Since the late 1940s, economic considerations relating to the globalisation of world markets have led an ever larger group of Western European countries to unite in the quest for a supra-national legal order which, in time, generated the European Community. Most of these countries' legal orders claim allegiance to what anglophones are fond of labelling the “civli law” tradition,1 although two common law jurisdictions joined the Community in the early 1970s. The European Community's early decision to promote economic integration (and, later, other types of integration) through harmonisation or unification has involved, at both Community and national levels (for the implementation of Community rules in the member States carries the adoption of national rules in all member States), a process of relentless “juridification”; law, in the guise of legislatively or judicially enacted rules, has assumed the role of a “steering medium”.2 This development was foreseeable: once the interaction among European legal systems had acted as a catalyst for the creation of a supra-system,3 the need to achieve reciprocal compatibility between the infra-systems and the supra-system naturally fostered the development of an extended network of interconnections (such as regulations and directives) which eventually raised the question of further legal integration in the form of a common law of Europe.4

'Every international convention must be deemed tacitly to refer to general principles of international law for all questions which it does not itself resolve in express terms and in a different way.'

Examples can be found from ancient times of concern for the protection of cultural artefacts and early legislation to protect monuments and works of art first appeared in Europe in the 15th century. Cultural heritage was first addressed in international law in 1907 and a body of international treaties and texts for its protection has been developed by UNESCO and other intergovernmental organisations since the 1950's. The 1954 Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict of UNESCO (henceforth the “Hague Convention”) is the earliest of these modern international texts and was developed in great part in response to the destruction and looting of monuments and works of art during the Second World War. It grew out of a feeling that action to prevent their deterioration or destruction was one responsibility of the emerging international world order and an element in reconciliation and the prevention of future conflicts. International law relating to the protection of cultural heritage thus began with comparatively narrow objectives, the protection of cultural property in time of war.

The 2015 Paris Agreement represents a historic achievement in multilateral diplomacy. After years of deeply discordant negotiations, Parties harnessed the political will necessary to arrive at a climate change agreement that strikes a careful balance between ambition and differentiation. The Paris Agreement contains aspirational goals, binding obligations of conduct in relation to mitigation, a rigorous system of oversight, and a nuanced form of differentiation between developed and developing countries. This article will explore the key building blocks of the Paris Agreement—ambition and differentiation—with an eye to mining the text of the Agreement for its interpretative possibilities and underlying politics.

Three main tasks can be identified for comparative law. The first is to investigate differences between legal systems and, in particular, to distinguish between “real” differences, where the outcomes of the application of principles diverge between legal systems, and “superficial” differences, where similar outcomes are masked by the conceptual structures of the relevant systems. The second is to trace developments in the relationships between legal systems and thus to explore tendencies of convergence or divergence (in terms of “real” differences), noting that in some areas convergence may be required under international legal instruments. The third task is to explain and to evaluate such developments: why do systems converge or diverge? Is convergence desirable or undesirable?

My starting point for this discussion of the relationship between treaties and soft law is the observation that the subtlety of the processes by which contemporary international law can be created is no longer adequately captured by reference to the orthodox categories of custom and treaty. The role of soft law as an element in international law-making is now widely appreciated, and its influence throughout international law is evident. Within that law-making process the relationships between treaty and custom, or between soft law and custom are also well understood. The relationship between treaties and soft law is less often explored, but it is no less important, and has great practical relevance to the work of international organisations.

On the 31 October 2000 UNSC Resolution 1325 was adopted. The resolution provided for a range of measures aimed at the inclusion of women in the prevention, management and resolution of conflict. In particular, several of the resolution's provisions addressed the role of women and gender in peace negotiations and agreements. This article examines whether and how Resolution 1325 has impacted on the drafting of peace agreements. We analyse explicit references to women and gender in peace agreements from 1990 to 2010, providing a quantitative and qualitative assessment of the extent to which women and gender are addressed. We conclude by using our findings and analysis to address the relationship of feminist intervention to international law, and debates around the strategies and trade-offs which underlie feminist promotion and use of UN Security Council Resolutions in particular.

