At a time when globalization is driving greater connections between governments, this article examines a key facilitator of such connections, namely the international legal adviser. It elaborates on their role, how they are selected, how their offices are structured and what makes a good international legal adviser.

This article is part of a larger international investigation of the effects of a country's legal origins on the style of business regulation. We employ an innovative ‘leximetric’ methodology to numerically code the protective strength of Australian corporate law for both shareholder and creditor protection for the period 1970 to 2010. This leximetric methodology has been used in a prominent international debate concerning the development of legal rules and the effects of different styles of regulation on a range of economic outcomes—the legal origins debate. Drawing on similar data compiled by Armour, Deakin, Lele and Siems in five other countries (France, Germany, India, the UK and the US) for the period 1970 to 2005, we compare changes in the level of protection afforded to Australian shareholders and creditors with developments in other countries. Our analysis finds that in Australia there was a sustained upward trend in shareholder protection, but not in the case of creditor protection. Compared to the five other countries, the level of protection afforded to shareholders under Australian law was relatively high, and this was the case for the level of protection afforded to creditors as well. We also examine the extent of convergence and divergence in shareholder and creditor protection among the countries in the study. We find persistent divergence in shareholder protection, with the extent of divergence in 2005 similar to that in 1970. For creditor protection, we find increasing divergence among the countries over the period of study. Our findings are not supportive of legal origins theory.

This article considers whether there is any lawful authority for foreign armed forces assisting a territorial State during a non-international armed conflict to arrest and detain civilians. Taking the backdrop of Iraq and Afghanistan it considers relevant UN Security Council resolutions including Resolution 1546 (2004) relating to Iraq which authorized the multi-national force (MNF) ‘to take all necessary measures’ and provided for the internment, for imperative reasons of security, of civilians. In respect of Afghanistan, a number of resolutions authorized the International Assistance Stabilisation Force (ISAF) to ‘take all necessary measures’. It challenges the notion that the positive rights under international humanitarian law applicable to an international armed conflict apply, mutatis mutandis, to a non-international armed conflict, where national law (including human rights law having extra-territorial effect) is of primary (although not of exclusive) significance. It also considers which body of national law, that of the sending or that of the receiving State, applies to determine the lawfulness of detention of foreign civilians. The article recognizes that the arrest and detention of civilians may be necessary during a non-international armed conflict but concludes that the lawful justification for doing so needs to be clearly established.

On 1 July 2011 the UK Bribery Act 2010 and accompanying guidance finally came into force, marking the end of years of controversy about how and when the United Kingdom would implement the OECD Anti-Bribery Convention. The United Kingdom's very delayed implementation of the Convention provoked an increasingly threatening response from the OECD Working Group on Bribery, and highlighted this body's lack of binding enforcement procedures. By contrast, the OECD's reliance on non-binding guidelines has proved successful in that the UK Guidance draws heavily upon the OECD's guidance on how corporations should prevent the bribery of foreign public officials.

This article analyses two nearly identical lawsuits regarding the actions of UN peacekeepers during the Srebrenica genocide. The decisions are of importance as a matter of international law for three reasons. First, the Court applied human rights obligations abroad, not by holding that the relevant treaties have extraterritorial effect, but by finding the ICCPR to have been incorporated into the domestic law of the host state (Bosnia and Herzegovina) and determining that the standards codified in the relevant provisions of the ICCPR and ECHR were rules of customary international law that were binding extraterritorially (whether or not the treaty obligations themselves would extend abroad). Second, in finding those obligations to have been breached, the Court relied on the Dutch battalion's eviction of the victims from its UN compound, not on any responsibility to protect those already outside the compound. Finally, on the issue of attribution, the Court of Appeal developed the doctrine of ‘effective control’ in several key respects. I argue that the Court was largely correct in its attribution analysis and that this may prove to be a landmark in the development of international law on attribution in such contexts. Most important among the issues addressed in the Court's discussion of attribution are its findings that: (i) the ‘effective control’ standard applies equally to the contributing state and the receiving international organization; (ii) ‘effective control’ includes not just giving orders, but also the capacity to prevent the wrongdoing; and (iii) troop-contributing states may sometimes hold that ‘power to prevent’ by virtue of their authority to discipline and criminally punish their troops for contravening UN orders.

