When ATM machines came out and people were prosecuted for

The words of Hilary Rosen, “When ATM machines came out and people were prosecuted for robbing ATM machines, I don't think anybody thought the banks were against technology because they didn't want their ATM machines lifted,” resound with both sharpness and clarity. They remind us that the guardians of progress may defend their creations without being seen as enemies of progress itself. Rosen, a figure who often spoke on the battles of media, copyright, and digital innovation, uses the humble ATM machine as a parable: when innovation arises, protection and regulation naturally follow—not as opposition, but as stewardship.

The origin of her wisdom can be traced to the late twentieth century, when industries struggled to adapt to a rapidly shifting technological landscape. Rosen, who represented the recording industry, sought to draw a distinction between opposing technology and protecting it. Just as banks embraced the ATM as a marvel of convenience, they also guarded against those who would abuse it. Her words remind us that defending the integrity of new inventions is not the rejection of progress, but its preservation.

History provides many examples of this balance between innovation and protection. When printing presses first spread across Europe, they were hailed as instruments of enlightenment, bringing knowledge to millions. Yet, just as swiftly, authorities established laws against counterfeiting and libel, not to stifle the press, but to ensure its responsible use. To condemn theft was not to condemn the press itself—it was to preserve its dignity and promise. So too, Rosen’s analogy makes plain that regulation of new tools must be seen as stewardship, not as hostility.

The same lesson can be drawn from the rise of railroads in the nineteenth century. These iron veins stitched nations together, carrying people and goods with speed never before imagined. Yet governments also passed laws against train robbery, ticket fraud, and sabotage. No one believed such measures meant hostility toward railroads. Rather, they affirmed the value of the technology by shielding it from those who would twist it into instruments of chaos. Protection was not denial—it was affirmation.

The heart of Rosen’s teaching is that technology cannot be left vulnerable. Every invention invites both noble use and corrupt misuse. Banks did not oppose ATMs; they championed them while defending their integrity. In the same way, every generation must guard its innovations—not to smother them, but to ensure they flourish. To equate defense with opposition is folly, for true love of progress demands vigilance as much as enthusiasm.

The lesson for us is clear: when you create something new—whether a tool, a work of art, or a system—stand ready to defend it. Do not let misuse or theft become the story of your creation. Just as the banks secured their ATMs, so must inventors, thinkers, and leaders secure their contributions. Protection is not betrayal of progress, but its safeguard.

Practical action lies within the reach of every person. If you are a creator, establish boundaries and protections for your work. If you are a user, respect the integrity of what has been entrusted to you. If you are a leader, craft rules that preserve innovation while nurturing freedom. Do not fall into the error of believing that resistance to abuse is resistance to progress. Rather, see it as the defense of the flame that lights the path of the future.

Thus, let Rosen’s words echo as a teaching for generations: to guard innovation is not to hinder it, but to preserve its promise. Banks did not hate ATMs; they valued them so greatly that they shielded them from harm. So must we treat every new gift of technology, with vigilance and reverence, ensuring that progress, once kindled, is not extinguished by neglect or corruption.