The most powerful democracy is detaining hundreds of suspected foot soldiers of the Taliban in a legal black hole at the United States naval base at Guantanamo Bay, where they await trial on capital charges by military tribunals. This episode must be put in context. Democracies must defend themselves. Democracies are entitled to try officers and soldiers of enemy forces for war crimes. But it is a recurring theme in history that in times of war, armed conflict, or perceived national danger, even liberal democracies adopt measures infringing human rights in ways that are wholly disproportionate to the crisis. One tool at hand is detention without charge or trial, that is, executive detention. Ill-conceived rushed legislation is passed granting excessive powers to executive governments which compromise the rights and liberties of individuals beyond the exigencies of the situation. Often the loss of liberty is permanent. Executive branches of government, faced with a perceived emergency, often resort to excessive measures. The litany of grave abuses of power by liberal democratic governments is too long to recount, but in order to understand and to hold governments to account, we do well to take intoaccount the circles of history.

Over the past decade especially, many writers have emphasised the need for a broad approach to the subject of comparative law, thereby moving it beyond the “law as rules” approach of traditional legal doctrine. It is becoming steadily apparent that comparatists cannot limit themselves to simply comparing rules. The “law as rules” approach has to be placed in a much wider context Broader investigation reveals that it is not even rules which are at the core of the comparative endeavour; it is, rather, the legal discourse, the way lawyers work with the law and reason about it.

As artificial intelligence (AI) systems become more sophisticated and play a larger role in society, arguments that they should have some form of legal personality gain credence. The arguments are typically framed in instrumental terms, with comparisons to juridical persons such as corporations. Implicit in those arguments, or explicit in their illustrations and examples, is the idea that as AI systems approach the point of indistinguishability from humans they should be entitled to a status comparable to natural persons. This article contends that although most legal systems could create a novel category of legal persons, such arguments are insufficient to show that they should.

Constitutionalism is a deeply contested but indispensable symbolic and normative frame for thinking about the problems of viable and legitimate regulation of the complexily overlapping political communities of a post-Westphalian world.1

This article considers how armed opposition groups fighting in an internal armed conflict are bound by the rules of international humanitarian law despite not being party to the relevant treaties. It assesses a number of explanations—customary international law, general principles of international humanitarian law, rules governing treaties and third parties and claims to succession—and argues that each has limited value. The ability of the state to legislate on behalf of all its individuals is considered the best explanation. This principle is explored and objections to it are countered. This article also examines the expressed commitment of armed opposition groups to the rules of international humanitarian law.

Academics, practitioners and international and national courts are increasingly seeking to identify and interpret international law by engaging in comparative analyses of various domestic court decisions. This emerging phenomenon, which I term ‘comparative international law’, loosely fuses international law (as a matter of substance) with comparative law (as a matter of process). However, this comparative process is seriously complicated by the ambiguous role that national court decisions play in the international law doctrine of sources, under which they provide evidence of the practice of the forum State as well as being a subsidiary means for determining international law. This article analyses these dual, and sometimes conflicting, roles of national courts and the impact of this duality on the comparative international law process.

Article 8 of the EU Charter of Fundamental Rights sets out a right to data protection which sits alongside, and in addition to, the established right to privacy in the Charter. The Charter's inclusion of an independent right to data protection differentiates it from other international human rights documents which treat data protection as a subset of the right to privacy. Its introduction and its relationship with the established right to privacy merit an explanation. This paper explores the relationship between the rights to data protection and privacy. It demonstrates that, to date, the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) has consistently conflated the two rights. However, based on a comparison between the scope of the two rights as well as the protection they offer to individuals whose personal data are processed, it claims that the two rights are distinct. It argues that the right to data protection provides individuals with more rights over more types of data than the right to privacy. It suggests that the enhanced control over personal data provided by the right to data protection serves two purposes: first, it proactively promotes individual personality rights which are threatened by personal data processing and, second, it reduces the power and information asymmetries between individuals and those who process their data. For these reasons, this paper suggests that there ought to be explicit judicial recognition of the distinction between the two rights.

This paper considers under what circumstances, and for what reasons, an international tribunal may want to range beyond the primary text of a treaty to determine its ‘correct’ meaning; such extraneous legal material potentially including rules of customary international law, other treaties between the parties, general principles of law, and documents of a ‘soft law’ nature. The paper suggests a variety of ‘mechanisms’ by which a tribunal may undertake a broader interpretative approach, though all ultimately raise the same inevitable tension between accusations of judicial activism and counter-arguments of inflexibility and insularity. Nevertheless, many tribunals and individual judges continue to utilize such techniques, particularly noticeable in some recent environmental disputes. The paper will conclude with a note of caution; that though such interpretations are becoming an increasingly significant part of modern judicial decision-making—something that is generally to be welcomed—tribunals must concurrently take care to ensure that they remain within the accepted parameters of the adjudicative function.