Zachary Mollengarden and Noam Zamir want to take back to basics the principle associated with the Monetary Gold Removed from Rome in 1943 (Monetary Gold) judgment of the International Court of Justice (ICJ). Their “categorical” and mostly doctrinal claim, underpinned by policy concern about “the tensions between the bilateral presuppositions of the Statute and the increasingly multilateral nature of international affairs and international disputes” is “that the Monetary Gold principle is irreconcilable with the ICJ Statute's jurisdictional architecture.” The tension between bilateralism and community interests often provides an attractive analytical perspective, and points raised by the authors might be relevant in calibrating certain aspects of the principle. But its wholesale critique, while skillfully put, is ultimately unpersuasive. Careful consideration of basic instruments and issues is commendable but an exclusive focus that does not engage with the broader international legal process will miss its unmistakable and widespread endorsement of the Monetary Gold principle. Even the concern about the multilateral context ultimately counts against rather than in favor of their argument. Multilateral sensitivities can already be articulated within the four corners of Monetary Gold, and Mauritius/Maldives, delivered just as the ink was drying on the first draft of this essay, is a perfectly timed example for that.

On April 4, 2019, the United States revoked the visa of Fatou Bensouda, the prosecutor of the International Criminal Court (ICC). This action occurred less than a month after Secretary of State Mike Pompeo announced that, except to the extent otherwise required by the UN Headquarters Agreement, the United States would impose visa restrictions on “those individuals directly responsible for any ICC investigation of U.S. personnel.” In her preliminary investigation into the situation in Afghanistan, Bensouda had specifically listed war crimes by U.S. military and intelligence agencies as one of several categories of crimes that her office found reason to believe had occurred. Approximately one week after Bensouda's visa revocation, the ICC's Pre-Trial Chamber (PTC) denied her request to move forward with an investigation of the situation in Afghanistan.

Our contribution to this symposium speaks to the origins of international organization (IO) reputation. The one explored by Daugirdas is agency slack: when people delegated power and authority within an organization—in her example, UN peacekeepers and their surrounding bureaucracy—abuse their privilege and stain the institution's character. We explore another that can spark similar reactions and consequences, but which emanates from the behavior of the principals themselves (rather than their agents): the member states. The company an IO keeps—how members behave—can bolster or stain the organization's reputation. That in turn can have consequences, especially for organizations seeking to provide a venue for members to make credible commitments.

As Sara Kendall and Sarah M. H. Nouwen rightly notice, “legacy” is a big word, and it may be too soon even to begin to evaluate the legacies of the international criminal tribunals. Legacies are whatever future generations take from the tribunals. That, obviously, is in their hands, not the hands of the tribunals. So the question of legacies is more properly a question of bequests, and the inquiry must be a modest one: how do we evaluate the successes and failures of the tribunals in the here and now rather than the further future? Failures matter as well as successes, and as in science, failures can be as instructive and useful as successes. For example, many observers concluded that the tribunals, operating in The Hague and Arusha without an initial ground game in former Yugoslavia or Rwanda, were too far removed from the peoples who experienced the crimes; that perception helped motivate the movement toward hybrid tribunals. If that is right, the hybrid model counts amongthe “legacies” oftheInternational Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY)and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), if only in the negative way that they exposed a problem the hybrids tried to remedy. As another example, Kendall and Nouwen remarkthat the impunity of the RPF has also become part of ICTR’s legacy. That too would be an instructive failure—instructive, in this case, as a foretaste of how difficult it is to prosecute cases against an intransigent government in power, a lesson that the International Criminal Court’s (ICC)troubles in Sudan and Kenya confirm.

In a world in which war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide are not uncommon, the institution that was set up to have jurisdiction over them is in danger of being unable to discharge its mandate. Put starkly, the International Criminal Court (ICC) suffers too frequently from an inability to arrest or otherwise detain alleged perpetrators, whether the prosecutor is acting proprio motu or is following a reference to the court by a state party or the Security Council. The situation of Saif al-Islam Gaddafi is a case in point: notwithstanding the Security Council's referral of Libya to the ICC, at least as a member of the public it is difficult to detect any substantial international pressure that has been applied to have Gaddafi transferred to the Court; instead, he has been mooted as a candidate in future presidential elections. In total, the Court has issued thirty-two arrest warrants and nine summonses to appear, yet has held only nine individuals in custody, with fifteen still at large. The fugitives include citizens of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Uganda, Sudan, Kenya, Libya, and the Ivory Coast. Once the present trials before the court have concluded, there is only one case potentially waiting in the wings. A sole outstanding individual, Al-Hassan Ag Abdoul Aziz Ag Mohamed Ag Mahmoud from Mali, has made an initial appearance, and later this year the pre-trial stage of his case should commence; otherwise, there are simply the three trials in progress. However, I urge careful reflection before the Court is blamed for periods in which its docket of cases is lean.

On February 29, 2020, the United States signed an “Agreement for Bringing Peace to Afghanistan” with the Taliban. The agreement provides that the United States and its allies will withdraw all forces from Afghanistan in stages over a fourteen-month period and that the Taliban will not allow actors within its controlled territory to attack the United States and its allies. The agreement contains additional provisions with respect to prisoner exchanges, sanctions relief, and future negotiations regarding a permanent ceasefire and broader political settlement that the Taliban will pursue with the government of Afghanistan. On the same day, the United States and Afghanistan issued a Joint Declaration reflecting some, though not all, of the terms of the U.S. agreement with the Taliban. Over the three months following the signing of the U.S. agreement with the Taliban, the parties have implemented some aspects of its terms. But others remain unfulfilled, despite the passage of deadlines.

