𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐀 $𝟏𝟎 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐭𝐡 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

…𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒎𝒚

By Yeshi Dolma

On an ordinary evening in the capital, music drifts from cafés, taxis, and family gatherings. For decades, these sounds have been shared freely, passed from cassette to CD to memory card, without much thought about who made them or how those creators might earn a living. Today, that everyday relationship with music is slowly changing, and at its center is a growing conversation about copyright, livelihoods, and the role culture could play in pushing the country toward an ambitious economic goal: becoming a US$10 billion economy by 2030.

Copyright, experts say, is not simply a legal abstraction reserved for lawyers and contracts. It is increasingly being framed as an economic tool that could help transform artistic labor into sustainable income, particularly for musicians, filmmakers, and other creators whose work already reaches far beyond national borders through digital platforms.

“Copyright is more than just legal theory,” said Derek Khanikim, a United States-based copyright attorney and external expert for the World Intellectual Property Organization. “It really is the tool that unleashes creative potential.”

The country has had a Copyright Act since 2001, enacted at a time when the internet was still in its infancy. While the law aligns with international standards such as the Berne Convention, officials acknowledge that it has not kept pace with digital realities.

“While the law safeguards the rights of composers, lyricists, producers, and performers, evolving digital platforms, online piracy, and ambiguities around enforcement, royalties, and contracts have exposed clear gaps,” said Tempa Tshering, Chief Intellectual Property Officer at the Department of Media, Creative Industry and Intellectual Property.
“This is why revisions are now underway to strengthen performers’ rights, clarify enforcement, and integrate digital rights management.”

For ordinary artists, those gaps are not theoretical. Singer Pema Deki described a system in which musicians are often paid a one-time fee, especially for film songs, with no follow-up income once the work circulates.
“After that, the whole right is the producer or the director,” she said, adding that only platforms like YouTube and Spotify currently offer predictable earnings.

Former copyright administration professional Kuenga Dorji sees this as a structural weakness.
“The revenue that you’re earning from these platforms is a fraction of what you could have earned if we had a proper collective management society,” he said, referring to organizations that collect and distribute royalties on behalf of artists.

Such a system, he argued, would allow creators to focus on making music rather than chasing payments.
The absence of formal licensing culture affects not just musicians but also small businesses and consumers. Restaurants and event venues routinely play music for commercial purposes without seeking permission or paying fees.
“Even if you perform or play that song to 1,000 people, you still feel it normal,” Tempa said, noting that enforcement is currently left to individual rights holders, many of whom lack the capacity to pursue violations.

Yet awareness is slowly growing. Lungten Wangchuk, a musician and cultural commentator, said attitudes are changing, particularly among younger audiences.

“Even a student from the remotest parts of the country sends me messages asking permission to sing my song at a school concert,” he said. “It’s a lot better now when it comes to copyright.”

This shift matters because policymakers increasingly see creative industries as part of a broader economic strategy. Kuenga framed it bluntly:
“The government has this big objective to make the country a US$10 billion economy by 2030. Music and artists have a big role to play in achieving that objective.”

For ordinary people, the economic promise of creativity is already visible. Artists who once relied solely on local performances now travel abroad, supported by diaspora communities and digital followings. Pema recalled performing for overseas audiences who had lived away from home for decades.

“That was the only time they could actually meet us in person,” she said. “They were excited, we were excited.” Over time, these performances evolved from symbolic cultural exchanges into paid invitations, opening new income streams.

International exposure has also raised expectations at home. Kuenga cited the recent concert by a globally known artist as a turning point.

“It showed what can be achieved, what is possible,” he said, adding that local technicians and crews gained valuable experience working alongside international production teams.

Government officials argue that such moments should be leveraged more systematically. Tempa said cultural promotion can no longer be treated only as soft diplomacy.

“Now we need to promote that as a brand for our musical products,” he said, emphasizing the need for written policies, funding, and clear intellectual property management before artists are sent abroad.

At the heart of these efforts is copyright registration, a process that remains voluntary but increasingly encouraged.
“Copyright protection arises automatically once a work is created, but registration significantly strengthens an author’s ability to enforce those rights,” Tempa explained.

A registration certificate, he said, creates a public record that can deter infringement and support future royalty administration.

For many creators, however, copyright remains conceptually difficult.

“Copyright is a term that is widely heard and casually repeated, yet poorly understood,” Tempa noted, pointing to the need for targeted education rather than broad awareness campaigns. Schools, universities, and creator-specific training could help bridge that gap.

Cultural habits also play a role. Lungten pointed out that creative collaborations have long relied on trust rather than contracts. “In a small, closely connected society, collaborations have often relied on mutual understanding rather than written agreements,” he said, adding that historical stories about valuing songs suggest a cultural foundation upon which modern practices can be built.

The proposed establishment of a collective management organization is widely seen as a practical next step. Such an entity would negotiate licenses with businesses, collect royalties, and distribute them based on usage.
“If my work has not been used by anyone, then I’ll not get anything paid,” Tempa explained. “The famous artist whose song is very popular might get paid more.”

For ordinary listeners, these changes may mean paying modest fees or watching advertisements, but supporters argue that this is part of building a fair system.

“People are paying for Spotify and watching ads on YouTube, and it’s helping the artists,” Lungten said. “It’s a lot better now.”

The broader vision is clear: creativity as an export, not just a domestic pastime. Officials stress that a population of fewer than a million cannot sustain a creative economy without foreign revenue.

“We cannot limit ourselves within the 700,000 people,” Tempa said. “If there is no foreign revenue generation, this will not be sustainable.”

For artists like Pema, the moment feels decisive. “Right now, it’s the best time artists are having,” she said, urging collaboration rather than competition. “We should come together, collaborate, and try to go outside.”

Whether copyright reform alone can help drive the economy to US$10 billion remains uncertain. But for musicians, technicians, café owners, and young listeners asking permission to sing a song, the shift already feels tangible. As one official put it, the opportunities now appear to outweigh the challenges, provided that law, policy, and everyday practice finally move in the same direction.