When the World Trade Organization (WTO) was established in 1995, it was seen as representative of a new era in international law, which claimed to be more functional and cooperative than the Cold War years. Fast forward to 2022, most commentators proclaim that the WTO is in “crisis.” For over two decades, its membership has struggled to reach decisions and, in 2019, the WTO was “dejudicialized” by the United States blocking consensus on appointments to the Appellate Body. In seeking to understand what went wrong, some commentators have focused on the operation of the WTO's consensus procedure and, in particular, the way it can afford states a veto power. In this essay, I take a different approach by considering how the discursive effects of consensus decision making have played into some of the problems facing the WTO today. Inspired by Gibson-Graham's work on “queering the economy,” I do so by unmooring queer theory from its base of gender and sexuality and applying queer insights to a discourse analysis of statements made in relation to the Uruguay Round of multilateral trade negotiations, which lasted from 1986 until 1993 and culminated in the agreement to establish the WTO. I show how the use of consensus decision making served to cultivate an intolerance of economic difference by giving rise to discourses of worldwide sameness and agreement. Finally, I consider what a queerer approach to trade-related decision making might look like.

As he searches for differences in how democratic and authoritarian governments use international law, Tom Ginsburg highlights—perhaps inadvertently—the fact that both kinds of regime use law as a tool to advance their goals. Governments’ goals may differ, both within and across regime types, but the instrumental use of law in the service of political ends does not. Ginsburg's article permits three distinct readings: it is an effort to show a correlation between regime-type and uses of international law; it is also an argument that the historical-normative core of international law included the promotion of “liberal” goals such as human rights and democracy; and third, it is a defense of the meta-claim that law follows the political purposes of society's powerful actors. This third contribution is the quietest in the article but is arguably the most important. Because the methodological difficulties in correlating regime type with attitude toward international law are insuperable, Ginsburg's contribution is that he directs attention to the substantive goals that governments pursue through law and to the tradeoffs that follow as one goal wins over others. The normative valence of international law depends on how one feels about these practical tradeoffs; those whose interests are harmed by international law have good reason to feel disadvantaged.

Monica Hakimi has offered a thought-provoking and timely analysis of how the jus ad bellum operates, placing on the agenda of international legal scholarship a regulatory dynamic that has thus far remained underappreciated. While I believe that a discussion of this dynamic is overdue and thus welcome her plea to take informal regulation seriously, I find some of her underlying assumptions about the nature and function of international law problematic. Therefore, rather than applaud the manifold insightful points Hakimi makes, this essay zeroes in on two related assumptions in her article that I find questionable: first, Hakimi's reasoning about the law-creating effects of informal regulation and, on a related note, the distinction between legality and legitimacy; and second, her tendency to embrace uncritically the particularistic nature of informal regulation. Both points implicate what I term the “hyper-responsiveness” of the law, that is, the (problematic) notion that every momentary political constellation should be reflected in the content of the law. In embracing law's hyper-responsiveness, Hakimi's article sidesteps a discussion of the ambivalent implications of informal regulation.

Race is a Western political project. Religious freedom is a Christian political project. The linkages between the two enabled European nations and their settlers across the globe to condemn natives, slaves, and non-European immigrants to inferior status, and in turn legalize control of their lands and bodies.1 The consequent race-religion systems of power and privilege, which inform Rabiat Akande's thesis, offer valuable insights into the racialized boundaries of contemporary Palestine-Israel discourse in the United States.2 Specifically, the racialization of Muslims and Arabs as terrorism supporters and presumptively anti-Semitic subjects them to censorship, harassment, and discrimination when they advocate for the human rights of Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank. This essay argues that infringements on Muslims and Arabs’ dissenting speech and political activism is another way in which the racialization of religion produces a mutually constitutive form of discrimination.

It is a long-standing principle of international law that every breach of an international obligation that results in harm gives rise to a duty to make adequate reparation. Reparations can take different forms, from the ideal of full restitution to the provision of satisfaction, and the payment of compensation. Notwithstanding reparation's main aim––to ameliorate, if not eradicate, the detrimental consequences of an internationally wrongful act–– it also serves other purposes, such as reinforcing the authority of the norm breached, acknowledging the injury, and recognizing the bearer of harm (the victim). This essay adopts a queer approach to examine the role played by reparation–– in particular, compensation––in determining what (and whose) suffering matters to international law. With a focus on internationally wrongful acts that result in deprivation of life, this piece discusses who is seen as worthy of redress when a violation of the right to life has taken place, as this, in turn, speaks volumes about who is seen as legally entitled to suffer, to mourn and, ultimately, to love. This essay argues that reparation orders from international human rights courts offer a valuable opportunity for re-evaluating––and perhaps even overcoming––heteronormative understandings of kinship.

In Sovereignty in Cyberspace: Lex Lata Vel Non?, Michael Schmitt and Liis Vihul argue that territorial sovereignty is a primary rule of international law that limits cyber activities. They recognize, however, that not all cyber effects constitute violations of territorial sovereignty, and like Rule 4 in the Tallinn Manual 2.0 and its commentary, they acknowledge a distinct lack of consensus among the Tallinn participants on the critical question of applicable thresholds. Problematically, they do not identify the necessary state practice and opinio juris that would be required to establish either the primary rule that they proffer or the existence and contours of the exception they would recognize.

Enacted in 1921, the United States law on dumping in international trade was regarded at the time as a “model of draftsmanship.” Present-day technicians are content with its provisions, though they do not echo this encomium. But the reader who approaches the nine closely written pages of the law’s text for the first time is likely to find the experience rather terrifying. These nine pages can be roughly summarized as follows. The Act comes into operation when a foreign producer sells to United States importers at a price less than that which he charges purchasers in his own country, with resultant injury to United States industry. When this is the case, a dumping duty is assessed on the imports, measured by the price differential which has been found.