With its judgment in Leyla Şahin v Turkey,1 the Grand Chamber of the European Court of Human Rights has once again addressed the place of religion within the European Convention system. The Court considers two types of cases. The first focuses on individuals but has repercussions on the relationship between State and religious communities. The Court is much more individualistic in these cases, in that it focuses more on the individual and the protection of the rights and freedoms of others. The Court emphasizes values such as the prevention of indoctrination, neutrality, secularism and laïcité, especially in relation to Islam. The Court tries to promote and enforce a normative order of secularism but this has unfortunate consequences for religious freedom. The second deals with the compatibility of entire domestic regimes regulating religious affairs with the Convention, including questions of legal personality and registration, leadership and property ownership, positive obligations of the State towards the protection of religious communities against third parties, and freedom of religious choice. The aim is to promote tolerance, religious diversity, pluralism and a market place within religious beliefs. It will be shown that these two strands in the caselaw do not always sit happily together.

International human rights law advocates tolerance, inclusivity and the promotion of equality among peoples, nations and individuals across the world. It seems disappointing, therefore, that these standards do not always apply to the discipline of international human rights law itself. Instead there seems to be a hierarchy in the international human rights system. Others have written about such an approach in relation to different types of rights,1 reflecting political power struggles.2 This paper will consider whether African institutions are ‘third generation’ organs and perceived as of less value than others. It will argue that international human rights law has focused primarily on European and Western sources and neglected those from other jurisdictions. It has failed, therefore, to use African institutions, for instance, to provide examples of good practice, relying on them only as examples of what not to do. As Okafor and Agbakwa state, there is evidence of a one-way traffic, with Western scholars giving the impression that they feel they have little to learn from African institutions and their experiences:

The rights and obligations of Parties … include a series of policies and measures aimed at protecting and promoting the diversity of cultural expressions, approaching creativity and all it implies in the context of globalization, where diverse expressions are circulated and made accessible to all via cultural goods and services.

State immunity is highly unusual among established areas of public international law in that it has been created and developed largely through cases in national courts and through national legislation. In sharp contrast to diplomatic and consular privileges and immunities, the role of reciprocity and of diplomatic negotiation in shaping the rules of state immunity has been rather limited. While national courts have purported to apply these rules as international law, they have inevitably viewed them within the frame-work of the constitutional approach taken by the particular national legal order to rules of international law and they have looked to earlier national precedents rather than to cases in other jurisdictions. In consequence, cross-fertilization has been rather limited and the process of response by national courts to the changing functions of States in the modern world has been painfully slow. Over the past 30 years, the uncertainties and inadequacies of leaving state immunity rules to national courts has been addressed mainly through national statutes—but while the draftsmen and legislators have paid careful attention to other statutes and tried to follow their best features, this process has compounded the perception of the courts that state immunity is an area of national law, to be interpreted and refined at national level.

Burundi, a small State in Eastern Africa, has been suffering a repetitive cycle of interethnic violence since its independence in 1962. Tensions were ongoing, but never reached the scale of the Rwandese massacres of 1994. The Burundian conflict thus received less international attention. Hardly any academic writing exists on human rights violations in Burundi.1 International efforts to counter impunity remained half-hearted.

‘Nothing ventured, everything gained!’ is an apt summary of the position recently adopted by the French Cour de Cassation towards the subject of mitigation of loss. In two seminal judgments of 19 June 2003,1 the French supreme court2 explicitly rejected the introduction of a general principle of mitigation in the French law of tort, thereby departing from the solutions reached in England and other neighbouring legal systems.

The Convention on State Immunity adopted by the UN General Assembly in 2004 represents in treaty form a finished product of some 22 years of work 1 It indicates a consensus of State support for the restrictive doctrine of State immunity in its application to civil proceedings relating to commercial matters in national courts. It is a considerable achievement from the view point of the specialist lawyers and diplomats who have steered the project to UN endorsement.

Since the resumption of China's sovereignty over Hong Kong in 1997, academic and policy interest in its unique status has largely subsided. This may be attributed to the fact that the issue has formally been settled and the absence of effective mechanisms for monitoring and enforcement of compliance with the bilateral accord underpinning the new legal order. The marginalization of the subject has arguably left an analytical vacuum as several dimensions of the post-1997 picture merit attention on the part of international lawyers. One topic that continues to be of both practical and theoretical importance—the unconstrained pursuit, within the ‘One Country, Two Systems’ framework, of key strategic goals in the external arena—is addressed in this paper.

