On 17 April 2002, Canada will mark the 20th anniversary of the adoption of its bill of rights—the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. At the time, it seemed a momentous event to many, a strange thing to do. True, Canada was a bi-jural country, thanks to Quebec and the Civil Code. Nevertheless, the rest of the country sat solidly in the common law tradition. Codes, or so we thought, were anathema to common law systems that prided themselves on protection of rights through the incremental growth of precedent.

Legal scholars approach law in many ways. They are dedicated to various trends such as ‘law as rules’, ‘law as system’, ‘law as culture’, ‘law as tradition’, ‘law as social fact’, ‘law in context’, ‘law and history’, ‘law and economics’, and ‘law and legal theory’. Most comparative lawyers also are aligned to these trends. Some of the trends share belief in the reality of mobility of law, seeing law reform to be partly related to choice from pools of models supplied from a number of legal systems. There is, however, disquiet as to the appropriateness of the phenomenon of ‘legal transplants’ as the predominant explanation of law reform. The disquiet is related both to this mode of law reform and to the conceptual frame suggested by the terminology. It is said that law reform should be from within, and that since a transplanted institution continues to live on in its old habitat as well as having been moved to a new one, the choice of the word ‘transplant’ is inappropriate.1

For lawyers in general, and international lawyers in particular, democracy is a neglected concept. Discourse is dominated by the ideas of human rights for individuals and minority or self-determination rights for groups. Those who seek greater protection for vulnerable members of a community argue for the recognition of new rights, or the more effective implementation of existing rights. They do not argue for more democracy. Indeed, given that claims for human and minority rights are not made only against authoritarian governments, but also democratic ones, there must exist an implied assumption that democracy is, by itself, not capable of protecting the interests of vulnerable minorities. Moreover, as the form of government which apparently venerates the will of the majority, democracy might be considered by some as being downright hostile to the interests of individuals and minorities.

The practice of imposing economic sanctions in order to influence the actions of states and other parties—historically with varied levels of actual effectiveness—has a long and chequered history.2 Given, however, that more than 90 per cent of the world's trade is carried by sea,3 it is one particular form of sanction management—the ‘so called economic weapon’ of naval blockade— which tends to dominate the implementation of sanctions regimes.4 Yet despite the frequency with which naval forces are used to implement maritime sanctions—or perhaps because of the long but erratic history of naval embargo and blockade—the regime as a whole remains haunted by some uncertainties as to its conceptual basis. As WL Martin observes, ‘some measures such as “pacific blockade”, have at times acquired a technical meaning’ which has left them ill-equipped to deal with and adjust to new developments in blockade practice.5 Even prior to 1914, the notion of ‘blockade’ was a dualist concept. On one hand, it was clearly a weapon of war.6

At first sight, the Territorial Sea (Amendment) Order 19981 is an unremarkable instrument. Its explanatory note states that it amends the Schedule to the Territorial Waters Order in Council 19642 ‘by adding a new baseline between the Mull of Kintyre and Laggan, as well as by making minor changes to [three points scheduled in the 1964 Order] which result from the publication of a new, larger scale chart of the area’. In fact, the note is a model of economy of information disguising the difficulties which led to the Order's addition of a further straight baseline, enclosing the Firth if Clyde, to the system of straight baselines starting in the north at Cape Wrath and which, before the above amendment was made, had ended in the south at the Mull of Kintyre. This is the story behind the addition of the new segment. The sketch map indicates the general cartography of the relevant area.

Legislative reforms have been introduced in several European states to tackle the question of the legal recognition of same-sex relations, with the Nordic countries taking the lead.1 Changes in the attitude of the general public towards gays and lesbians, as demonstrated by the publicity and popularity of Gay Pride marches throughout Europe, has brought the issue to the fore of the political and legal arenas. France has been no exception, with the public debate on the recognition of same-sex couples culminating in the recent adoption of the law relating to the Pacte Civil de Solidarité (PACS) which provides for the registration of a couple's partnership regardless of sex.

In seven years of WTO dispute settlement (1995–2001), six panels appointed scientific experts,2 two panels requested expert advice from other international organisations3 and one panel nominated a linguistic expert.4 Under GATT 1947, in contrast, only one panel saw the need to seek expert advice.5 Very often also the parties to a WTO dispute nominate experts on their delegation, be they lawyers, economists, scientists or linguists. In addition, an increasing number of ‘outsiders’ or amici curiae, such as NGOs, but also industry and academics, have pressed their (expert) opinion on WTO panels and the Appellate Body.

