There has been much debate the past couple of days about whether the bomb attacks that have killed at least three Iranian nuclear scientists since 2010 qualify as terrorism.  Glenn Greenwald and Kevin Drum on the left and Andrew Sullivan on the right say “yes”; many of their readers (see Greenwald here) and the editor of Technology Review say “no.”  Those in the “no” camp insist that the attacks were legitimate targeted killings and thus cannot qualify as terrorism.

I have no definitive position on who is responsible for the killings, although the available evidence seems to point to Israel and not, as widely suspected, to the United States.  This Der Spiegel article, for example, says that Israeli intelligence sources have confirmed that the Mossad were responsible for the killing of Darioush Rezaei.  Moreover, Mark Perry published a blockbuster article in Foreign Policy yesterday that claims, based on a series of classified CIA memos, that Mossad agents posed as CIA officers in order to recruit members of the Iranian terrorist group Jundallah, whom Israel believed would be useful in its covert war against the Iranian government.

Let’s assume for sake of argument — and only for the sake of argument — that the killings were carried out solely by the Mossad.  Do those killings qualify as terrorism?

The first thing that needs to be said is that it is impossible to answer that question in the abstract.  Despite decades of efforts — and contrary to the rightly-maligned recent decision by the Appeals Chamber of the Special Tribunal for Lebanon — the international community has yet to agree on a general definition of terrorism.  The best we can do, then, is determine whether the killings qualify as terrorism under one or more of the specific anti-terrorism conventions that states have negotiated.  The most relevant one is obvious: the International Convention for the Suppression of Terrorist Bombings (“Terrorist Bombing Convention”), which currently has 164 States Parties, including both Israel and the United States.  Here is how Article 2 of the Terrorist Bombing Convention defines an act of terrorism:

1. Any person commits an offence within the meaning of this Convention if that person unlawfully and intentionally delivers, places, discharges or detonates an explosive or other lethal device in, into or against a place of public use, a State or government facility, a public transportation system or an infrastructure facility:

(a) With the intent to cause death or serious bodily injury; or

(b) With the intent to cause extensive destruction of such a place, facility or system, where such destruction results in or is likely to result in major economic loss.

There is little question that the killing of the Iranian nuclear scientists satisfies this definition of terrorism…

The media has been abuzz the past couple of days about a video that shows four U.S. Marines urinating on dead Taliban soldiers.  The military’s response to the blossoming controversy has been admirable.  In addition to the Pentagon quickly confirming its authenticity, the Navy has stated that it is “deeply troubled by the video. Whoever it is, and whatever the circumstances—which we know is under investigation—it is egregious behaviour and unacceptable for a member of the military.”  Similarly, the Marines said that “[t]he actions portrayed are not consistent with our core values and are not indicative of the character of the Marines in our Corps. This matter will be fully investigated.”

There is, however, at least one person who doesn’t understand what the fuss is all about: Pamela Geller, the racist right-wing blogger who runs the hate site Atlas Shrugs.  Here is what she had to say in response to a CAIR press release criticizing the desecration (I won’t link to Geller’s blog, because she does not deserve the extra traffic):

CAIR has whipped itself up into an Islamic frenzy because  a video surfaced that appears to show US Marines combat gear urinating on several dead jihadis.

Here’s the thing. Hamas liars, CAIR, say jihad and pure Islam is “fringe,” “extremist.” So why do they CAIR about disrespecting the Taliban? According to CAIR lies, Taliban and jihadists do not represent Islam, they have “hijacked Islam”; so why would CAIR care about “respect”? CAIR calls these Marines immoral, but considers honor killings, clitorectomies, forced marriage, child marriage, polygamy, subjugation of women, slaughter of non-Muslims, Jew hatred moral?

Would anyone have CAIRed if Marines urinated on dead Nazi soldiers during WWII? (Anyone besides CAIR and nazis, that is).

I love these Marines. Perhaps this is the infidel interpretation of the Islamic ritual of washing and preparing the body for burial.

