Chapter 7 concludes the Jordanian case study by analyzing the theory’s expectations for how strategic interactions around delegation and blame influence repression, protest, and accountability in authoritarian political systems. Original protest data indicates that the monarchy permits hundreds of protests each year and that security forces repress only a tiny fraction of these events. Instead, repression is highly targeted at those individuals who cross the regime’s redlines by publicly blaming and criticizing the king. The chapter explains how this approach to repression complicates anti-royal coordination, even among those opposition figures who personally blame the monarchy for Jordan’s ills. The chapter also illustrates how the monarchy provides limited accountability by removing prime ministers and cabinet ministers when the public becomes visibly dissatisfied with the government’s performance.

Chapter 3 provides evidence from cross-national statistical analysis as well as two case studies that are consistent with the major implications of the theory. First, it draws on internet search data, survey data, and short case studies of Russia and Morocco to demonstrate that power-sharing arrangements affect how the public attributes blame under autocracy. The case studies also suggest that autocrats delegate strategically in response to shifting threats to their rule. Second, the chapter uses cross-national data from Varieties of Democracy to test my expectations about how strategic interactions around delegation and blame influence broader governance outcomes in autocracy. The analysis indicates that autocrats who share power more are less vulnerable to popular discontent, which is consistent with their ability to shift blame more effectively. The analysis also shows that autocrats who share power more are less likely to use repression and more likely to provide a measure of accountability by sacking ministers when the public becomes dissatisfied. These findings indicate that the book’s arguments provide insights into a range of modern authoritarian regimes around the world.

The child rights movement does not have a requirement of being built by children. When it speaks on behalf of children, where does its authority to represent children come from? Who has the legitimacy to demand major social change on behalf of children and between children? How can the child rights movement begin to open up to self-critique and discourse on how not to reproduce social inequalities of, for example, race, class, and gender? And when the child rights movement chooses the efficacy of the CRC over a democratic legal order, how is accountability for such decisions exercised?

This chapter serves as one of two epilogues to this volume. In it, María Elena García focuses on three main themes: (1) the authors’ encounter with Indigenous Studies; (2) the importance of engaging with Native ideas of affect; and (3) the significance of thinking with haunting and ghosts as central to reimagining the history of science in the Americas. García explores the possibilities and limitations of placing Indigenous Studies next to decolonial scholarship and reflects on how or if this approach offers transformative frameworks for writing about and practising the “human sciences.” She also offers some thoughts about the place and significance of the more-than-human in this book, with a particular focus on ghosts, spirits, bones, and other entities that haunt the history of the human sciences. Finally, García takes inspiration from theorists engaging in multisensorial analysis to consider the “structures of feeling” that were both part of the extractive and colonial mode of the human sciences, and that might also emerge once we center Indigenous Studies values like radical relationality, reciprocity, and accountability in our writing, teaching, and mentorship.

In critiquing Prosperity, Paul Davies raises five objections. These are: (a) inclusion of social objectives in mandatory business purpose statements; (b) the assertion that the envisaged adoption of purpose statements is “embarrassingly simple”; (c) use of the law to shield directors from adverse reactions from their shareholders; (d) the entity and managerial conception of the company; and (e) regulatory or court approval of corporate purposes. These objections are contrary to what Prosperity is advocating – a strengthening not weakening of board accountability to shareholders; a proprietary not entity view in which firm objectives are aligned with, not divergent from, those of shareholders; and freedom of choice and plurality of purposes unconstrained by regulatory, court or government intervention. Davies erroneously believes that Prosperity seeks to promote communal or social objectives. On the contrary, purpose statements assist companies with making their commitments credible.  They are enabling not prescriptive or restrictive. They apply equally to private as well as communal or social objectives and they are potentially as significant in enhancing value for shareholders as other parties. Davies himself sets out how companies can make their purpose statements legally binding in an “embarrassingly simple” way without requiring any change to company law.

In 2015, UN Special Rapporteur on Extreme Poverty Philip Alston stated that the World Bank treats “human rights more like an infectious disease than universal values and obligations” because of its understanding of what constitutes political interference. The World Bank’s interpretation, replicated by the Multilateral Development Banks (MDBs) in the development finance regime complex, has shaped how activists hold the Banks to account. This chapter examines how the international accountability norm emerged through contestation with the World Bank and spread to be taken as given for the MDBs, as distinct from international human rights and environmental elemental regimes. It then documents how activists seek to protect human and environmental rights through the banks’ international accountability mechanisms as quasi-legal processes with implications for the banks’ culpability. Although there is an increasing recognition of some rights such as free, prior and informed consent and labour, the banks continue to view these as internal standards not legal obligations. The chapter then examines the extent to which the norm needs to be backed by hard law to be enforced, with efforts by the banks to maintain their international organisation immunity given legal claims as to their implication in human and environmental rights abuses.

