Historians have argued that sixteenth and seventeenth century English colonial charters claimed the lands of indigenous people on the basis of their discovery by Europeans. Examination of these charters, however, demonstrates that a charter authorized acquiring land from the indigenous population in a specific region, not seizing indigenous it, and regulating the entry of other potential settlers. Charters also regulated overseas relations among the European nations to reduce or prevent international conflict by recognizing similar claims to monopoly of access to lands claimed by other developing empires. Charters were rooted in a medieval legal tradition that included canon law commentaries that recognized the legitimacy of infidel dominium and papal bulls that sought to regulate fifteenth-century Iberian expansion in the Atlantic. English charters built on this legal tradition and were a stage in the creation of a European legal order for overseas expansion. The fundamental issue was regulation of the sea and sea routes to Asia and to the New World, not the acquisition and possession of indigenous land. The English charters should be understood as elements of the long-running debate about whether access to the sea was open to all or could be closed to outsiders.

In the 1950s, the National Association of Women Lawyers (“NAWL”) undertook what it considered its “greatest project,” the drafting and promotion of a model no-fault divorce law. It launched its campaign at a time when post-war realities and the law in practice were putting increasing pressure on the law on the books which lagged behind contemporary sensibilities. NAWL acted two decades before the no-fault divorce “revolution” of the 1970s. It did so in the 1950s when women were said to be both “domestic” and “quiescent.” The Article has three aims. First, it considers NAWL's project as a missing piece in the history of divorce law, the no-fault revolution, and the rise of mass divorce in mid-twentieth century America. Second, it reflects on the implications of NAWL's undertaking for the standard narrative of “domesticity” in the 1950s, an account that has been questioned in recent years. Last, it tells a story of women's activism in the depth of the so-called “doldrums” of the organized women's moveme

This article examines the jurisprudence of the Swedish Supreme Court during WW2 in disputes between exiled Jewish business owners and the Nazi-appointed administrators of their companies over the rights to the enterprises’ assets in Sweden. Contrary to assertions in previous scholarship, this article argues that the judgments of the Supreme Court were dictated neither by moral indignation in the face of the treatment of Jews in the Third Reich, nor by political considerations in a time of war. Instead, they were based on principles of private international law that predated, and outlived, the Third Reich. The outcome of the cases hinged upon whether the claim to Swedish assets arose before or after the date when the enterprise was placed under forced administration. If before, the claims of the Jewish owners were in principle successful; if after, they were not. This reasoning was well in line with both previous and subsequent case law on confiscations effected abroad. The article therefore concludes that the Swedish Supreme Court's judgments on Jewish assets in Sweden should be viewed not as outflows of extrajudicial considerations, but rather as failures to recognize political or ethical responsibility.

Hannah Flynn was sentenced to death on February 27, 1924. She had been convicted of the murder of Margaret O'Sullivan, her former employer. Hannah worked for Margaret and her husband Daniel as a domestic servant, an arrangement that ended with bad feeling on both sides when Hannah was dismissed. On Easter Sunday, April 1, 1923, while Daniel was at church, Hannah returned to her former place of work, and killed 50-year-old Margaret with a hatchet. At her trial, the jury strongly recommended her to mercy, and sentence of death was subsequently commuted to penal servitude for life. Hannah spent almost two decades in Mountjoy Prison in Dublin, from where she was conditionally released on October 23, 1942 to the Good Shepherd Magdalen Laundry in Limerick. Although there is no precise date available for Hannah's eventual release from there, it is known that “a considerable time later,” and at a very advanced age, she was released from the laundry to a hospital, where she died. The case of Hannah Flynn, and the use of the Good Shepherd Laundry, represents an explicitly gendered example of the death penalty regime in Ireland following Independence in 1922, particularly the double-edged sword of mercy as it was experienced by condemned women.

More than half a century has passed since C. Vann Woodward penned his iconic monograph, The Strange Career of Jim Crow, and legal segregation continues to compel. Recent works have reassessed Jim Crow's birth, its life, and its aftermath, suggesting that the system was at once more implicated in the reproduction of racist ideas than had been previously assumed, and also more fluid: a variegated landscape of rules and norms that lent themselves to various forms of political, legal, and cultural resistance.

Historically, the clear recognition by the courts that all adults in public intercourse owe a duty of reasonable care to avoid injuring others has been seen as an early nineteenth century development. Occasionally it is recognized that what is known about the emergence of the tort of negligence in English law comes almost entirely from the printed reports of civil (plea side) cases tried in the three common law courts (King's Bench, Common Pleas, and Exchequer). It was not until the 1790s that regular printed reports of jury trials (or nisi prius cases, as they were called) began, and even then, enlightenment from the nisi prius reports was limited. Most of those reports were sketchy, and very few included instructions given to the jury by the trial judge. More importantly, the reports covered only a small fraction of the jury trials that were conducted by the common law courts. The overwhelming majority of civil jury trials ended with the jury verdict (or an occasional nonsuit), with no post-trial proceedings, and what happened in many thousands of these plea-side jury trials in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries has been something of a black hole in the historical record.

This article argues that Leibniz should be viewed as a predecessor of the idea of spatial justice and that Leibniz's heritage remains a valuable source for inspiration and critical reading of the contemporary literature on spatial justice. The article first demonstrates interdependency between Leibniz's conceptualisation of space and his conceptualisation of law and justice. This is the first time that this argument is made in relation to Leibniz, therefore significant space is devoted to justifying this argument. The article then proceeds to comparing Leibniz's views on space, law and justice to one of the most “spatial” contemporary articulation of the idea of spatial justice, namely that proposed by Andreas Philippopoulos-Mihalopoulos. The article concludes by pointing out some aspects of Leibniz's thought that are most valuable for the further study of law, space and spatial justice in contemporary scholarship.