The Durban Climate Conference,1 marked by tension, high drama and sleepless nights, agreed on a set of historic decisions under the climate regime 36 hours after the scheduled end of the conference. The climate regime—comprising the 1992 Framework Convention on Climate Change2 and its 1997 Kyoto Protocol,3 and decisions taken by Parties under these instruments—has been plagued in the last few years, in particular after the debacle at Copenhagen,4 by doubt and uncertainty. Doubt over its ability to meet climate goals, and uncertainty over its future, in particular that of the Kyoto Protocol. At Durban, Parties strengthened the climate regime with decisions to implement the 2010 Cancun Agreements,5 extend the beleaguered Kyoto Protocol, for a second commitment period,6 and launch a new process to negotiate a post-2020 climate regime.7 This new process, christened the Ad-Hoc Working Group on the Durban Platform for Enhanced Action, is intended to craft the agreement that will govern, regulate and incentivize the next generation of climate actions.

Ceuta, Melilla, Vélez de la Gomera, Alhucemas and the Chafarinas Islands are Spanish territories that lie along Morocco's northern coastline. Morocco has claimed the territories since its independence in 1956. The sovereignty of a further territory, the islet of Perejil, remains unresolved after a military confrontation between Morocco and Spain in 2002. The author examines the arguments in the ongoing sovereignty dispute. Morocco's claim to Ceuta and Melilla is found to be weak. However, its claim to the remaining territories may be supported by the analogous case of São João Baptista de Ajudá, an unpopulated Portuguese fortress territory in Dahomey (Benin) that was singled out for ‘statutory decolonization’ by the UN.

The title of this article1 is drawn from Sir Hersch Lauterpacht's famous monograph, published in 1933, entitled The Function of Law in the International Community.2 Writing in a decade when the shattering effects of the physical destruction wrought by World War I were giving way to the debilitating effects of the Great Depression, and when the invasions of Manchuria and Abyssinia would sit side-by-side with the rise of Fascism in Germany and the great Stalinist terror in Russia, Lauterpacht was, not unnaturally, seeking a better way to a peaceful future under the Rule of Law. At that time, the recently established International Court in The Hague was dealing with acutely political cases, such as the question of the compatibility of the Austro-German Customs Union with the post-war peace settlement;3 and the cool rationality of debate in the Peace Palace seemed to offer a better way.

Prior to the rise of international investment treaties and institutionalization of investor–state arbitration, the protection of foreign investors from mistreatment in the host state courts was the preserve of customary international law, which prohibited a denial of justice and provided for diplomatic protection as a principal means of dispute settlement. In contrast, contemporary international investment law offers a whole array of legal standards that can be invoked in seeking redress for the acts of national courts before international arbitral tribunals. In addition to relying on the customary prohibition of denial of justice, investors can challenge judicial conduct under the treaty standards on expropriation, fair and equitable treatment and, in some cases, the obligation to ensure effective means of asserting claims. Although the multiplicity of standards available to aggrieved investors can be regarded as an inalienable part of an effective regime for the protection of foreign investment, it also gives rise to a number of fundamental problems relating to the application of procedural mechanisms designed to control the review of the conduct of national judiciary by international courts and tribunals. Focusing on arbitral cases in which claims of a denial of justice were brought under the rubric of ‘a judicial expropriation’ and ‘a failure to provide effective means of asserting claims’, this article seeks to ascertain when investor claims relating to the administration of justice in the host state courts become amenable to arbitral scrutiny. It argues that, by providing a variety of standards under which the acts of judiciary can be challenged, investment treaty law allows investors to circumvent procedural barriers and thus muddles the boundaries demarcating the scope of international review of national judicial conduct.

For the last 15 years the European Union (EU) has been particularly active, both internally and internationally, in the fight against global warming, and it is determined to continue to play a global leadership role in this strategic issue. Among the various market-based measures decided upon, the Emission Trading Scheme (ETS) for energy-intensive industrial sectors has been rightly described as the ‘flagship of the EU climate policy’.1 Even before proceeding to a general overhauling of Directive 2003/87 in the framework of the 2009 Climate and Energy package, the EU had decided to modify the Directive by including aviation activities in the ETS. Directive 2008/1012 provides that all flights from whichever aircraft operator taking off from or landing in the EU territory will be subjected to the ETS from 1 January 2012. For the year 2012 97 per cent of all emissions allowances will be freely assigned, from 2013 the amount will decrease to 95 per cent, whereas 15 per cent of all allowances will be auctioned. In reality the percentage of free allowances is much lower, about 60 per cent, because it takes as parameter the historical aviation emissions of the years 2004–06, when the air traffic was 40 per cent lower than it is now. The idea underlying the Directive is that aircraft operators will either purchase the necessary allowances in the market or will try to reduce their emissions by using bio-fuels (or else reducing the number of flights), with the second option becoming more economically attractive over time.

