"I thought it was a moral outrage. There wasn't anyone speaking out for the public interest."
- Sen. Hank Brown, the only Senator to be against extending copyright in the 90s. Shame there were not more like that.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/the-switch/wp/2013/10/25...
The way I read it, the intent of latter half of the sentence clearly is to enable artists to profit from their works. Note that it does not say "all artists shall be paid no matter what". But by having exclusive rights to their works, it can work roughly like any other property in a capitalistic society: that is, artists may be able to capture rewards proportionate to the amount of the value they provide.
Think about it. If you have the right to use land for 95 years, after which it reverts to my possession... you do not own that land. You're just leasing it from me.
No copyright holder owns any of this. They have a long-term lease to be sure, but it's not theirs. And they're bad tenants. They're ruining the property apparently out of spite, that is, when they're not trying to bribe politicians to steal it away from us forever.
http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2012/03/the-mi...
When talking about the disappearance of books, Isaac Asimov's Great SF Stories anthology series[1] always comes to my mind. Around 2006 I spent a whole week searching for it - of the 25 books I managed to find only four or five.
Nevertheless, I assembled a pretty big (and pretty illegal) collection of nearly-impossible-to-find sci-fi stories during my days in high school, but lost it when my computer went wrong a few years later. (I am sure I could have recovered them somehow, but back then I had no idea.) Last year I tried to reassemble my collection but I gave up, it would have been too much work.
[1]: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Isaac_Asimov%27s_Grea...
1) "Putting in the public domain" isn't actually possible in considerable parts of the world; you'd have to use a license like the CC0 to achieve as such,
2) Dead people can't give out licenses, and
3) Society has largely come to rely on the (mistaken) notion that copyright is a measure for ensuring income for artists, and in return this makes it very, very hard for an artist to break that notion by CC0ing their work, and still gain an income.
And in countries where they do not have a concept of public domain, simply change the royalty to 0 after that period of time.
Or, simply say, after 10 years, you'll also be permitted to do x, y, z with this work (where x might be redistribution, derivatives, etc).
At least in the US, authors have the right to do this today.
Perhaps if you want to be listed on those sites, you should do that before you die. Or your heirs can if they have no ongoing payments from that work any more.
If things stay as they are (or get worse), I expect to see an interesting side effect for today's authors: the vast majority of people creating today--those who don't produce blockbuster franchises that ageless corporations can milk eternally--will be totally forgotten in fifty or a hundred year's time. And not forgotten in the "who is that, let me look it up" sense, but rather effectively not included in any meaningful records our children's children would access.
Why? Because long copyright prevents volunteers from remembering your work after you're dead.
That's not the case for centuries-old authors today. Thanks to the public domain, volunteers from all over the world at places like Project Gutenberg and Archive.org lovingly scan, transcribe, produce, catalog, store, and make available old works for today's generation to enjoy. Not just famous stuff like Dracula, but obscure works, works that were unpopular in their day, works that didn't matter then and maybe don't even matter now. The public domain makes this possible--it keeps the memory of authors alive, because as humans we instinctively know it's important to our culture.
But the work you produce today, unless it's highly profitable to a corporation, will be shackled by draconian laws and punishments for hundreds of years. Why should volunteers risk their freedom and treasure to transcribe your 150-year-old work still under copyright? They won't, and you and your work will be forgotten, while we keep re-using and sharing obscure writing from 1923.