I don’t know about the Nazis, but I do know how the military responded during World War II to the desecration of dead Japanese soldiers — the subject of a 1992 essay in the Pacific Historical Review by the excellent historian James Weingartner.  Here are some snippets…

I want to call readers’ attention to a very useful new essay written by Emory’s Laurie Blank, which is forthcoming in the William Mitchell Law Review.  Here is the abstract:

Targeted strikes – predominantly using drones – have become the operational counterterrorism tool of choice for the United States over the past few years. Targeted killing can be used both within armed conflict and in the absence of armed conflict, as a means of self-defense, usually as operational counterterrorism. Indeed, this duality lies at the heart of the United States justifications for drone strikes from Afghanistan to Somalia. Within armed conflict, parties to the conflict have the right to use lethal force in the first resort against enemy forces, which includes, as detailed below, members of the regular armed forces, members of organized armed groups or civilians directly participating in hostilities. International law also recognizes the right of states to use force in self-defense in certain circumscribed circumstances.

For the past several years, the United States has relied on both armed conflict and self-defense as legal justifications for targeted strikes outside of the zone of active combat in Afghanistan. Challenging questions arise from the use of both justifications at the same time, without careful distinction delimiting the boundaries between when one applies and when the other applies. This article will focus on the consequences of the United States consistently blurring the lines between the armed conflict paradigm and the self-defense paradigm as justifications for the use of force against designated individuals. In particular, there are four primary categories in which the use of both paradigms without differentiation blurs critical legal rules and principles: geographical issues surrounding the use of force; the obligation to capture rather than kill; proportionality; and the identification of individual targets, namely the conflation of direct participation in hostilities and imminence. On a broader level, there are three areas in which this blurring of legal justifications and paradigms has significant contemporary and future consequences for the application of international law in situations involving the use of force. In particular, this blurring undermines efforts to fulfill the core purposes of the law, whether the law of armed conflict or the law governing the resort to force, hinders the development and implementation of the law going forward, and risks complicating or even weakening enforcement of the law.

To the best of my knowledge, this is the first essay by an American scholar that carefully distinguishes between the two potential violations of international law involved in an extraterritorial targeted killing: (1) a violation of the attacked state’s sovereignty; and (2) a violation of the attacked individual’s right to life.  As Blank shows, “self-defense” is relevant only to the first violation; contrary to the assertions of the U.S. government and scholars like Ken Anderson — whom Blank cites as an example of the position she is criticizing — whether an extraterritorial use of force is legitimate under the jus ad bellum says nothing about whether the targeted killing legitimately deprives the target of his or her right to life.  The latter question must be determined with reference to the jus in bello (if the targeted killing takes place in armed conflict) or international human rights law (if it does not) — a position recognized more than a decade ago by the International Law Commission, which noted in its commentary to the Draft Articles on the Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts that, “[a]s to obligations under international humanitarian law and in relation to non-derogable human rights provisions, self-defence does not preclude the wrongfulness of conduct.”

I do, however, have one problem with Blank’s essay: her uncritical acceptance of the idea that self-defence permits the use of extraterritorial force if the attacked state is “unwilling or unable” to prevent a terrorist group from using its territory to launch armed attacks.  In her words, the attacking state must “either act with the consent of the territorial state or on the grounds that the territorial state is unwilling or unable to take action to remove the threat posed by the non-state actor and repel future attacks.”  Blank offers precisely one citation for the “unwilling or unable” test, and that citation will not surprise you: Ashley Deeks’ forthcoming article in the Virginia Journal of International Law.  As I have pointed out before, Deeks not only fails to establish that the “unwilling or unable” test reflects customary international law, she even admits that she found “no cases in which states clearly assert that they follow the test out of a sense of legal obligation.”  It is thus regrettable that Blank offers no other evidence in support of the “unwilling or unable” test.  This is, of course, how mistaken ideas get traction in the academy: one scholar makes an unsubstantiated claim; other scholars cite the first scholar for the unsubstantiated claim, without assessing whether it is correct; and eventually it’s just “common knowledge” that the unsubstantiated claim is, in fact, substantiated.

That quibble aside, Blank’s essay is excellent and well worth a read.  So go read it.

I am delighted to announce that Lt. Col. Chris Jenks — currently the head of the International Law Branch at the U.S. Army JAG, an occasional contributor to Opinio Juris, and my very first PhD student (my colleague Gerry Simpson is his other supervisor) — has accepted a tenure-track assistant professor position at SMU’s Dedman School of Law.  Chris will be a great addition to SMU’s faculty, which already has a number of excellent young scholars who write about international law, including Jenia Iontcheva Turner, Anthony Colangelo, and Jeffrey Kahn.

Congratulations, my friend!