If from the imperfect evidence of foreign law produced before it, or its misapprehension of the effect of that evidence, a mistake is made by an English court, it is much to be lamented, but the tribunal is free from blame.1 The mistake to be lamented presently is the High Court decision in Yukos Capital Sarl v OJSC Rosneft Oil Co2 that a Dutch judgment3 gave rise to an issue estoppel in English proceedings, precluding a party from disputing as a fact the partiality and dependence of the Russian judiciary.4 The decision was a mistake because on a proper construction of Dutch law the significance of the Dutch judgment was—if anything—evidential, not preclusive.5 The outcome is lamentable, because a party was unduly shut out from litigation by the application of English preclusion law to a foreign judgment that was not preclusive in the jurisdiction where it was originally given.6

On 23 February 2012, the European Court of Human Rights (the Court), sitting as a Grand Chamber, delivered its long-anticipated judgment in the Hirsi Jamaa and Others v Italy (Hirsi) case.1 The case was filed on 26 May 2009 by 11 Somalis and 13 Eritreans who were among the first group of 231 migrants and refugees (191 men and 40 women) that left Libya heading for the Italian coast. Halted on 6 May 2009 by three ships from the Italian Revenue Police (Guardia di Finanza) approximately 35 miles south of Lampedusa on the high seas, in the SAR zone under Maltese competence, they were summarily returned to Libya without identification and assessment of their protection claims.2

In February 2011,2 an uprising began in Benghazi in eastern Libya against the long-established Gaddafi3 Government. After initial military success by the rebels in the east, the government responded forcefully. In the light of threats made by the government to the lives of people in Benghazi, the Security Council authorized ‘any necessary measures’ to protect civilian lives in Libya and to enforce a no-fly zone over Libya's air space.4 Acting on this authorization, NATO forces intervened to enforce the no-fly zone and to protect civilians. The resolution precluded the occupation of Libya, so the NATO action was confined to aerial and some naval bombardment of regime targets in Libya. The combined effects of operations by the irregular forces of the rebels and the bombing by NATO eventually led to the defeat of Government forces and the death of President Gaddafi on 20 October 2011. However, the overthrow of the regime was principally the work of groups in the west and south-west, not formally associated with the original insurrection in the east. This note is not concerned with matters of legality of the use of force or the way in which the campaign was conducted by any of the participants.5 It deals with the diplomatic aspects of the development of relations between the United Kingdom, the Gaddafi Government of Libya and the ‘National Transitional Council’ (NTC). It raises some speculation about the implications in domestic law of the way British policy was conducted.

On 17 January 2012 the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) handed down its judgment in Othman (Abu Qatada) v United Kingdom.1 Abu Qatada, a radical Muslim cleric once described as ‘Osama bin Laden's right-hand man in Europe’, was convicted in absentia in Jordan for various terrorist offences.2 He alleges, however, that part of the evidence against him had been obtained under torture. In 1994 he was granted refugee status and permitted to remain in the United Kingdom (UK) temporarily. Qatada later applied for indefinite leave to stay. While his application was pending, he was arrested in October 2002 and detained without charge or trial under the now-repealed Part 4 of the Anti-terrorism, Crime and Security Act 2001. In March 2005 he was released from detention and put under a ‘control order’ under the Prevention of Terrorism Act 2005. A few months later, the UK government sought to deport Qatada to his native Jordan, having first concluded a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) with the Jordanian government that he would not be subjected to torture or ill-treatment contrary to Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR). The deportation order was challenged before English courts, but ultimately upheld by the House of Lords in RB (FC) and Another v Secretary of State for the Home Department and OO v Secretary of State for the Home Department in 2009.3 In contrast, the ECtHR ruled unanimously that the UK could not lawfully deport Qatada to Jordan. The decision was criticized by Home Secretary Theresa May as ‘unacceptable’ and predictably led to several Conservative backbenchers in the House of Commons calling on the government to withdraw from the ECHR.4

The period under review (January 2010 – June 2012) has been a time of consolidation (or exhaustion) for the Union generally, as the Lisbon changes are allowed to bed in. The competition sphere is no exception. There has been limited initiative, certainly nothing ambitious to come out of the Commission over the period. At the same time a new Commission took up office—three months late, and by a little-remarked constitutional sleight of hand1—in 2010, and with it came a new Commissioner for Competition (Mr Almunia) and with him a new Director-General of DG Competition (Mr Italianer—Dutch notwithstanding the name), which event sometimes, but not always, marks a reorientation of Union competition policy. Both are economists which, again, may or may not influence the direction of policy. At the same time the Union has been buffeted by a financial crisis not wholly of its own making in which the competition rules must have a significant role to play.

