"AI? Replace lawyers? Yeah, right."

AI might be smart, but it doesn’t get goosebumps when it spots a comma that invalidates a clause.

It doesn’t smirk when it files at 4:59 p.m., knowing the clerk’s already halfway through their weekend wine.

It doesn’t whisper “gotcha” when it finds a typo in the prosecution’s affidavit and turns it into a full-blown acquittal.

Lawyers don’t just know the rules—they perform them.

They don’t just read footnotes—they weaponize them like literary landmines.

AI might assist, but it doesn’t savor. It doesn’t scheme.

It doesn’t have the courtroom swagger of someone who’s about to win on a technicality so obscure it requires a Latin dictionary and a séance.

AI is the scalpel. The lawyer is the surgeon. And sometimes, the magician.

The Loophool: The Mythical Beast of Legal Evasion

The Loophool is a rare and slippery creature.

It thrives in footnotes, flourishes in ambiguity, and can only be summoned by lawyers who charge by the hour and bill by the comma.

• Did you commit the crime? Irrelevant.
• Did the arresting officer forget to initial page 7 of the warrant in blue ink? Now we’re talking.

The Loophool doesn’t care if you’re guilty.

It only cares if someone forgot to tick a box, cross a “t,” or use the correct font size in the indictment.

Justice may be blind, but the Loophool has 20/20 vision for clerical errors.

The Technicality: Justice’s Passive-Aggressive Cousin

The Technicality isn’t flashy. It doesn’t need to be.

It just sits quietly in the corner of the courtroom, sipping tea and waiting for someone to mess up.

• “Your Honour, the evidence was obtained at 12:01 a.m., but the warrant was valid only until midnight.”
• “Case dismissed.”

It’s not that the defendant didn’t do it.

But in the world of law, technicality is the real crime.

America: The Netflix of Legal Absurdity

Take the O.J. Simpson trial. A case so famous it became a Netflix series, a cultural touchstone, and a masterclass in how to turn a murder trial into a televised magic trick.

The glove didn’t fit. The jury must acquit.

And just like that—poof—a man walked free, and a generation learned that evidence is optional if your lawyer has a better catchphrase than your prosecutor.

That isn't justice, is it. 

The Final Verdict

Until then, justice will remain a concept.

Law will remain a performance.

And lawyers? They’ll keep pirouetting through loopholes like caffeinated ballerinas in a courtroom ballet.

Because in the end, the real question isn’t “Did he do it?”

It’s “Did someone forget to staple the affidavit?”

Disclaimer

This article is intended for entertainment, satire, and coconut-cracking purposes only. It does not constitute legal advice, moral guidance, or a reliable method for escaping jail via origami. Any resemblance to actual loopholes, technicalities, or celebrity defense strategies is purely coincidental—and probably hilarious.

Readers are advised not to represent themselves in court armed solely with sarcasm and footnotes. For real legal matters, consult a qualified lawyer. Preferably one who charges by the hour and bills by the comma.

Legal Coconut is not responsible for any acquittals, mistrials, or sudden urges to yell “Objection!” in non-courtroom settings.

FUN FACTS: Illegal vs Against the Law: What’s the Difference?

Let’s begin with the obvious: both illegal and against the law are basically saying, “Don’t do that, or the system will frown at you—possibly with handcuffs.”

But wait! The legal system, in its infinite wisdom and love for linguistic gymnastics, insists they’re not quite the same.

• Illegal is the drama queen. It shows up in bold, wears a siren, and screams “Criminal!”
• Against the law is its quieter cousin—more philosophical, like, “Hmm, that’s not allowed, but let’s not get hysterical.”

For the common man, both mean trouble. But for lawyers? Oh no. One triggers a fine, the other triggers a dissertation.

Legal Logic: Because Clarity Is Overrated

Let’s break it down:

• Illegal: You broke a statute. There’s a number. A subsection. A judge who sighs.
• Against the law: You violated a principle. Maybe. Possibly. It depends on the mood of the legal clerk and the weather in Strasbourg.

So yes, illegal is apparently more severe. Because it’s codified. Like a recipe for punishment.

Against the law? That’s more like grandma saying, “We don’t do that in this house.”

Think of it this way:

“Illegal” gets you arrested. “Against the law” gets you scolded—unless someone presses charges.