I think there is little doubt where I stand on the merits of the Chevron litigation, so I am not going to get into the substance of the dispute here.  But I have an honest question that I am hoping someone will answer.  Let’s assume, for sake of argument, that Chevron is correct to argue that the $18 billion judgment was procured by fraud and corruption.  Let’s also assume that the appellate decision is affirmed by the highest court in Ecuador.  Under what legal theory does the Second Circuit have the authority to “stay enforcement” of the judgment outside of the United States?  (It obviously could prevent the plaintiffs from recovering from Chevron inside the U.S.)  The Second Circuit was skeptical that any such theory existed, as reported by Law.com:

Judge Lynch in particular questioned again and again the power of a defendant to use New York’s Uniform Foreign Country Money-Judgments Recognition Act offensively as the basis for enjoining other enforcement actions around the world—rather than waiting to seek the anti-suit injunction as a defense to an actual recognition action brought by the plaintiffs in New York. How would New York courts react, queried Lynch, if a Venezuelan court used Venezuelan law to enjoin a Russian judgment holder from going to New York to enforce it? Should or would New York courts respect it?

Mastro conceded that he knew of no precedent for a defendant to proactively get a foreign anti-suit injunction under New York’s Recognition Act, as Chevron seeks to do. However, Mastro argued that there is mountainous evidence that the Ecuadorian judgment was procured by fraud, and the act aims to prevent vexatious litigation. He also argued that the Ecuadorian case is unique because, when the Second Circuit dismissed Chevron’s predecessor Texaco from an earlier filing under forum non conveniens, the company expressly reserved its defenses under New York’s Recognition Act.

This is not my area of law by any stretch, so readers’ thoughts would be most appreciated.

Great news — an appeals court in Ecuador has upheld the $18 billion damages award imposed on Chevron for the damage caused by its deliberate dumping of more than 18 billion gallons of toxic waste-water in the country, known as the “Rainforest Chernobyl”:

The lawsuit deals with pollution of the rainforest by energy company Texaco, which Chevron bought in 2001.

Chevron denounced the appeals court’s decision and said it would continue to seek recourse in other courts outside Ecuador.

“Today’s decision is another clear example of the politicisation and corruption of the justice system in Ecuador,” Chevron said in an emailed statement.

The San Ramon, California-based company has previously alleged fraud in the case. The plaintiffs have also accused Chevron of defrauding the Ecuadorean court to hide the scale of the oil contamination.

By the time of last year’s judgment the case had been winding its way through US and Ecuadorean courts for more than 17 years.

The suit was originally filed in a New York federal court in 1993 against Texaco and dismissed three years later after the oil company argued that Ecuador was the proper venue to hear the case. It was refiled in Ecuador in 2003.

Though it had only 47 named plaintiffs, the lawsuit sought damages on behalf of 30,000 people for environmental contamination and illnesses that allegedly resulted from Texaco’s operation of an oil consortium from 1972 to 1990 in the rainforest.

Notice the bolded text — it was Texaco/Chevron that wanted the case heard in Ecuador, not the plaintiffs.  Of course, the company wanted the case heard in Ecuador on one condition: that it win.  Now that it is losing in Ecuadorian courts, the system is corrupt and other courts should hear the case.  Because any court that rules against Chevron is by definition corrupt.  After all, everyone knows that Chevron always litigates in good faith, as The Guardian explained last year…

We hope you never left, but in case you have not been keeping up with Opinio Juris over the holiday season, here is what you missed:

1. Two excellent blog posts setting the record straight about the NDAA, graciously provided to us by two experts on the subject, Marty Lederman and Steve Vladeck.  You can find Part I here and Part II here.

2. A friendly response to Part II by me that discusses the limits of analogizing detention in non-international armed conflict to the rules of international armed conflict.  You can find it here.

3. A fascinating post by Ruti Teitel discussing the need to avoid victor’s justice in Libya.  You can find it here.

Enjoy!

This post will seem like an extended plug for my own work, so apologies.  But I wanted to offer a few thoughts on the legal issues raised by Ruti’s excellent post, the politics of which — with one exception, noted below — I completely share.