Where a pregnant woman travels and subsequently gives birth to a child abroad, should the left behind father be able to petition for the ‘return’ of his child under the 1980 Hague Convention on the Civil Aspects of International Child Abduction? An affirmative answer would not only presuppose that the abduction of the child had been in breach of the father's actually exercised rights of custody, but would also depend on which country, if any, the child was habitually resident in immediately before the ‘abduction’.

In the conjoined cases C-509/09 e-Date Advertising GmbH v X and C-161/10 Olivier Martinez and others v MGN Ltd,1 the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) was required to determine the scope of applicability of both Article 5(3) of Regulation EC 44/2001 (the Brussels I Regulation)2 and Article 3 of Directive EC 2000/31 (the Electronic Commerce Directive). Both cases were concerned with defamation and breach of personality and image rights as a result of the publication of two newspaper articles which were accessible online via each of the defendants' websites. As readers will be fully aware, Article 5(3) of the Brussels I Regulation enables claimants to establish special jurisdiction in the case of a tort, delict or quasi-delict, in the courts of the Member State where a harmful event has occurred or may occur. The effectiveness of Article 5(3) as a ground of jurisdiction focuses on the locality of the event. The question that arose in both cases was, essentially, where could the claimants bring proceedings for breach of personality and defamation as a result of newspaper articles published online via websites,3 when those websites were accessible in multiple jurisdictions? According to an experienced legal practitioner in the United Kingdom, ‘more than 25 billion individual items of content are shared each month on Facebook alone.’4 There are increasing concerns regarding the dissemination of comments through the medium of ‘ubiquit(ous), converged and displace(d)’5 Web 2.0 communications technologies. Such communications increase the potential for criminal and civil consequences in numerous jurisdictions. The ability of injured parties (famous or not) to seek redress in the most appropriate forum for the purposes of protecting their private lives and reputations is acutely significant.6

Africa has been struggling for years to establish a mechanism of human rights protection comparable to other international and regional mechanisms. Illiteracy and the low standards of economic development and social welfare, especially in rural areas, as well as the absence of financial resources were certainly not the best grounds to build on. Moreover, as Nmehielle notes, the creation of a human rights mechanism in Africa was equally hinged on other questions, more controversial ones, such as the existence of the concept of ‘law’ and ‘rights’ in pre-colonial Africa.1 In this respect, a Western-style mechanism of human rights protection would be naturally perceived with suspicion, as a form of foreign intervention.

On 3 January 2009 Israel deployed a naval blockade against Gaza in order to prevent materials entering or leaving Gaza that could be used by Hamas in its ongoing armed conflict with Israel.1 With the humanitarian crisis in Gaza worsening, on 31 May 2010 a flotilla of vessels carrying humanitarian aid expressed its intention to violate the naval blockade and deliver the aid to Gaza. Before violating the blockade and whilst still on the high seas, Israel sought to enforce its blockade and capture the vessels. This occurred largely without incident except in relation to the Mavi Marmara (a vessel sailing under the flag of the Comoros), which resisted capture by the Israeli special forces and continued to sail in the direction of Gaza. As Israel special forces boarded the Mavi violence ensued, with nine crew members of the Mavi being killed and dozens of others injured (principally Turkish nationals). Several members of Israel's special forces were also injured. Israel eventually assumed control of the ship and the crew members were detained and the vessel and its cargo confiscated.

The end of 2012 will herald the twentieth anniversary of ‘deadline 1992’, the projected date for the completion of the EU's internal market. Since the entry into force of the Lisbon Treaty in 2009 references to ‘1992’ have been deleted from the Treaties, and so it may be tempting to suppose, rather more than twenty years since the first contribution on the Free Movement of Goods to this section of the Quarterly,1 that this is old news. Isn't the law governing the internal market in general and the free movement of goods in particular now well settled?