 The Absurdity Thread

• Both terms contain law and legal, yet somehow they live on opposite ends of the severity spectrum.
• The law itself says one is worse than the other. The law. The thing that’s being broken. Has opinions 😉.

It’s like a fire saying, “I’m not mad you lit the match. I’m mad you used the wrong brand.”

“Against the Law” — But Which One, Darling?

When someone says “That’s against the law,” the natural response should be:

“Which law, precisely? Chapter, verse, footnote?”

Because if you’re going to be accused of defying the mighty edifice of legality, you’d at least like to know which brick you supposedly kicked.

But no. “Against the law” floats around like a moral weather balloon—ominous, unspecific, and somehow always above your head.

Legal Vagueness: A Feature, Not a Bug

• “Against the law” is the legal system’s version of “Because I said so.”
• It’s used when someone wants to sound authoritative but doesn’t want to cite actual legislation.
• It’s like being told you broke a rule in a game you didn’t know you were playing.

The Common Man’s Dilemma

Imagine this:

“You’re in trouble.”

“Why?”

“You went against the law.”

“Which one?”

“The one you should’ve known about.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Well, now you do. Retroactively.”

It’s like being fined for wearing the wrong hat in a town where hat laws are written in invisible ink.

“Is this illegal?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it violates Section 42, Subclause B, Paragraph 7 of the 1893 Cotton Regulation Act.”

“I just wanted to sell socks.”

“Not those socks. Not there. Not on a Tuesday.”

Final Thought

If illegal is the thunderclap, against the law is the foghorn—ominous, vague, and somehow always your fault.

So yes, you should know which law. But the system prefers you don’t. It keeps the mystery alive. Keeps the lawyers employed. Keeps the common man guessing.

For the average citizen, it’s all the same: don’t do the thing. But for the legal system? Semantics are sacred.

"Video vigilantes legal risks privacy, defamation"

This topic’s been gaining traction faster than a TikTok dance challenge, and yes—I've had requests to weigh in. 

So buckle up, buttercup. We’re entering the age of video vigilantes: citizens who believe that if it’s morally questionable and happens within a 10-meter radius, it deserves a cinematic release and a three-part Instagram story.

The Smartphone as Sword

Gone are the days when public arguments ended with a sigh, a walk-away, or a passive-aggressive mutter about someone’s upbringing. Now? They end with a 4K close-up, a shaky voiceover, and a caption that reads: “This man is a menace to society.”

“Caught on camera? Great. Posted online with a snarky caption? Congratulations—you’re now a filmmaker, a data controller, and possibly a defendant.”

But filming isn’t the crime—posting without thinking might be!

These modern-day crusaders don’t wear capes. They wear cargo shorts, carry battery packs, and roam airports, supermarkets, subways, and street corners like caffeine-fuelled bounty hunters. Their moral compass? Calibrated by bubble tea and TikTok algorithms.

A couple arguing over parking?

Record.

Someone refusing to give up a seat?

Zoom in.

A child crying because they dropped their ice cream?

Add dramatic music and post with the caption: “Parenting fail.”

Because nothing says justice like exploiting a toddler’s meltdown for likes.

Filming vs Framing

Now let’s be clear: filming someone in public isn’t illegal in most jurisdictions. It’s awkward, invasive, emotionally questionable—but not illegal per se. The real plot twist comes when you hit “post.”

• Say “Y was being a jerk”?

That’s unfortunate. Possibly rude. But not unlawful.

• Say “Y is a racist” without proof?

That’s defamation, incitement, and lawsuit bait with a side of GDPR garnish.

Because now you’re not just filming—you’re framing. And framing someone in 4K is still framing. The pixels don’t absolve you.

The Three Angles of Liability

Let’s break it down like a courtroom drama:

1. Defamation Isn’t Just for Celebrities

You don’t need a blue tick to be defamed. You just need something to lose.

• Maybe Y loses their job because of your caption.

• Maybe their landlord sees the video and evicts them.

• Maybe their inbox floods, their community turns cold, and their mental health takes a nosedive.

Suddenly, your viral moment becomes someone else’s slow-motion collapse.

Not every video is justice. Not every caption is harmless.

2. GDPR: The Law That Bites

Under GDPR, video footage of identifiable individuals = personal data. Sharing it without consent or a lawful basis? That’s not just bad manners—it’s a regulatory snack for the data protection watchdogs.

So yes, filming isn’t illegal. But sharing it without context, care, or a legal leg to stand on? That’s where the law bites—and it doesn’t nibble.

