Chapter 5 builds on the observational findings from the previous chapter to test the hypotheses using two survey experiments performed on a sample of British Labour voters. The first experiment manipulates the selective incentives available to members by changing the cost of joining. Not surprisingly, people are more interested in joining when fees are low. The second experiment manipulates the party’s instrumental incentives by stating members can (or cannot) select party leaders and parliamentary candidates, as well as attend events where they may formally participate in determining the party’s future policy direction. The findings support the hypotheses generated by Chapter 2’s formal model: decentralization increases membership, conditional on voter-party alignment.

The witholding of equal public recognition of national, cultural and language identity often causes severe anguish to sub-state peoples and sometimes leads to war. For this reason, political philosophy has an important responsibility to think through the moral grounds and the appropriate means of recognition. This chapter draws a moral map of the recognitional debate, outlining three normative camps: nonrecognition, monorecognition, and recognitional pluralism. I argue for recognitional pluralism, in two steps. The first step establishes, contra nonrecognition, that nations, cultures and languages are recognition-worthy, and that this is so for two reasons: they give people access to cultural life-worlds, and they are sources of dignity. The second step builds the case for a pluralistic means of according public recognition. To do so, I argue, against monorecognition, that egalitarian recognition of life-world access and dignity is to be the driving principle. Within the pluralist camp, I argue for the principle of equal services, which implies that the state accords comparable cultural services to the cultural groups that share a state or territory. Examples of this can be found in equal language rights regimes, egalitarian public holiday systems, as well as in multinational federalism.

This multisited ethnography is not about sex work or sex trafficking, or even about anti-trafficking campaigns alone. Instead, as an anthropologist of law, NGOs, and the Indian state, the author situates the governance of prostitution in the broader Indian sociolegal and global humanitarian contexts. The book illuminates how Indian law and global anti-trafficking campaigns come together to govern prostitution, combining humanitarianism, paternalism, punitive care, bureaucracy, and morality. It explores the consequences of US-funded anti-trafficking campaigns operating alongside India’s existing legal framework against prostitution, and highlights the significant role NGOs play in suturing and implementing both kinds of interventions. At the same time, the book tracks how women removed from the sex trade – some of whom were trafficked and others voluntary sex workers – navigate these overlapping interventions. The title Immoral Traffic comes from India’s anti-prostitution law, which donor-driven NGOs draw upon to implement their anti-trafficking agenda. This law’s provisions and procedures to “manage” prostitution, and NGOs’ efforts to deploy and extend them, feature centrally throughout the book. Immoral Traffic takes the reader along the sequence of interventions this law prescribes and sex workers experience, from rescues to courts to carceral shelters.

A gazetteer of Roman churches with murals plausibly assigned to the tenth century, and a rationale for such.

This chapter focuses not on the possible content of a Bill of Rights, such as whether it should contain social and economic rights or only civil and political rights, but on the form any such Bill needs to take to be legitimate in a manner congruent with the moral norms of equal concern and respect underlying both rights and democracy. It explores four conceptions of Bills of Rights and the different ways they relate to democratic theory and practice. I start with the view of a Bill of Rights as distinct from normal legislation and that is ultimately the responsibility of the courts to defend. I distinguish between substantive and procedural accounts, in which the first focuses on upholding the rights necessary to ensure the outputs of democratic decisions reflect democratic norms whereas the second seeks to uphold the rights required for a due democratic process. I then turn to legislated rights and the role of Parliamentary Bills of Rights. Finally, I examine the role of democratic constitutional politics as a means for justifying and legitimising such rights instruments, be they upheld by legislatures or courts.

Freedom in a choice does not just requires the absence of interference by another, whether with a preferred option or with any option; it requires the absence of domination: the absence of vulnerability to a power of interference on the part of another. Law and only law can guard citizens equally against the domination of others by identifying a common set of basic liberties and by providing intuitively adequate resourcing and protection against others to enable people to exercise those choices. But the state that imposes law will itself dominate all or some of its citizens if it is not subjected to a system of intuitively adequate, democratic control over its imposition of law. Such a system should enable people to shape the framework of government, to impose operational checks, constitutional and contestatory, on officials in government, and to appoint or oversee the appointment of such authorities.

Drawing upon ethnographic research and an analysis of judgments at the Special Anti-Prostitution Court in Mumbai, Chapter 4 shows how rescued women’s testimony is only one (albeit significant) factor shaping the outcomes of trials against the accused. The chapter illustrates how these trials are primarily shaped by the priorities of Indian law, its interpretation by the police and prosecutors, and the possibilities that requirements for “respectable” witnesses both in the ITPA and in Indian procedural law open up for NGOs. It reveals that anti-trafficking NGOs’ participation in the Special Court is neither entirely dependent on victim-witness testimony, nor on proving sex trafficking. Overall, the chapter shows how evidence and testimony at this Special Court is presented to prove prostitution rather than sex trafficking, and how NGOs, police, and other witnesses participate in what the author refers to as the choreography of these trials. Beyond victim-witness testimony, it examines how the testimony of other prosecution witnesses (police officers, NGO workers, and decoy customers), forms of material evidence (cash, packets of condoms and tissues), and medical reports shape ITPA cases and their outcomes at the Mumbai Special Court.

An introductory examination of written texts dealing with the tenth century, focussing on Liutprand of Cremona and Benedict of Monte Soratte. These constitute our principal historical sources in the absence of Liber pontificalis entries for this century.

Despite being nearly universally recognised as a virtue, judicial independence has been challenged in almost all parts of the world. Some commentators even consider it to be so open to differing interpretations as to be a useless concept, that should be unpacked to its smaller components to be studied meaningfully. We are less cynical about the idea. According to our theory, judicial independence exists where powerful actors are unable or unwilling to inappropriately interfere with the workings of the judiciary. Judicial independence is thus a relational concept and always results from the interplay between the capacity and willingness of powerful actors to inappropriately interfere with the judiciary, and the capacity and willingness of judicial actors and their allies to withstand such actions. We distinguish three levels of judicial independence: de jure institutional independence, de facto institutional independence, and decisional independence. Courts are thus independent when powerful actors do not consistently impose their preferences in disputes they have a stake in, either by capturing the courts through formal changes of laws governing the judiciary, through rigging these laws in their favour, or by skewing judicial decision-making. By contrast, a dependent judiciary is the one that is captured, rigged, or skewed.

This paper discusses the various ways that deliberative democratic theory intervenes in debates about constitutional theory. After a brief introduction, Section II begins with foundational views that employ deliberation as a framework to reconstruct constitutionalism as such. In Section III I canvas theories that delineating how we ought to be deliberating about constitutions within established liberal democratic orders. This moves the discussion from a constituent function of deliberation to a constituted function and role. This section pays special attention to public reason arguments. The question of how we should be deliberating about constitutional essentials naturally leads to the question of who should be deliberating about constitutional essentials in Section IV. There are three natural answers to this question: courts, legislatures, and citizens. Within deliberative democracy theory the answer is often a combination of these three but there are important variations. In Section V, I take a deeper dive into citizen participation in deliberative constitutionalism. I argue that deliberative constitutionalism offers a view of democratic constitutionalism that differs from political and popular constitutionalism both of which are focused on reducing the power of courts vis-à-vis legislative institutions rather than enhancing the participatory power of citizens.