Their solution? They go to their personal Google Drive. They upload a pirated copy they found from a friend. Then, they share the link with the class WhatsApp group.
Except, of course, for the bandwidth. The "Blood Diamond Google Drive" trend is a perfect metaphor for the 2020s—a decade where convenience trumps conscience, where the medium is the message, and where even our outrage is subject to the DMCA. If you really want to honor the film, rent it legally. Or, at the very least, consider where your digital "diamonds" come from. blood diamond google drive
One professor at a Midwestern university told me, "I have to include a note in my syllabus now: 'Do not ask your peers for a Google Drive link. Use the library.' But I know they do it anyway. They think it’s victimless. The irony is staggering—they are violating digital intellectual property rights to watch a film about the violation of human rights." Google is aware of the problem. The company’s automated Content ID systems scan uploaded videos for fingerprints of Blood Diamond . When a match is found, the file is deleted, and the user receives a strike. But like the conflict diamonds themselves, the supply adapts. Their solution
Fast forward nearly two decades. The war in Sierra Leone is over. The Kimberley Process—flawed as it may be—has been reformed. And yet, the film is enjoying a bizarre, shadowy renaissance. But not on HBO Max or Netflix. Its new home is a place that would have baffled its creators: . Then, they share the link with the class WhatsApp group
Does watching a pirated copy of an anti-exploitation film constitute a form of exploitation? Probably not in a legal sense. But morally? It creates a headache of cognitive dissonance.