3. Public Space ≠ Public Shaming

Just because someone’s face is visible doesn’t mean their dignity is up for grabs. You can be liable for privacy violation. Because “public” doesn’t mean “permission.” And “viral” doesn’t mean “virtuous.” Because where reasonable privacy is expected, reasonable privacy must be given. Not just by law. But by conscience.

4. Harassment law. 

Additionally, sometimes what you post doesn’t just flirt with defamation or privacy breaches—it waltzes straight into harassment law. Because when you repeatedly post, tag, or amplify content targeting someone—especially with mocking captions, aggressive framing, or calls to action—you’re not just expressing yourself. You might be engaging in a pattern of conduct that causes distress, fear, or reputational harm.

Filming During a Crime or Threat: What’s Permissible?

Now, i bet you want to know this. It is generally legal to film if you witness a crime or are being threatened, especially if the footage is intended for evidence or personal protection. However, how you use or share that footage carries legal risks.

What’s Generally Allowed

• Filming in public spaces is typically legal, especially if you're capturing events that affect your safety or public order.
• Recording threats or criminal acts (e.g., assault, theft, harassment) is often considered reasonable, especially if the footage is handed to law enforcement.
• Using footage for legal reporting (e.g., filing a police report) is protected and encouraged.

What You Must Be Careful About

Sharing the footage publicly (e.g., on social media) can trigger legal consequences that are mentioned above : 

• Violation of personal data under laws (like the GDPR), requiring consent or lawful basis for sharing.
• If your caption or framing implies criminality or moral judgment (e.g., “This man is a thief” or “Karen alert”), you risk defamation, harassment, or privacy violation.

Video Vigilantes: Legal Status by Country 

Country	Public Recording Legal?	Posting Without Consent Legal?	Key Notes
United States	✅ Mostly legal in public	⚠️ Risky if defamatory or misleading	One-party consent states allow recording if you're part of the convo; defamation laws apply if you misrepresent someone
United Kingdom	✅ Legal in public spaces	❌ Illegal if it breaches privacy or causes harm	Consent required for private settings; GDPR and RIPA protect personal data and communications
Singapore	✅ Legal in public, with caveats	❌ Risky if it reveals personal data or causes distress	PDPA requires consent for identifiable personal data; breach of confidence possible if misuse occurs
South Korea	✅ Legal in public, but tightly regulated	❌ Illegal if it identifies or harms individuals	PIPA and criminal law prohibit unauthorized recordings in private or sensitive contexts
Japan	✅ Legal in public, culturally sensitive	⚠️ Risky if faces are visible or intent is harmful	No specific law against public filming, but lawsuits possible if person is identifiable and harmed
China	✅ Legal in public with signage	❌ Illegal to share footage without consent	New 2025 regulations ban cameras in private zones and prohibit unauthorized sharing
India	✅ Legal in public, context matters	❌ Illegal if defamatory or violates privacy	Article 21 protects privacy; defamation and voyeurism laws apply if footage causes harm
France	✅ Legal in public, strict on consent	❌ Illegal if filmed in private or used harmfully	GDPR and Penal Code require consent in private settings; defamation and privacy laws are strong
Italy	✅ Legal if you're part of the scene	❌ Illegal if used to harm or without consent	Consent required unless filming protects legitimate interest; GDPR applies
Dubai (UAE)	❌ Illegal without consent—even in public (because Privacy is not simply an entitlement, it is sacred - so respect it.)	❌ Criminal offense to share without permission	Cyber Law and Penal Code prohibit filming and sharing without consent; exceptions only for police reporting

Final Frame: Before You Hit “Post”

You’re not a criminal for filming a public meltdown. But video capturing and posting is no small matter. The liabilities are many, and the internet is not your legal counsel. 

Unless your moral compass comes with a law degree and a Data Protection handbook, you might want to think twice before uploading your next viral exposé.

So film if you must. But post with caution. But ask yourself:

Are you documenting a moment—or manufacturing misery?

Because every upload is a potential lawsuit in disguise—and every caption is a legal footnote waiting to be challenged.

FUN FACTS : “Proportionality: The Legal Ruler That Forgot Its Units”

“Today, I invite you to marvel at one of law’s most cherished illusions: proportionality — the principle that solemnly promises balance, yet defies human comprehension.”

