In this chapter we consider supply chains, meaning the sequence of markets in an industry. For example, when the artist Damien Hirst hosted an auction of his own work at Sotheby’s London in 2008, he bypassed his dealers, leapfrogging over a stage of the typical supply chain. Supply chains are also sometimes vertically integrated markets, meaning the same firm owns many stages of these sequential markets. Vertical integration is the process by which a firm enters into the business area of its supplier or its customer, via acquisition, competition, or long-term contract. Vertical market power is often motivated by power or avoidance of different forms of market failure. Here, we are not (as in Chapter 4) talking about failure of the alignment of price and value but failure to transact reliably and without risk or undue cost. We explore related concepts of asset specificity and then business strategy models that take the supply chain as their spine.

Chapter 9 takes note of the important role of elite formation during colonialism in defining elite spaces, particularly in Nigeria. These elite spaces are important for understanding patterns of governance and the persistence of poverty. Although this is of critical importance because so many are poor in Africa, discussions about poverty may not take sufficient note of elite attitudes and behaviors that shape policies that may contribute to or alleviate poverty. Elite formation during colonialism has been important in shaping attitudes about governance and conceptions of internal responsibility of those who govern to those over whom they rule.

Chapter 2 examines questions of governance in colonial contexts. It considers how conceptions about governance of corporations bear similarities to approaches to colonial governance by colonial powers. The thin European staffing that is typical during colonialism, emphasis on reducing costs and covering colonial costs with local taxes, and focus on extraction draw attention to ways in which colonial corporate governance reflected decision-making and investment choices more appropriate for short-term corporate decision-making than long term decisions about entire societies that might impact millions of people. The internal construction of colonial governance and the often- problematic bifurcation between English law and customary law in British colonial contexts is also explored.

This chapter charts what we know about intermediaries across settings and times in history, to provide a comparative perspective on their being within fields of development that broadly relate to interventions of law, regulation, rule of law, justice, and institutions. It focuses on the concept of the intermediary as an analytical means of identifying the social nodes in transnational networks of relative positions and power. It highlights the role that intermediaries play and the challenges they face, at the interfaces of different knowledge and value systems that appear as the development industry intervenes across the globe. It uses an inductive approach, which was key for locating individuals who played an intermediary role in Myanmar’s rule of law assistance field across several institutional positions: local lawyers; local NGOs; locally employed staff of international organisations; government employees; and international consultants. Despite their different roles and assignments, they all had in common having to perform the delicate task of relating larger, globally oriented ideas to the Myanmar locale, in a key middle position between foreign, national and local actors.

The final chapter summarises the findings on the importance of understanding the role of intermediaries in rule of law assistance. As Myanmar struggled for foreign credibility and investment, the findings are also consistent with the global version – foreign actors’ influence and local dependence in societies where donors become an established but delicate feature of social, political, and economic life that people encounter on a daily basis. In this new landscape, intermediaries become responsible for navigating local and national institutions, values, and people. This book keeps both sides in view while focusing on the intermediaries. It also considers the extent to which the findings could be generalised beyond Myanmar and their practical implications for helping to advance enquiry into the field of rule of law assistance globally.

The growth of economic informality, the transformation of left party-union linkages, and the rise of political decentralization in Latin America have all empowered local “brokers" who are linked to national political parties but also substantially autonomous and often opportunistic. The leaders of left parties in the region – even parties that are externally mobilized or that advance programmatic platforms promoting greater inclusion of popular sectors – have often needed to negotiate with such actors to secure power and implement policies. In this chapter, we consider the resources that intermediaries offer to parties but also the challenges that broker-mediated incorporation poses for left parties. We then use new evidence from Brazil – n particular, from the experience of the externally mobilized, programmatic Workers’ Party (PT) – to show the necessity but also the fragility of alliances with such actors. We assess possible implications of the reliance on brokers for the sustainability of the “inclusionary turn" in Latin America.

Orchestration is a soft mode of governance, in which a ‘governor’ enlists the voluntary cooperation of intermediary actors to carry out governance functions that further the governor’s goals. Environmental issues figured prominently in the origin of the orchestration concept, and orchestration has since played a significant role in earth system governance research on architecture and agency. This chapter summarizes key empirical findings of this research, especially on sustainable development and climate change. It also identifies contributions of earth system governance research to orchestration theory: for example, concerning the conditions for successful orchestration, the role of orchestration platforms and orchestration’s role in institutional complexity. The chapter then engages with critiques and normative concerns, particularly relating to power, accountability and legitimacy. The chapter concludes with thoughts on an orchestration research agenda that can support the transformative goals of the new earth system governance science plan.

