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

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.

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 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

This article considers the problem of ‘libel tourism’ (forum shopping in transnational libel cases) from the point of view of English and EU law (both relevant in certain situations). If proceedings are brought in a forum having no real connection with the case, and if the lex fori is applied, free speech in other countries could be undermined. This is particularly a problem where the case is brought in England, because of the pro-claimant slant of English libel law. The article notes when English conflicts law is applicable and when EU conflicts law is applicable, and explains the English and EU law regarding choice of law, jurisdiction and forum non conveniens in order to assess whether there is a genuine problem. It concludes that there is, particularly with regard to the Internet. Possible solutions are suggested.

It is now a decade since the United Kingdom, along with Germany and Belgium, followed the policy of traditional countries of immigration, such as the United States, Canada and Australia, and introduced legislation which provides for the imposition of fines on carriers for bringing in passengers with incorrect papers.1 The Immigration (Carriers' Liability) Act 1987 (“the Act”)2 imposed fines on carriers of £1,000 for each illegal entrant brought to the United Kingdom. This fine was doubled in August 1991 and two years later extended to cover passengers without transit visas where these were required.3

With the resurgence of the field of international criminal justice in recent decades, expectations have increasingly been placed on international criminal courts to construct consistent and authoritative historical narratives about the mass atrocity situations that fall within their purview. Taking this expectation as its focus, this article seeks to illuminate the historical narrative pluralism that can arise both within and beyond the international criminal courtroom. Within the courtroom, two types of narrative pluralism are identified: first, inter-court narrative pluralism, which arises when different courts examine the same mass atrocity situation from different perspectives; and second, intra-court narrative pluralism, which emerges when narratives constructed within an international criminal judgment are revisited in later cases adjudicated by the same court. Beyond the courtroom, it is contended that even when international criminal courts manage to achieve inter-court and intra-court narrative consistency, in practice a range of social psychological and practical factors tend to generate a gap between the intended meaning of such narratives and their public or social meaning amongst different audiences. By illuminating the historical narrative pluralism that can arise both within and beyond the international criminal courtroom, this article calls for greater critical awareness of the constructed nature of the historical narratives rendered within international criminal judgments, as well as a sobering of the expectations that are typically placed on international criminal courts both with respect to the construction of narratives within the courtroom and their reception beyond it.

This article analyses the European Union's competences in the energy sector. It focuses on Article 194(2) of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union, which affords EU Member States the right to determine the conditions for exploiting their energy resources, the choice between different energy sources and the general structure of their energy supply. This article traces the constitutional development of EU competences in the energy sector to demonstrate the relevance of Article 194(2) TFEU in the current constitutional, international and sector-specific contexts of EU energy law. It analyses the recent case law of the Court of Justice of the European Union, which shows that the scope of Article 194(2) TFEU is considerably narrower in practice than its wording implies. The article concludes by evaluating the implications of this narrow interpretation on the future development of EU energy law and, in a broader context, on the reach of EU energy and climate policy.

How should one balance the freedom of expression and the prevention of violence? This article delves into the grey zone between hate speech and incitement to violence by assessing the jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights in cases of allegedly dangerous speech. Rather than labelling this case law as simplistic, as some critics even within the Court have done, it is shown that the jurisprudence reveals cleavages within the Court on whether to adopt a more or less consequentialist approach on the links between speech and violence. Freedom of expression cases should preferably be assessed on the merits under Article 10 ECHR since this allows for a balancing of the various interests involved. The application of the abuse of rights clause of Article 17 ECHR is for that very reason undesirable, in addition to its inconsistent use by the Court.

Debates surrounding the second Iraq war have prompted a range of commentators to diagnose the death of the law on the use of force, to call for its adaptation to the globalization of threats and the problem of so-called failed States, or to assert the need to defend the UN Charter framework. In this article, we look behind the shrill rhetoric of the post-invasion commentary and invite a sober assessment of the current situation. Our aim is not to evaluate in detail the legality of the Iraq war. Others have done so thoroughly.1 Rather, we are interested in exploring whether we are truly at a turning point for international norms and institutions governing the use of force. If we do confront a ‘fork in the road’, as suggested by Kofi Annan in his address to the UN General Assembly on 23 September 2003,2 what changes to legal institutions and structures are required, and what new claims should we resist?

Following doi moi (renovation) market reforms in 1986, the Vietnamese government urgently required commercial laws capable of regulating the rapidly emerging private sector. Along with contract and property laws, lawmakers considered company law essential for a market-based legal framework. Since reforms could not wait the decades required to distil normative standards from local commercial practices, lawmakers turned to Western laws for inspiration.1