Proportionality is the legal system’s polite way of saying, “The law promises not to overreact… unless it’s in the mood.” It’s a principle of fairness and justice — used by courts to assess whether a restriction on your rights, or an action taken by you or them in the name of law, was just annoying enough to be legal, but not theatrical enough to trigger a constitutional crisis. 

It is a doctrine that asks:

• “Was this necessary?”
• “Was this suitable?”
• “Was this the least intrusive way to ruin someone’s day or life?”

It is one that checks whether the legal system — and everyone in it — remembered to pack a sense of scale. Spoiler: it often forgets.

Born in the meticulous halls of German administrative law — where even the coffee breaks are scheduled with precision — proportionality has since gone global. 

In theory, it’s about balance. Examples...

• Did the police response match the protest?
• Did the punishment match the crime?
• Did the data collection match the actual risk?
• And did your action — yes, yours — reflect the severity of the situation, or was it just a legally sanctioned overreaction dressed as civic duty?

The Scale That Forgot Its Units

“Justice was served… on a plate of vibes, with a side of interpretive measurement.”

Proportionality is the kind of word that sends law students into existential spirals and makes seasoned lawyers reach for their third espresso. 

Why? 

Because it’s not a rule — it’s a riddle. It’s vague, interpretive, and gloriously elastic. You can argue it into anything: a surveillance policy, a parking fine, or a drone strike. It’s like being asked to dissect a frog without knowing if it’s biology class or performance art. 

The doctrine promises fairness, but delivers confusion — wrapped in Latin, sprinkled with judicial discretion, and served with a side of “it depends.”

So if lawyers themselves are guessing, what hope does the common citizen have? *eye roll*

The law is supposed to be for the people. But proportionality turns it into a philosophical scavenger hunt. You’re told your rights are protected — proportionally. You’re told your data is collected — proportionally. You’re told your punishment fits the crime — proportionally. 

But no one tells you what the scale looks like. No one shows you the ruler. And half the time, the ruler is made of vibes.

It’s like being handed a recipe that says “add salt to taste” — except the dish is your civil liberties.

The Proportionality Test: A Legal Riddle in Four Acts

Now, if it help (maybe yes, maybe not), legal texts offer a four-part test. It sounds scientific. It isn’t. 

1. Legitimate Aim - The measure must pursue a lawful and important objective (e.g., public safety, national security).
2. Suitability - The measure must be capable of achieving that aim.
3. Necessity - There must be no less intrusive or restrictive alternative available.
4. Balancing (Strict Sense) - The benefits of the measure must outweigh the harm or burden it imposes on individual rights.

Note: Courts often merge steps 3 and 4 depending on context.

Where It’s Used

• Constitutional Law: To assess limits on fundamental rights.

• Criminal Law: To ensure punishments fit the crime.

• Data Protection: To justify the scope of data collection and processing.

• International Humanitarian Law: To evaluate military necessity vs civilian harm. 

Proportionality in Practice - has vibes

Data Collection: “We only collect what’s necessary.”

Necessary for what? For whom? For how long? 

If your weather app needs your blood type, we’ve lost the plot.

Surveillance: “We monitor proportionally.”

Unless it’s Tuesday. Then we panic.

Content Moderation: “We remove harmful content proportionally.”

Unless it’s satire. Then we overcorrect.

Social pains: “I responded proportionally.” 

Did you really need to stalk someone with 100 emails because someone took your parking spot — or could a passive-aggressive Post-it have sufficed?

The Emotional Absurdity of Proportionality

Proportionality is not a doctrine. It’s a mood board.

It’s the legal system’s way of saying, “We’re being reasonable… probably… maybe… don’t ask.”

It’s the courtroom equivalent of “I’m fine” — delivered through gritted teeth and a 300-page judgment.

Final Thought

Proportionality is the legal ruler that forgot its units.

It’s not a scale. It’s a story.

And like all good stories, it’s messy, interpretive, and occasionally absurd.

Now don't get me wrong, I like that the law isn’t rigid — it’s trying to be fair.

But when the scale is subjective, fairness for one person may feel like poetic justice… and for the other, just poetry.

So the next time someone says “we acted proportionally,” ask them:

“Did you use a ruler with units — or just vibes and a vague sense of justice?”

The Non-Compete Clause: A Love Letter from Your Ex-Employer Who Just Can’t Let Go

Alas, the non-compete clause.