First, Ruti asks whether Libya should be able to claim the right to try to Saif domestically, given that it has not ratified the Rome Statute.  Here I think the answer has to be “yes.”  Article 17(1)(a) of the Rome Statute provides that the Court must deem a case inadmissible (thus permitting a national prosecution) if “[t]he case is being investigated or prosecuted by a State which has jurisdiction over it, unless the State is unwilling or unable genuinely to carry out the investigation or prosecution.”  That provision does not limit admissibility challenges to States Parties; it extends to any state that has jurisdiction over the crimes in question.  And Libya certainly has jurisdiction over Saif’s crimes.  Had the drafters of the Rome Statute wanted to condition admissibility challenges to states that had ratified the Rome Statute, they would have said so; after all, in Article 14, they specifically limited the right to refer situations to States Parties.  The absence of similar language in Article 17 thus speaks volumes.

(As an aside, there is a related question as to whether Article 17 even applies to Security Council referrals.  I think the answer has to be yes here, as well, given that nothing in the “admissibility” section of the Rome Statute indicates otherwise.  Most scholars seem to agree.)

Second, Ruti suggests that Libya’s admissibility challenge is difficult to square with its duty to cooperate with the Court imposed by the Security Council referral.  I’m not sure that’s the case.  The Rome Statute embraces the principle of complementarity because there is no practical alternative: given the Court’s limited resources, the struggle against impunity requires states to assume primary responsibility for prosecuting international crimes.  As long as Libya genuinely wants to bring Saif to justice, therefore, I think it is fulfilling its duty to cooperate with the Court, not undermining it.

Third, Ruti argues that, to satisfy the principle of complementarity, Libya must give Saif a fair trial.  In her words, “when the Statute refers to whether a state is able or willing to prosecute, that should include all that holding trials imply—that is, able and willing to respect the human rights of the criminal defendant.”  Normatively, I unequivocally agree.  Legally, though, Moreno-Ocampo was absolutely right when he told reporters that the ICC was “not a system to monitor fair trials.  We are a system to ensure no impunity.”  As I have explained elsewhere, the drafters of the Rome Statute did not believe that the Court should be able to admit a case because the defendant would receive an unfair trial in a national proceeding.  Indeed, they specifically rejected the following version of Article 17(2), governing “unwillingness,” which had been proposed by Italy (emphasis mine):

In deciding on issues of admissibility under this article, the Court shall consider whether… (ii) the said investigations or proceedings have been or are impartial or independent, or were or are designed to shield the accused from international criminal responsibility, or were or are conducted with full respect for the fundamental rights of the accused.

Fourth, and finally, Ruti argues that it would be inappropriate for Libya to try Saif for “ordinary” domestic crimes, as opposed to crimes against humanity.  As she says, “one needs to take into account the nature of the offense for which Saif was wanted.  The warrant for Saif lists crimes against humanity—not ordinary offenses—and these are the misdeeds that motivated Security Council action on Libya in the first place… Will Libya bringing case against Saif under ordinary criminal law succeed in sending a similar message?”  I agree with Ruti that there is greater expressive value in a conviction for an international crime than for an “ordinary” crime.  From a pragmatic perspective, however, I think that it would be counterproductive to insist that Libya prosecute Saif for crimes against humanity.  For all the reasons that I explore in my forthcoming article in the Harvard International Law Journal, it is extremely unlikely that Libya will have the capacity to effectively prosecute crimes against humanity, a particularly legally complicated kind of crime, in the near future.  Indeed, it is an open question whether Libya will even be able to effectively prosecute Saif for ordinary crimes.  As a result, if the Court does permit Libya to try Saif itself — and I’m skeptical — it seems to me that the international community should avoid insisting that the prosecution include crimes against humanity.  Doing so, it seems to me, would be a recipe for an acquittal.  And then the prosecution would have no expressive value at all.

In the comments to my previous post, I described refusing to allow comments on a blog as an “act of cowardice.”  Ben Wittes, one of the contributors to Lawfare, a blog that does not allow comments as a matter of policy, doesn’t appreciate the description:

Anyone who wants to understand why Lawfare does not take comments need only take a brief look at this comment thread over at Opinio Juris blasting Lawfare–and others–for not taking comments. As the old saying goes, the thing speaks for itself.

I’ll leave it to readers to decide whether our comments policy is, as Kevin Jon Heller puts it, “an act of cowardice” or whether it is, as I like to think of it, what we used to call in the news business editorial judgment. But it certainly is, as Benjamin G. Davis puts it, “a control mechanism,” an effort at “total control of whom [sic] can post.” We run this blog to provide useful information and to express our views, not to operate a free-for-all for anyone who fashions himself as having something to say. Anyone who wants to comment should feel free to send an email, which we often post, or to post to our Facebook page. Or, in the alternative, it seems that you can post comments about Lawfare on Opinio Juris. Or, if you really feel strongly about it, you can start your own blog.