Early one Sunday in 1948, Frederic Vercoe set out from his home in San Marino, California, for a speaking engagement in downtown Los Angeles. Perhaps he took the Arroyo Seco Parkway, which had opened for drivers 8 years before, linking the city more tightly with its “vast agglomerate of suburbs.” Although the roads may have changed, Vercoe had been making some version of this commute for decades. He had recently retired after a long career with the Los Angeles County Public Defender—13 years as a deputy, followed by 19 years as head of the office—and now maintained a small private law practice downtown. Many mornings, Vercoe would have had business at the Hall of Justice, the ten-story box of “gray California granite” that housed the jails and courtrooms. On this particular morning, he was headed instead to Clifton's Cafeteria at Seventh Street and Broadway. Perhaps, as he drove the dozen miles west into the city, he admired the “geraniums, cosmos, sweet peas, asters and marigolds” that lined the “gardens, parkways, and driveways,” or perhaps he was used to the foliage by now. Vercoe had lived in California for more than 30 years, making him, by West Coast standards, a real “old-timer.”

Justice Frank Murphy once wrote that two aspects of World War II could only be forgotten at our peril. One was the indiscriminate incarceration of Japanese aliens and Japanese Americans. The other was 4 years of martial law in Hawai'i. We have cried “Never Again” to the first but forgotten the second. Therefore, it is at long last that the legal scholars Harry and Jane Scheiber have excavated why and how an unprecedented military rule occurred and how stubbornly it clung to power.

This article examines the Ottoman extension of rule and jurisdiction to the Beersheba frontier of southern Palestine. As part of its Tanzimat reform policies, the Ottoman administration founded the new town and sub-district of Beersheba in 1900, and sought to implement a legal reform. Deviating from the formal law that requires the founding of a civil-nizamiye court, the Ottoman instituted a form of legal exception and authorized the local administrative council to sit as a judicial forum and for its Bedouin Shaykh members to serve as judges. Studies of Ottoman Beersheba have typically focused on Bedouin autonomy and tribal law. The few studies that discussed the judicial order, have mistakenly assumed the Ottoman institution of a “tribal court,” and its persistence thereafter. Interestingly, what began as a simple grant of legal exception, justified by civilizational discourses of ignorance and savagery, grew into a judicial complexity. Very soon jurisdictional tensions arose, integrating questions across various webs of legal orders, jurisdictions, and political networks that shaped the reform in Beersheba and beyond. In following various legal disputes from Beersheba to Gaza, Jerusalem, and Istanbul, the article challenges some of the prevailing research categories, dichotomies, and approaches in the study of Ottoman legal history and tribal societies, including the concept of ‘legal pluralism.’

Robert Gordon became the pioneering scholar of the history and historiography of American law with the publication of his first essays in the 1970s. His research and teaching have stimulated and guided the dramatic growth of American scholarship in legal history during the past four decades, much of it written by his own students and the many others whose work he has generously encouraged and engaged. Taming the Past combines the classic essays he has published in various journals and edited collections throughout his distinguished career alongside lectures that are printed here for the first time. Brief introductory notes place the essays in the context of their original appearance and often cite subsequent relevant scholarship. Gordon has also added a general introduction that provides a useful overview of the entire collection. The whole is much more than the sum of its impressive parts.

In the early 1970s, the executives of the First National Bank of Boston spent hundreds of thousands of the bank's dollars on ads opposing statewide efforts to raise their personal income taxes. When frustrated Massachusetts legislators banned this sort of corporate spending, the executives sued, arguing that “corporations have the same First Amendment rights as individuals.” In First National Bank of Boston v. Bellotti, the Supreme Court held for the first time that the First Amendment protects all political speech, even ads paid for by a corporation. Surprisingly, the first corporation to take advantage of this decision was not the bank, but the city of Boston--a municipal corporation that spent nearly a million dollars on a new referendum in the fall of 1978.

This article discusses the history of the 1978 referendum, one pitting municipal corporations against business corporations. It argues that the referendum and the discourse surrounding it made it intuitive for Bostonians that all corporations, banks and cities, are representative institutions. Corporations can “speak” only by spending money, and the leaders of Boston and the bank justified spending other people's money by pointing to the internal elections that put them in office. But voters were skeptical of the argument that “corporate democracy” alone could guarantee that elected executives spoke with the consent of the people they purported to represent. The article offers a novel contribution to the historiography of modern business and politics: a legal history of how corporations--municipal and financial--became politicized in the wake of evolving First Amendment free-speech doctrine.

This article analyses the internal dynamics of online Islamic legal discourses embedded in their offline and multimedia contexts that use of a rich repository of legal texts composed over a period of about a thousand years. Through their vigorous and spirited engagements with these historical texts, contemporary Islamic jurists simultaneously create new digital platforms in mass and social media to disseminate their ideas. In so doing, they perpetuate a long textual legal tradition through hypertext commentaries and super-commentaries. The premodern texts are thus reborn through new forms of ḥāshiyas such as audio commentaries, video commentaries, audio-video commentaries and hypertext commentaries. These new developments from the age of new media contribute to the textual longue-durée of Islamic law. Tracking the peregrinations of three Islamic legal texts in the mass media and cyber world, I argue that the dissemination of premodern Islamic legal texts via cyber space has resulted in the “democratization” of a knowledge-system that was previously dominated by trained fuqahā and affiliated institutional structures and has enlivened the traditional school affiliations.