TechCrunch terminated an intern who accepted compensation from an outside company in exchange for coverage. The announcement strikes an appropriate tone, but it also includes a passage that ties into a much bigger issue: when a writer goes rogue, what do you do with their published work? Here's how TechCrunch responded:

This was not one of our full time writers, and so the frequency of posts was light. Nevertheless, we've also deleted all content created by this person on our blogs. We are fairly certain that most of the posts weren't tainted in any way, but to be sure we've removed every word written by this person on the TechCrunch network.

One big caveat: the intern in question is a minor, so that certainly takes precedence in any reaction. But the intern posted his own follow up. Privacy implications are moot at this point.

And that brings me back to the bigger issue ...

In situations like these, if we assume the wayward writer is an adult, and we assume there are no broader legal issues at play, should the writer's past work be stricken from the record? Is that the right response?

I don't think so. An enterprising snoop could mine caches and old RSS feeds for past copies, so deletion isn't really the Draconian measure it's intended to be. Beyond that, the cat's already out of the bag. The writer screwed up. The publishing outlet looks bad. And any move to wipe the slate clean will leave lasting residue. So why wipe it clean at all?

In situations where the wrongdoing is already public -- whether announced by the publisher or dug up by someone else -- what I'd prefer to see is a prominent editor's note placed at the very top of every piece the writer ever posted on the publisher's site. It could be a simple link to the termination announcement. It doesn't have to be dramatic. The New York Times used a similar tactic with Jayson Blair's articles.

Advertising should be stripped from these pages and comments closed. That's appropriate -- this isn't a revenue or publicity opportunity. But it's important to keep the original material in place. The mistake happened in the public sphere. You can't take that back, but you can be up front about it both in the near-term and down the road.

A federal jury in Minnesota ruled that Jammie Thomas-Rasset, the downloading-consumer poster child, must pay $80,000 per song for the 24 music files stored on her computer. That's $1.92 million, total.

After the judgement, Thomas-Rasset had an appropriate response:

As for Thomas-Rasset, she appeared shaken by the verdict but didn't blame the jury. "They did their job," she said, "I'm not going to hold it against them." She added, though, that the recording industry would never collect the money. "Good luck trying to get it from me ... it's like squeezing blood from a turnip."

I understand the music industry (and all content industries) are in turmoil. I understand Thomas-Rasset and other downloaders have, technically, run afoul of copyright law. But I will never understand why any industry would think it suitable to sue and extort its customer base. This is madness.

The bright spot amidst all this nonsense is that the film, book and media industries have avoided the lawsuit route. My hope is that all content companies -- including the record labels -- will eventually emerge from their knee-jerk defensive positions and realize there's a choice here: you can hope for a Pyrrhic victory over your digital nemesis, or you can reorient your businesses toward the new relationship between digital content creators, providers and consumers. People still want great content and they're still willing to pay for it -- now figure out how to give it to them. And for the love of God, don't sue your customers.

Hand-Picked Related Links

• Piracy is Progressive Taxation, and Other Thoughts on the Evolution of Online Distribution (Tim O'Reilly)
• Putting Ebook Piracy into Perspective (TOC)
• Capitol v. Thomas (EFF)
• RIAA v. The People (EFF)
• Impact of P2P and Free Distribution on Book Sales (TOC Report)