The offending comment thread to which Ben refers consists of precisely three comments addressing the issue at hand.  The first criticized closing comments on an Opinio Juris post, not a Lawfare post.  The second was mine, making the aforementioned claim.  And the third was an extremely reasoned critique of blogs that do not allow comments — and of the exclusionary nature of the national-security-law world in general.  That’s it.

I continue to believe that refusing to allow comments on a blog is indefensible — just as I believe that it is indefensible to comment on a blog anonymously (except in situations where one’s job could be threatened).  Ben describes Lawfare’s no-comment policy as “editorial judgment.”  It seems to me that the only editorial judgment involved is that no one other than the contributors to Lawfare — and those whose emails Lawfare deigns to post — have anything of value to say.  Indeed, the elitism drips from Ben’s post; just consider his claim that to allow comments on Lawfare would be “to operate a free-for-all for anyone who fashions himself as having something to say.”  How dare readers have the temerity to think they’re good enough to respond to Ben — on Lawfare, no less!

As a blogger who is prone to strong opinions, I am the first to admit that reading comments can be a painful experience.  I have been accused of being anti-Semitic; of being a self-hating Jew; of not believing that Israel has a right to exist; of being anti-American; of being a communist; and so on.  I’ve also had my mistakes pointed out to me more than once.  But that is simply the price I pay for being something of a public intellectual.  Blogs are not, as Ben assumes, simply fora for “experts” to make themselves heard — the online equivalent of the New York Times editorial page (which Ben never tires of attacking).  They are places for discussion and debate, where some voices may be more important than others but no voice is excluded.  Are bloggers obligated to allow comments?  Of course not.  But let’s not pretend that refusing to allow them is some kind of noble act designed to ensure the integrity of academic debate.

UPDATE: In light of Marko’s comment below (!), I have changed my mind about whether a no-comment policy is cowardly.  It certainly can be, and I suspect that most bloggers who refuse comments are simply afraid of criticism.  But it is not necessarily cowardly; it may simply reflect the blogger’s belief, so well expressed in Ben’s post, that the unwashed masses have nothing useful to contribute to discussion of complicated legal issues.  Frankly, I think that kind of elitism is worse than cowardice.

UPDATE 2: Ben responds — sort of — at Lawfare.  There isn’t much more that needs to be said on the issue; Ben is absolutely right that he and his colleagues are in no way “under some obligation to design this forum to Heller’s specifications.”  They are well within their rights to run a blog without comments, just as I am within my rights to criticize them for doing so.  (And in my humble opinion, describing a blog that doesn’t take comments as a “forum” seems like a stretch.)

For the record, I am delighted that my friend Steve Vladeck has joined Lawfare as a permanent contributor.  Though no substitute for genuine openness, the ideological diversity that Steve brings to the blog is welcome, and the invitation to him to join speaks well of Ben and the others.

My thanks to Marty and Steve for their fascinating and insightful posts (here and here) on the NDAA.  I have many thoughts about the Act, but I want to focus here on the idea that U.S. courts can and should analogize to detention in international armed conflict in order to determine what it means for a person to have “substantially supported al-Qaeda, the Taliban, or associated forces that are engaged in hostilities against the United States or its coalition partners.”  I note at the outset that Marty and Steve never mention international human rights law (IHRL), thus accepting — at least implicitly — two very controversial assumptions.  The first is that the United States is engaged in a global non-international armed conflict (NIAC) with al-Qaeda, such that the detention of any member of al-Qaeda anywhere in the world (except U.S. citizens and lawful resident aliens apprehended in the U.S.) is, in fact, governed by the laws of war.  I have addressed the problems with that position ad nauseum (see, e.g., this post) and won’t repeat them here.  The second assumption is that, in situations of actual armed conflict, international humanitarian law (IHL) completely displaces IHRL with regard to detention authority.  That is a very controversial position, particularly in the context of NIAC, given that the only applicable IHL in NIAC is Common Article 3, which regulates detention but does not authorize it.  A strong case can thus be made that it is inappropriate to simply analogize to detention in IAC to determine the limits of detention in NIAC; the applicable rules may well come from IHRL — the concept of security detention, in particular — instead.  (For a discussion of the interplay between IHL and IHRL in NIAC, see this Chatham House report.)