There has been a spate of litigation before constitutional and human rights courts challenging restrictions on wearing religious dress in state schools as an infringement of religious freedom rights.1 These cases implicate deeper constitutional issues pertaining to State-Religion relations, religious pluralism and expressions of religious identity in the public domain of multicultural societies. Within Europe, this problem relates to the issue of integrating immigrants into national society and preserving secular political orders. The European Court of Human Rights in Leyla Sahin v Turkey2 [‘Sahin’] noted that within democratic societies, opinions ‘reasonably differ widely’ on State-Religion relations, reflected in the diversity of national approaches. For example, the 2004 French law banning ostentatious religious symbols from public schools,3 embodying a strict, doctrinaire secularism, contrasts sharply with the more accommodating liberal approach where British schools pragmatically offer students alternative uniforms to satisfy religious dress codes for public modesty. The English Court of Appeal in Shabina Begum v Governors of Denbigh High School4 [‘Begum’] held, in applying the Human Rights Act,5 that the school as a state institution was obliged to consider the claimant's religious rights under Article 9(1) of the European Convention of Human Rights [ECHR], and to justify its school policy under the Article 9(2) limitation clause. The United Kingdom is ‘not a secular state’6 as statute provides for religious education and worship in schools.

In the wake of their so-called ‘completion strategies’,1 both the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) and for Rwanda (ICTR), creations of the UN Security Council under Chapter VII of the UN Charter, have for some time grappled with the question of how to unclog their congested dockets and dispose of those accused which are generally viewed as ‘small fry’. The fact that many of the accused have had to spend very long, some say excessively long, times in the custody of the Tribunals prior to and during trials, led the Tribunals to devise a mechanism for the transfer of cases to national jurisdictions, preferably those of the national States of the defendants, which were mostly identical to the post-conflict countries. The mechanism was an amendment of Rule 11bis of their Rules of Procedure and Evidence (RPE) which allowed the Tribunals to refer cases to the national courts under certain circumstances. It is helpful to trace the history of the Rule. For the sake of simplicity, only the ICTY2 will be looked at here, as there are no real differences in substance with regard to the ICTR as far as the latest version of the Rule3 is concerned.

There are few more controversial questions in international law than the proper limits of the right of self-defence. The rules are being challenged in the light of what are seen as new threats from terrorism and from the possession of weapons of mass destruction. The UN High-level Panel, in its report to the Secretary-General of 2004, concluded that in all cases relating to decisions to use military force ‘we believe that the Charter of the United Nations, properly understood and applied, is equal to the task’.4 The Principles that follow are intended to provide a clear statement of the rules of international law ‘properly understood’ governing the use of force by states in self-defence.

The eventual product of the International Law Commission's (ILC) work on state immunity hasbeen in the form of a Convention. This prompts the question whether widespread ratification (or accession etc) will be necessary for clear rules of international law on state immunity to become firmlyestablished or whether a substantial codifying effect could be achieved even if the Convention does not attract a great number of parties. The latter has sometimes been said of much of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties. As the law on state immunity has undergone much of its substantial development by practice of national courts (albeit that the piecemeal adoption and implementation of treaties has played some part), could this process not simply continue with the Convention providing guidance or a model? If the trend from absolute to restrictive immunity could occur by development of customary law, are there not still adequate means of consolidating customary law without the need for states actually to become parties to the treaty?

The goal of constructing an Area of Freedom, Security and Justice across the Union was agreed at the Tampere EU Summit of 1999. The objective was to create the conditions in which EU citizens could exercise their rights of free movement while at the same time addressing legitimate security concerns. Central to this debate has been the need to ensure that not only are the free movement rights granted by the Treaty protected, but that more broadly, the fundamental rights of EU citizens are not infringed. The Tampere programme was a five-year agenda that concluded in 2004. In June 2004, the Commission presented a Communication taking stock of the implementation of the Tampere agenda and setting future guidelines for a new justice and home affairs strategy for the years to come. Following Council discussions in July and October 2004, the Dutch Presidency produced a new programme for justice and home affairs (subsequently renamed as ‘freedom, security and justice’). This will cover the period for the years 2005–2010, and is known as ‘The Hague Programme: Ten priorities for the next five years— The Partnership for European Renewal in the field of Freedom, Security and Justice.’1