In October 2000 an informal working group of the United Nations Commission on Human Rights met to discuss the latest drafts of an Optional Protocol to the 1984 United Nations Convention against Torture. The Working Group itself met for its 9th session in February 2001 and its 10th session was held in January 2002.2 The primary purpose of this Optional Protocol is to create a new international mechanism that will have a preventive role and which would operate by conducting visits to states and to places of detention within states and, in the light of such visits, enter into a ‘dialogue’ with the state concerned in order to help them ensure that torture does not occur. The origins of this initiative lie in a proposal formally tabled in the early 1980s during the negotiations that led up to the adoption of the UNCAT itself but at that time it was clear that so radical a move as the establishment of an international body with an automatic right of entry into any place of detention would be unacceptable within the broader international community.3 However, the idea was taken up on a regional level within Europe and in 1987 the Council of Europe adopted the European Convention for the Prevention of Torture and Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment which established the European Committee of the same name (known as the CPT), very much by way of an example to the rest of the world, or so it was thought.4

John takes Mary for a romantic evening walk in Covent Garden and declares that a diamond he owns, which is in a vault in France, is now hers. One month later, without having received the diamond, Mary leaves John for another. Within a year, John has engaged himself to Jane, upon whom he also bestows the diamond. John and Jane spend their honeymoon in Paris and, while they are there, John ‘delivers’ the diamond to Jane. Mary sues Jane in England for conversion and asks that Jane be ordered to return the diamond to her. According to English law, the transfer of title by way of gift depends on delivery.1 Thus, since only Jane took delivery, she has title and Mary's claim will be dismissed. In French law, by contrast, property in a gift passes without delivery.2 As a result, Mary has title to the diamond and Jane is holding it unlawfully. The case turns exclusively on the choice-of-law question, ‘Which law should govern?’

The United States response to the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001 was encouraging for those who worry about a tendency towards unilateralism on the part of the single super-power. The US deliberately engaged a number of international organisations and built an extensive coalition of supporting States before engaging in military action.

In March 2001 the Assembly of Heads of State and Government of the Organisation of African Unity (OAU), meeting in extraordinary session in Sirte, Libya declared the establishment of a new pan-African body, the African Union (Union).1 The Constitutive Act (Act) of the Union entered into force on 26 May 20012 and in due course this new institution will replace the OAU.3 The Union, the brainchild of Libyan President Qaddafi, and modeled on the European Union, is the culmination of the OAU's piecemeal process of political cooperation and economic integration. It is designed to provide Africa with the legal and institutional framework to confront the twin challenges of the post-Cold War age and globalisation.

The jurisdiction of England and Wales is vastly experienced in application of the Hague Convention on the Civil Aspects of International Child Abduction1 (the Convention). The UK2 was the fifth3 Contracting State to the Convention, which now boasts 70 State Parties,4 and England and Wales consistently handles a significant proportion of annual Convention applications. In terms of applications, which were processed by Central Authorities, England and Wales was the second busiest Convention jurisdiction in 1999.5 The USA handled 466 applications, England and Wales 329, and Germany 210. Indeed the Central Authority for England and Wales handled more applications than any other, the USA having split incoming and outgoing applications between two separate bodies.6

In recent times the European Court of Human Rights has been very active in developing a number of duties of investigation, under various substantive Articles of the Convention,1 which member States are obliged to comply with. Therefore, this paper seeks to analyse the nature and scope of these important duties, together with the interrelationships between them.2

In the LaGrand case, the United States found themselves for the second time within three years before the International Court of Justice dealing with the death penalty imposed on foreign nationals in the United States.1 In contrast to the earlier case filed by Paraguay, the German-sponsored LaGrand case survived the provisional measures phase and went on to the merits stage. In its judgment of 27 June 2001, the Court largely affirmed all four German submissions and ruled that the United States had violated international law.

There continues to be a steady stream of cases, particularly those raising questions of interpretation of international instruments. Many nevertheless involve the application of those instruments to particular facts, rather than fundamental points of principle. The following are among the more significant.