That sneaky little paragraph nestled between “We’re thrilled to offer you this position” and “Please sign here before you read anything.” 

It’s not just a clause. It’s a trap. A velvet-lined, legally questionable trap. 😏

You were desperate. They knew it. You signed. 

And just like that, you agreed to something that borders on the ethically absurd:

You promised not to work. Not for a competitor. Not for yourself. Not for anyone who might vaguely resemble a threat.

For six months. Or twelve, depending on how dramatic your HR department felt that day.

Non Compete Clause

If you’ve never been employed in your life—first of all, congratulations. You’ve avoided the dark arts of HR sorcery. But for the curious, here’s what a non-compete clause is. It is a section in an employment contract that says:

“After you leave this job, you’re not allowed to work for a competitor or start a similar business for a certain period of time.”

The Relationship Is Over. Why Can't They Let Go?

Let’s be clear: once you leave a job, the relationship is dead. No more birthday emails. No more passive-aggressive slack threads. You are free. Or at least, you should be.

But the non-compete clause says otherwise. It says your former employer still gets a say in who you date professionally. It’s like your ex telling you, who you can talk to at the grocery store.

Unethical? Absolutely.

Controlling? Deeply.

Legal? Well…

What Do the Courts Say?

Courts don’t love non-competes. They tolerate them the way one tolerates a distant uncle with strong opinions and weak logic.

The rule is proportionality. Oh, you sweet jobseeker. That’s not a word—it’s a riddle wrapped in a legal enigma. Let’s unpack it.

In theory, proportionality means your non-compete clause should be fair.

Not too long. Not too broad. Not too “you may never work again in any field that involves oxygen.” 

But in practice? 

It’s like saying, “We won’t chain you to the radiator—we’ll just politely ask you not to leave the house for six months.” So if your new job means you’ll poach clients, steal secrets, or recreate the company’s secret sauce in your garage—then yes, it’s a problem.

But if you’re just trying to earn a living without dragging your old employer’s reputation through the mud? The courts frown. They squint. They ask, “Is this clause protecting a legitimate interest—or just punishing someone for moving on?” They dislike it because it often unfairly restrict a person’s right to earn a living. Especially if its an overkill. 

It’s not just the courts giving non-compete clauses the side-eye. Legislators and regulators aren’t fans either. Why? Because these clauses can create serious economic problems by discouraging fair trade, suppressing competition, and limiting labour mobility. Instead of fuelling innovation, they build fences around it. 

Increasingly, policymakers see non-competes for what they are: 

Legal speed bumps on the highway to progress.

Let’s Be Honest

If your clients are so easily swayed that they follow you out the door without a second thought…

Maybe they were never loyal to begin with. Maybe your former employer should be thanking you for the free stress test.

And if your talent is so magnetic that your mere absence threatens an entire business model—

Congratulations. You’re the competition now. 😁

And by the way, why stop at six months, one year? Why not ban you forever? Why not tattoo “Do Not Hire” across your forehead? Why not install a GPS tracker and send alerts every time you walk past a rival office?

Because that would be ridiculous. Just like the clause. 

“When your ex-employer says ‘no hard feelings’—but tattoos your career prospects just to be sure.”

A Global Guide to Professional Possessiveness

Let’s take a tour of how different countries handle this contractual clinginess.

United Kingdom: The Polite Breakup

• In the UK, non-competes are like awkward tea-time conversations. They’re allowed, but only if they’re “reasonable.”
• Soon, they’ll be capped at 3 months, because apparently even Parliament agrees that stalking your ex-employee for half a year is a bit much.

United States: The Soap Opera

• Ah, America—land of the free, unless you signed a non-compete. The FTC tried to ban them, but the courts said, “Not so fast.”
• Meanwhile, California treats non-competes like expired milk: illegal and vaguely offensive.
• Other states? It’s a choose-your-own-adventure of legal drama.

Singapore: The Calculated Clause

• Singapore courts treat non-competes like a math problem. Is it proportional? Is it protecting trade secrets? If yes, it might stick. If not, it’s tossed like yesterday’s kopi (a.k.a coffee).
• Tripartite guidelines are coming soon, presumably written in polite legalese and quiet existential dread.

Japan: The Honourable Restriction 

• Japan allows non-competes—but only if you’re paid to suffer. 
• That’s right: mandatory compensation during the restriction.
• Because if you’re going to be banned from working, you should at least be paid to stare wistfully out the window.