A technological revolution is transforming society in a profound way. If harnessed and directed properly, Information and Communication Technologies (ICTs) have the potential to improve all aspects of our social, economic and cultural life. ICTs can serve as an engine for development in the 21st century, and as an effective instrument to help us achieve all the goals of the Millennium Declaration’ (Kofi Annan )1

The United Kingdom (UK) signed the UN Convention on Jurisdictional Immunities of States and their property (Convention) less than a year after it was adopted by the UN General Assembly.1 The signature came only a few months after an open, but not well publicized, consultation with academics and society,2 and several months before a crucial appeal, in which the Secretary of State for Constitutional Affairs is a party, is heard by the House of Lords of a decision permitting a civil suit to proceed against foreign government officials for torture committed abroad.3 Despite the signature, the UK has not yet announced whether it will ratify the Convention and, if so, whether it intends to do so with an understanding, declaration or reservation.4 As discussed below, it appears that the Convention might preclude victims of genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, torture and other crimes under international law, as well as other human rights violations, committed abroad from recovering civil reparations in UK courts against states or their current of former officials or agents. In the light of the numerous ambiguities in the Convention and the risk that it will be interpreted by national courts as barring such reparations in those courts, the UK should not ratify it until a protocol is adopted expressly guaranteeing victims and their families the right to recover reparations in such cases.

On 31 March 2005 the Security Council made its first referral to the International Criminal Council (‘the ICC’). The Council referred the situation in Darfur to the Prosecutor of the ICC. Given the USA's stated opposition to the ICC, that there was a referral at all could be seen as a triumph for the Court.s supporters. However, Security Council Resolution 1593 has a number of problematic features. Its genesis was long and convoluted, and it has been seen by some as a substitute for effective action by the United Nations to end the humanitarian crisis and systematic atrocities being committed in Darfur.

The policy decision to replace the United Nations (UN) Commission on Human Rights (CHR) with a new UN Human Rights Council (HRC) was taken by governments at the September 2005 World Summit and adopted as a General Assembly (GA) resolution on 15 March 2006.1 This brought an end to the CHR's chequered 60-year history.2 The membership, structure and aims and procedures of the new HRC underwent months of intense discussion between States in the lead up to the adoption of this resolution. The purpose of this note is to explain the various proposals explored in the shaping of the HRC and the extent to which the resolution bringing it into being responded to weaknesses perceived in the CHR. Since almost every reference to the CHR came to be prefaced by the term ‘discredited’ since 2005, the question is to what extent the reasons for the loss of legitimacy in the CHR were actually addressed in the crafting of the new HRC.

The United Nations Convention on Jurisdictional Immunities of States and Their Property was adopted by the UN General Assembly on 2 December 2004.1 The General Assembly recorded, in the first paragraph of its resolution adopting the Convention, its ‘deep appreciation to the International Law Commission and the Ad Hoc Committee on jurisdictional Immunities of States and their Property for their valuable work on the law of jurisdictional immunities of States and their property’. Whatever view one takes as to the merits of the Convention text or the prospects of its success,2 it cannot be doubted that this acknowledgment was well deserved—it is, if anything, an understatement to describe the conclusion of a detailed international instrument on state immunity, embodying the restrictive theory of immunity, as a ‘diplomatic triumph’.

The Court has continued with its expansive interpretation of the Citizenship provisions in Article 18 EC which it had previously acknowledged as being a fundamental right granted to all EU citizens by the Treaty.1 The case-law of the Court has, in particular, stressed the relationship between the free movement rights under Article 18 EC and preventing discrimination against EU nationals on grounds of nationality and without which the Citizenship provisions would lack force. Two recent judgments of Bidar2 and Ioannidis3 demonstrate the extent to which the Court will prevent covert discrimination on grounds of nationality. In a third judgment, that of Schempp,4 the Court, seemingly sensitive to criticism of interfering in domestic tax policy, adopts a more measured interpretation of discrimination when considering whether the rights granted under Article 18 EC are interfered with.