The limited use of dispute settlement mechanisms under the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change and the Paris Agreement explains the recent upsurge in requests for advisory opinions on issues specific to climate change to international courts, namely the International Court of Justice (ICJ), the International Tribunal of the Law of the Sea (ITLOS), and the Inter-American Court of Human Rights. However, it is still unclear how these courts will answer the questions posed, and in particular whether they will coordinate or compete with each other. As the requesting states and bodies are well aware of this uncertainty, requesting an advisory opinion from three courts simultaneously was an ingenious (not ingenuous) strategy to clarify states’ obligations to mitigate or adapt to climate change through the international judiciary. This essay assesses how the parallel jurisdiction of courts in these cases presents an opportunity to enhance states’ obligations concerning climate change through requesting concurrent views on the same rules and obligations. It considers the potential for contradictory views between courts on the same obligations. Finally, the essay analyzes the extent to which these courts may compete or cooperate in their approach to the resolution of these issues.

After Russia targeted the 2016 presidential election, U.S. government authorities repeatedly warned about the prospects of foreign interference in and influence on the 2020 election. Throughout the fall of 2020, government officials and private companies took a number of actions to address threats to the election, including issuing public warnings, imposing sanctions, and taking down foreign government-linked accounts. In a declassified report released in March 2021, the intelligence community concluded that although Russia and Iran carried out influence operations to affect the election, there are “no indications that any foreign actor attempted to alter any technical aspect of the voting process in the 2020 US elections, including voter registration, casting ballots, vote tabulation, or reporting results.” In December 2020, however, U.S. cybersecurity firm FireEye disclosed that it suffered a breach by a nation-state sponsored actor, and numerous U.S. government agencies soon revealed that they too had been breached in intrusions widely attributed to Russia.

It is the purpose of this article to investigate the status of concession agreements in the light of the rules of international law bearing on the power of a state to nationalize property. It is a continuation of an earlier article which explored the nature and function of the concession agreement in the national and international economies. The first article rested on the assumption that legal rules could not be fully understood or evaluated without a fairly clear understanding of the social facts which they were designed to regulate.

International law prohibits states from intervening in the internal and external affairs of other states, but only if the method of intervention is coercive. This Article argues that coercion can be understood in two different ways or models. First, as coercion-as-extortion, a demand coupled with a threat of harm or the infliction of harm, done to extract some kind of concession from the victim state—in other words, an act targeting the victim state's will or decision-making calculus. Second, as coercion-as-control, an action materially depriving the victim state of its ability to control its sovereign choices. This may be done even through acts like cyber operations that the victim state is entirely unaware of. The Article argues that many of the difficulties surrounding the notion of coercion arise as a consequence of failing to distinguish between these two different models.

Scholars have argued that Senate-approved treaties are becoming increasingly irrelevant in the United States, because their role can be fulfilled by their close but less politically costly cousin, the congressional-executive agreement. This study demonstrates that treaties are more durable than congressional-executive agreements, supporting the view that there are qualitative differences between the two instruments. Abandoning the treaty may therefore lead to unintended consequences by decreasing the tools that the executive has available to design optimal agreements.

EU external relations law is a doubly peculiar field of scholarship that has attracted significant scholarly attention over the last several decades. It is both part of EU law—considered a “new legal order” distinct from international law—and it is concerned with the European Union as a global actor, a “strange animal” in that the EU is neither a state nor a classical international organization.

There is no corpus of law that is global in nature. Rather, “global” migration law is a collection of legal instruments situated at levels ascending from the subnational to the international levels. International law instruments contribute to the global governance of international migration at the international and regional levels. Two issues arise with respect to the effectiveness of these instruments: voluntary state accession and subsequent enforcement, even when states are parties to them. Domestic law regulates issues of international migration at the national and subnational levels. Enforcement is assumed to be more effective here. But this effectiveness varies according to the power of states, their levels of development and their capacities.

The aim of this essay is to show how international law relates to the interaction of indigenous peoples and animals across international borders. While colonial borders have affected the lives of herding communities in Africa and while there are cross-border indigenous activities in different parts of Latin America, the situation in Northern Europe is particularly noteworthy. This is because cross-border activities are possible there not simply because effective border controls are difficult to ensure in such remote areas but mainly because several of the relevant states have the long-term political will to allow for cross-border activities. Particular attention will be given to the situation of the indigenous Sámi people. Their homeland, Sápmi, is governed by Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia. The borders between Norway, Sweden, and Finland have been open since the Nordic Passport Union of 1952, significantly predating the Schengen Agreement of 1985, which allows for unhindered travel in large parts of Europe, including these countries.1 Finland and Sweden are members of the European Union, while Norway is part of the European Free Trade Area and of the Schengen Agreement; Russia imposes visa requirements on citizens of the three other states. With such limitations, the Russian part of Sápmi is effectively cut off from the Western parts. While the borders between Finland, Norway, and Sweden have long been open for many purposes, this openness does not fully take into account the needs of the indigenous Sámi people, who consider themselves to be one people and consider the Sápmi homeland as a whole.2 Today, only part of their ancestral homeland is recognized as Sámi home areas in the legal sense of the term and the Sámi are a minority in their own regions virtually throughout Sápmi. The transnational characteristic of the Sámi people serves to illustrate some of the challenges faced by indigenous peoples with traditional activities such as animal herding as a result of borders imposed on them by the nation states that govern their homelands, yet in which they usually constitute only a small minority.