The Board of Editors is pleased to announce that the Francis Deák Prize for 2012 was awarded to Robert D. Sloane for his article entitled On the Use and Abuse of Necessity in the Law of State Responsibility, which appeared in the July 2012 issue.

The prize was established by Philip Cohen in memory of Dr. Francis Deák, an international legal scholar and lifelong member of the American Society of International Law, to honor a younger author who has published a meritorious contribution to international legal scholarship in the American Journal of International Law.

In recent debates about the interplay between international humanitarian law (IHL) and human rights law (IHRL), two broad camps have emerged. On the one hand, defenders of what may be called the convergence thesis have emphasized the inclusion of basic rights protections in the so-called “Geneva instruments” of IHL, as well as the role of human rights bodies in interpreting and amplifying rights protections in IHL through juridical or quasi-juridical interpretation and pronouncements. In armed conflicts, it is said, human rights apply concurrently and in ways that strengthen the protective constraints of IHL. Critics of the convergence thesis, on the other hand, have protested that pressing human rights obligations on state forces misunderstands the nature of both IHL and IHRL, and generates misplaced and impossibly onerous demands on belligerents—ultimately and perversely, the effect of emphasizing convergence may be less, not more, human rights protection.

Larry Johnson’s timely and important essay challenges both utopian and realist accounts of UN law and practice by reviving the debate over the nature and functions of the UN General Assembly, particularly the General Assembly’s power to deploy certain legal tactics not only to influence collective security deliberations in the UN Security Council, but also, more significantly, to provide some legal justification for multilateral military “collective measures” in the event of Security Council gridlock. One vehicle by which the General Assembly may assert its own right to intervene in defense of “international peace and security” is a “Uniting for Peace” (UFP) resolution, authorized by resolution 377(V) (1950). At its core, a “uniting for peace” resolution is an attempt to circumvent a Security Council deadlock by authorizing Member States to take collective action, including the use of force, in order to maintain or restore international peace and security. General Assembly resolution 377(V) does not require resolutions to take specific legal form—language that echoes the preambular “lack of unanimity of the permanent members [that results in the Security Council failing to] exercise its primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security” is sufficient to render a given resolution a UFP, provided the General Assembly resolution calls for concrete “collective [forceful] measures.” For this reason, experts disagree on precisely how many times a UFP has indeed been invoked or implemented, although informed analysts suggest UFP has been invoked in slightly more than ten instances since 1950.

In its draft treaty of peace, the Commission deliberately avoided any reference to the question of responsibility for the war.

As Sara Kendall and Sarah M. H. Nouwen rightly notice, “legacy” is a big word, and it may be too soon even to begin to evaluate the legacies of the international criminal tribunals. Legacies are whatever future generations take from the tribunals. That, obviously, is in their hands, not the hands of the tribunals. So the question of legacies is more properly a question of bequests, and the inquiry must be a modest one: how do we evaluate the successes and failures of the tribunals in the here and now rather than the further future? Failures matter as well as successes, and as in science, failures can be as instructive and useful as successes. For example, many observers concluded that the tribunals, operating in The Hague and Arusha without an initial ground game in former Yugoslavia or Rwanda, were too far removed from the peoples who experienced the crimes; that perception helped motivate the movement toward hybrid tribunals. If that is right, the hybrid model counts amongthe “legacies” oftheInternational Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY)and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), if only in the negative way that they exposed a problem the hybrids tried to remedy. As another example, Kendall and Nouwen remarkthat the impunity of the RPF has also become part of ICTR’s legacy. That too would be an instructive failure—instructive, in this case, as a foretaste of how difficult it is to prosecute cases against an intransigent government in power, a lesson that the International Criminal Court’s (ICC)troubles in Sudan and Kenya confirm.

The aim of this essay is to show how international law relates to the interaction of indigenous peoples and animals across international borders. While colonial borders have affected the lives of herding communities in Africa and while there are cross-border indigenous activities in different parts of Latin America, the situation in Northern Europe is particularly noteworthy. This is because cross-border activities are possible there not simply because effective border controls are difficult to ensure in such remote areas but mainly because several of the relevant states have the long-term political will to allow for cross-border activities. Particular attention will be given to the situation of the indigenous Sámi people. Their homeland, Sápmi, is governed by Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia. The borders between Norway, Sweden, and Finland have been open since the Nordic Passport Union of 1952, significantly predating the Schengen Agreement of 1985, which allows for unhindered travel in large parts of Europe, including these countries.1 Finland and Sweden are members of the European Union, while Norway is part of the European Free Trade Area and of the Schengen Agreement; Russia imposes visa requirements on citizens of the three other states. With such limitations, the Russian part of Sápmi is effectively cut off from the Western parts. While the borders between Finland, Norway, and Sweden have long been open for many purposes, this openness does not fully take into account the needs of the indigenous Sámi people, who consider themselves to be one people and consider the Sápmi homeland as a whole.2 Today, only part of their ancestral homeland is recognized as Sámi home areas in the legal sense of the term and the Sámi are a minority in their own regions virtually throughout Sápmi. The transnational characteristic of the Sámi people serves to illustrate some of the challenges faced by indigenous peoples with traditional activities such as animal herding as a result of borders imposed on them by the nation states that govern their homelands, yet in which they usually constitute only a small minority.