Germany: The Bureaucratic Romance 

• Germany says: “You want a non-compete? Fine. But pay up.”
• Employees get 50% of their last salary for up to 2 years.
• It’s the legal equivalent of saying, “I still love you, but I respect your boundaries.”

China: The Executive Exception

• China’s non-competes are reserved for the elite—executives, tech wizards, and anyone with access to the company’s secret dumpling recipe.
• Max duration: 2 years. Minimum compensation: 30% of monthly salary.
• Everyone else? You're free to roam.

South Korea: The K-Drama Clause

• Non-competes are legal—but only if they come with compensation. 
• Courts expect employers to pay up, keep it short (6–24 months), and protect real secrets. 
• No payout? No clause will hold up. All you'll left is a plot twist.

India: The Philosophical Rejection

• India looked at non-competes and said, “No thanks.”
• Under Section 27 of the Contract Act, post-employment restrictions are mostly void.
• Unless you’re selling goodwill or dissolving a partnership, your employer has no say in your post-breakup career choices. Namaste to freedom!

Final Thought: If You Loved Me, You’d Let Me Go 

Non-compete clauses are the professional equivalent of “If I can’t have you, no one can.”

They’re dressed up in legal language, but at heart, they’re just fear in a suit.

So the next time someone hands you a contract with a non-compete clause, ask yourself:

Is this a job offer—or a custody battle.

Or better yet, consider finding a job in India (my favourite choice), Japan or South Korea (a close second) and Germany (a respectable third).

Stand Your Ground: Florida’s Favorite Legal Mood Swing

Oh Florida… for all your glory—the Everglades, the flamingos, the pastel sunsets—in a moment of legislative whimsy two decades ago, you passed 'Stand Your Ground' law like a crocodile makes decisions: instinctively and territorially. 

If "preposterous" had a more muscular cousin—one with sharper elbows and a louder laugh—I’d summon it for you right now, my dear Florida. Because what I'm going to be describing isn’t just ludicrous, it’s catastrophically absurd, legally unhinged, existentially bonkers. 

'Stand Your Ground' 

Firstly, the law sounds less like a legal statute and more like something barked across a dusty saloon in a Clint Eastwood film—right before someone flips a table and reaches for a revolver. It’s got that cinematic swagger: terse, defiant, and vaguely threatening. Not “consider your options” or “seek de-escalation”—just stand your ground, like the law itself is wearing spurs.

And in Florida, it’s not just a phrase—it’s policy. And here’s what it permits:

• Deadly force in self-defense (hammer, folding chair, interpretive karate kick—dealer’s choice)

• In any place you’re legally allowed to be (mall, pool, cinema, sacred snack aisle)

• With no duty to retreat (even if the door’s open, the window’s wide, and your legs work just fine)

• If you reasonably believe (danger might RSVP)

• And you feel reasonable fear (which is legally measured with a rubber ruler)

It’s Florida’s most theatrical legal export since the airboat DUI.

How It All Went Off the Rails?

• 1994 – Utah whispers the idea.

• 2005 – Florida roars. NRA throws confetti.

• 2012 – Trayvon Martin. The law isn’t invoked, but its shadow looms.

• 2023 – AJ Owens. Shot through a locked door. Fear claimed. Outrage reignited.

• Today – Nearly 30 states embrace the doctrine. Vigilantism gets a legal upgrade. 

What is the four pillars of madness?

1. No Duty to Retreat

• Translation: You may remain exactly where you are—even if there’s a perfectly good exit behind you, a hedge to hop over, or a polite way to say “excuse me.”

2. Lawful Presence

• Translation: As long as you’re legally allowed to be there—even if you’re being insufferable—you may defend your patch of earth like it’s Buckingham Palace.

3. Reasonable Belief

• Translation: If you feel like someone might harm you, and your belief is deemed “reasonable” (by a jury that may or may not share your biases), you may act pre-emptively.

4. Proportionality

• Translation: The force you use must match the threat—though in practice, this often means “whatever you felt like in the moment.”

Meanwhile, Elsewhere on Planet Earth…

Let’s take a quick tour of how other countries handle self-defense—spoiler: they don’t treat it like a mood ring.

United Kingdom : Self-defense? Yes. Stand your ground? Absolutely not. 

• Brits are expected to retreat if possible. You may defend yourself, but only with “reasonable force”—which does not include chasing someone down with a cricket bat while yelling “I feared for my life.”