The ICC launched in 2002 to judge cases against individuals accused of war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. It is unique among international institutions in this book in that it imposes its obligations upon individual persons rather than governments. This chapter shows the powers and limits on the authority of the ICC to punish people for large-scale atrocities. The practical power of the ICC is shaped by both the difficulty of apprehending people and the active work of those who wish to remain insulated from accountability.

This chapter brings to light the main conclusions of this work, while also presenting generalizable principles for future research to expand on. This part of the book contributes to the theoretical study of mediation and aims to encourage further first-level analysis approaches to the study of mediation and mediators. Most importantly, it clarifies the actual input of Kofi Annan, Lakhdar Brahimi, and Staffan de Mistura to the mediation efforts in Syria. It leaves readers with a detailed record of what Kofi Annan, Lakhdar Brahimi, and Staffan de Mistura have done in their roles as mediators in Syria and presents a comprehensive analysis of the dynamics that shaped their decision-making. Outside the cases of these three mediators, it introduces a method by which to forensically identify a mediator’s fingerprints on the mediation process and charts a map to guide investigations into the decision-making processes of mediators. In doing so, it hopefully serves to encourage steps toward developing institutional mechanisms to evaluate the performance of these mediators – to hold them accountable for their successes and their failures.

In this chapter, I argue that international criminal law institutions must satisfy two criteria to justify their claim to legitimate authority. First, they need to ensure fair trials. But while fairness is a necessary condition for the legitimate authority of the international exercise of criminal justice, it is not a sufficient condition. Institutions need to answer the subordination complaint: When some rule, others are subordinated to their rule – and the point of legitimate institutions is to address how this fact can be reconciled with the equal status of persons. An adequate way to respond to the subordination complaint is to vest institutions with democratic procedures that ensure equal control over the coercive rule of an institution. In the final part of chapter five, I highlight two strategies that enable states and individuals to exercise equal control over the court. The first strategy involves a legislative assembly that deliberates and decides on questions of criminal justice and institutional design. The second strategy seeks to make judicial lawmaking, where it is inevitable, more accountable to the public.

This chapter turns to the third UN mediator in Syria, Staffan de Mistura, and has the same two objectives as the preceding case studies in this book – to delineate the mediator’s agency as a decision-maker and to elucidate the strategic dynamics behind his decision-making. It is split into two sections dedicated to each objective. The first section investigates the mediator’s input to the main mediation policies during the period studied. Of which there are six – the Aleppo Freeze, sanctioning military action against ISIS, the Geneva Consultations, the intra-Syrian Talks, the Astana Process, and the mediator’s resignation. Building on these findings, the section uncovers the dynamics behind the mediator’s decision-making using the categories of perceptions drawn from the contingency model. This analysis also helps produce more generalizable knowledge concerning associations between mediation perceptions and behaviors.

Chapter 8 adds to a clarification of the confusion about CBI by discussing the need for transparency and accountability in light of a growing – mainly political science driven – literature on the perceived democratic deficit of technocratic policy solutions. We show that this literature overlooks important aspects of CBI.

Social workers make decisions every day involving the protection of children and/or adults who are at risk of, or are experiencing, abuse and neglect, exercising power and authority derived from law. Social workers must act within the law: “doing things right.” Accountable, legally literate practice additionally includes standards from administrative law when statutory duties are used. However, decision-making frequently also raises ethical dilemmas, including whether, when, and how to intervene in people’s lives. Practice must, therefore, be ethically literate: “doing right things.” Human rights, equality, and social justice issues will also feature in social work decision-making: “right thinking.” This chapter presents a framework for social worker decision-making that is legally and ethically, but also emotionally, relationally, organizationally and knowledge, literate. It proposes that this framework is transferable across the different jurisdictions within which social workers practice, and that it helps social workers to make good as well as lawful decisions.

Chapter 8 reviews the primary benefits, costs, and limitations of participatory technologies for nondemocracies. It then addresses how participatory technologies may contribute to democratic erosion and explores the broader implications of this study for the understanding of authoritarian regimes.