Let’s put those issues aside, however, and focus on what it would mean to determine the limits of “substantial support” by reference to the rules of IHL that apply in IAC…

In case the government’s actions haven’t yet convinced you of the fundamental unfairness of the commissions (such as making up war crimes), perhaps its decision to treat the attorney-client privilege as optional will do the trick:

The new commander of the Guantanamo Bay prison wants a team of government and law enforcement officials to be allowed to review all communications between lawyers and inmates accused of helping organize the Sept. 11 attacks, The Associated Press has learned.

The proposed changes, contained in a 27-page draft order, have sparked a backlash from the Pentagon-appointed attorneys representing the five Guantanamo prisoners charged in the attacks. They say the new rules would violate attorney-client privilege and legal ethics and deprive the prisoners of their constitutional right to counsel.

[snip]

Under the new rules, a “privilege team,” which would include Department of Defense and law enforcement officials, would conduct a security review of all communications to the prisoners, according to the memo. The lawyers say such a review is unnecessary, since they all have security clearances and know not to release classified information, and also overly intrusive.

They say it would be impossible for Woods to ensure that these officials do not share this information with the prosecution or others because the members of the team wouldn’t be under his command.

The chief defense counsel of the military tribunals, Marine Corps. Col. Jeffrey Colwell, said he shares the concerns of the attorneys in the Sept. 11 case. He also objects to a provision in the new rules that would allow detainees to receive only letters from their lawyers and not any supporting documents such as legal motions or articles about their case.

The government is aware of the implications of the new rule, but it doesn’t want you to worry.  The new rule instructs the privilege team to preserve attorney-client privilege “to the fullest extent possible.”

Don’t you feel better?

UPDATE: Steve Vladeck has a nice post on whether defendants at the commissions have a Sixth Amendment right to counsel here.

Our friends at Cambridge University have asked me to bring the following journal to readers’ attention, which has been established by James Crawford:

Cambridge Journal of International & Comparative Law is a newly established double-blind peer reviewed, open-access journal which aims to publish high-end legal scholarship. It has a broad focus on international and comparative law and a particular focus on publishing work that examines the intersection of different international, domestic and transnational legal regimes. The Journal aims to become a platform for constructive and critical dialogue between the well-established academics and practitioners on the one side and the younger generations on the other. It will have two substantive issues per year and a annual special issue, which will critically examine the decisions of the UK Supreme Court from the preceding judicial year. The CJICL is the only journal to produce a full issue review of the previous three terms of the work of the UK Supreme Court.

The journal is also soliciting contributions to its inaugural issue(s), along with requests for contributions to its associated blog:

The Editorial Board of the Cambridge Journal of International and Comparative Law (CJICL), an open access, double-blind peer review journal based at the University of Cambridge, is pleased to announce the CJICL are now accepting submissions for both the inaugural and posterior issues.

The Board invites long articles, short articles, case notes and book review submissions that broadly engage with the themes of public and private international and comparative law, as well as EU and transnational law.  The CJICL is particularly interested in work that examines the intersection of different legal regimes – domestic, regional, transnational, international – as well as cutting edge international legal scholarship.

All submissions will be double-blind peer reviewed before a final decision on publication is taken. All long articles and some short articles will be sent to our Academic Review Board, which consist of a distinguished international and comparative law scholars and practitioners. A full list can be viewed on our website www.cjicl.org.uk. All other articles, case notes and book reviews will be double-blind peer reviewed by our Editorial Board.

The closing date for submissions is the 1 February 2012. Successful authors will be notified in April 2012 as to whether they will be published in one of our two substantive issues for the year 2011-12. Manuscripts must be submitted via our website – click on ‘Submissions’ at www.cjicl.org.uk – by the closing date. Please see below for further information.

In addition to a call for submissions for the Journal, the Editorial Board would like to invite authors to submit c. 1000 word commentaries for our new online blog (available at www.cjicl.org.uk), by e-mailing them to: blog [at] cjicl [dot] org [dot] uk with your name, institution and submission in a separate word (.doc) or richtext (.rtf) document.

Andrew Sanger and Rumiana Yotova

Editors in Chief of the Cambridge Journal of International and Comparative Law

Editors [at] cjicl [dot] org [dot] uk

Additional information on submissions can be found here.