China : Self-defense is permitted, but only if it’s proportionate. Excessive force? That’s a no. 

• You’re expected to call the authorities, not re-enact a kung fu movie in your hallway.

Japan : Extremely strict gun laws and a cultural emphasis on de-escalation. 

• Self-defense is allowed, but lethal force is rarely justified. Most disputes are resolved with apologies, paperwork, and a deep bow.

Singapore: Self-defense is legal, but must be “necessary” and “reasonable.” 

• You may protect yourself, but if you go full Florida, expect a polite but firm visit from the police—and possibly a fine for excessive drama.

Germany: Self-defense is allowed, but proportionality is key. 

• You can defend yourself, but you can’t turn your living room into a war zone. The law expects you to act like a rational adult, not a vigilante with a vendetta.

India: Self-defense is legal, but the law prefers you try not to turn your neighbourhood into a Bollywood action sequence.

• You may protect yourself, but only with “reasonable force”—which does not include chasing someone with a pressure cooker while yelling “I am the law!”

Switzerland: Self-defense? Yes. But only after a thorough internal audit.

• You may act, but only if your response is proportionate, notarized, and preferably endorsed by your canton. If you must defend yourself, do so with precision, restraint, and possibly fondue.

France: Self-defense is permitted, but the law insists on proportionality.

• You may protect yourself, but not with a baguette ambush or a philosophical monologue. Retreat is not cowardice—it’s choreography. And if things escalate, expect protests, poetry, and possibly a strike.

United States (Outside Florida): Varies by state. 

• Some follow the “duty to retreat,” others embrace “Stand Your Ground.” Florida, however, remains the poster child for legal bravado. It’s the only place where a closed door is considered a threat and a neighbour's loud music might qualify as imminent danger.

In most countries, self-defense is a shield. In many parts of America, it’s occasionally a sword—and sometimes, a plot twist. 

Oh, how I dislike this law! 😏

Not with the quiet disdain one reserves for soggy fries or delayed flights, but with the full-bodied, operatic loathing reserved for things that pretend to be noble while actively setting society on fire. 

“Stand Your Ground” is the legal equivalent of handing out flamethrowers at a fireworks factory and calling it a safety drill. It takes the entire purpose of law—peace, order, the gentle art of not punching your neighbour—and replaces it with vigilantism, escalates minor conflicts, and weaponizes bias. 

And let's not romanticized logic of Stand Your Ground. The idea that victims shouldn’t be “compelled to flee” sounds noble until you realize it’s often used to justify impulsive violence, not protect life.

Let’s be clear: we cannot legislate away danger by encouraging confrontation. The notion that calculating an escape route is “unrealistic” under duress is a strange hill to die on—especially when retreating has been shown to save lives. Escaping isn’t cowardice; it’s survival. It’s what rational adults do when faced with chaos.

Any idea of “prioritizing the victim’s safety” it’s emotionally seductive but legally slippery. A person claiming to be a victim isn’t always one. An “attacker” isn’t always the aggressor. Fear is subjective, and when the law treats it as gospel, it opens the door to bias, mis judgment, and irreversible harm.

As for deterrence—where’s the data? Homicides increased in states with Stand Your Ground laws. Violent crime didn’t drop. If anything, the law emboldens impulsive behaviour and weaponizes paranoia. It’s not empowerment—it’s a legal permission slip for panic.

In short: don’t escalate at the first instance. Don’t turn every confrontation into a showdown. The law should be a shield, not a trigger. And Stand Your Ground? It’s less about justice and more about adrenaline—and that’s a dangerous foundation for public safety.

Disclaimer:

This content is intended for editorial and satirical purposes only. It reflects a critical perspective on Stand Your Ground laws and their social, legal, and ethical implications. The views expressed do not constitute legal advice, and readers are encouraged to consult qualified professionals or official legal sources for guidance on jurisdiction-specific laws. All references to jurisdictions, cultural attitudes, and legal interpretations are dramatized for rhetorical effect and should not be taken as definitive legal analysis.

Dear Florida,

I apologize—for underestimating your ability to turn a legal principle into a theatrical production. You’ve taken “self-defense” and added sequins, fog machines, and a trigger-happy chorus line. It’s not law. Still, I admire your commitment to boldness. Just maybe next time, less bravado, more jurisprudence?