This chapter addresses complementarity’s policy dimensions as engaged by the Office of the Prosecutor (OTP) and queries how the office has sought to influence state behaviour through two key areas of its work: preliminary examinations and investigations. Drawing on complementarity’s dual properties as both coercive and cooperative, the chapter first examines the OTP’s use of preliminary examinations as a tool to prod national jurisdictions into action. The chapter then offers a detailed review of the Kenyan preliminary examination, wherein the office, under Prosecutor Moreno-Ocampo’s tenure, took a largely coercive approach as it sought to push the government to establish a national accountability mechanism in the wake of its post-election violence. (By contrast, the office has elsewhere pursued a more cooperative, managerial approach to complementarity.) The chapter then considers the office’s early investigatory practices, focusing on Uganda and the DRC in particular. It argues that, particularly in cases of ‘self-referred’ states, investigations could have been a material site for a more positive, cooperative approach to complementarity. This has been to the detriment of the OTP’s relationship with national-level actors, but also, arguably, to its disappointing record of confirmed charges and convictions, which itself imperils the court’s catalytic potential.

Chapter 6 explores the doctrines of indirect (secondary) patent infringement in the United States, Europe, and Japan, focusing primarily on novel statutory interpretation issues brought about by 3D printing technology. Indirect infringement generally requires knowledge of the patent or some sort of intent to infringe. Because 3D printing technology will empower many legally unsophisticated actors to assist – even if unwittingly – others to infringe, virtually every jurisdiction will need to clarify how to measure knowledge or intent when numerous individuals or small businesses are involved. In Europe, courts will also need to decide the fundamental issue of whether the knowledge requirement implies a culpable mental state. Additional statutory interpretation issues include what constitutes a “component” under U.S. law and what constitutes “means, relating to an essential element of the invention” under many countries’ statutes. In Japan, courts or lawmakers will need to clarify whether a “product” includes 3D printable files. The chapter concludes by recommending that courts and lawmakers resolve interpretive issues in a manner that captures at least the most egregious actors, namely, those who repeatedly and knowingly facilitate infringement by distributing DMFs.

Barlow’s declaration of independence was a cry for the preservation of the libertarian wild west of the early internet, an ideal of a space of limitless opportunity that its denizens could shape to their liking. He makes two claims here: first, that governments have no real power over the internet, which is a fundamentally unregulable, separate space, both outside of legal jurisdiction and practical reach of governments. The second – a moral claim – is that the rules of online social spaces would evolve to be better – more democratic, more free – than the rules of territorially bound nation-states.

In an article in January 2018 warning of an impending “techlash,” The Economist painted a bleak picture for the CEOs of Amazon, Facebook, Google, Apple, Netflix, and Microsoft. “Things have been rough in Europe for a while,” the article pointed out, and “America is not the haven it was” for the giants of tech that dominate the internet.1 From the presidential candidates in the next election to a group of concerned state attorneys general, The Economist predicted a great deal of anti-tech sentiment was coming from regulators. The year didn’t get much better for major tech companies from there. As the investigation into Russian interference in the 2016 presidential elections unfolded, not just Facebook, but all of the major technology companies faced a sudden shift in public opinion on a wave of negative press.

In August 2017, several hundred white nationalists marched on the small university town of Charlottesville, Virginia. The rally turned tragic when one of the protesters rammed his car into a crowd of counterprotesters, killing 32-year-old Heather Heyer. The Washington Post characterized the protesters as “a meticulously organized, well-coordinated and heavily armed company of white nationalists.”1

Facebook has come under sustained criticism from human rights groups for its role in helping to spread hate speech that fueled the crisis. The platform’s policies prohibit incitement to violence and hate speech, as well as hate organizations and content that expresses support or praise for those groups or their members. These policies, however, were not well enforced during the crisis.8 The Burma Human Rights Network reported that official government Facebook pages used dehumanizing language in a campaign to “demonize” the Rohingya population, and “Facebook posts by nationalists have directed abuse towards journalists, NGO workers and Rohingya activists.”9 The military in Myanmar executed an extensive, systematic campaign involving hundreds of military personnel who used fake Facebook accounts to spread anti-Rohingya propaganda, flooding news and celebrity pages with incendiary comments and disinformation.10

In 1215, on a floodplain on the bank of the River Thames, King John of England met with a group of rebel barons to negotiate a peace treaty. The meeting at Runnymede, about halfway between the fortress of Windsor Castle and the camp of the rebels, became one of the most significant events of Western political history. After raising heavy taxes to fund an expensive and disastrous war in France, King John was deeply unpopular at home. He ruled with might and divine right; the king was above the law. He regularly used the justice system to suppress and imprison his political opponents and to extort more funds from his feudal lords. The peace charter promised an end to the arbitrary rule of the king, guaranteeing the liberties of feudal lords. The document became known as Magna Carta (the “great charter”), described by Lord Denning as “the greatest constitutional document of all times – the foundation of the freedom of the individual against the arbitrary authority of the despot.”1

In 1215, on a floodplain on the bank of the River Thames, King John of England met with a group of rebel barons to negotiate a peace treaty. The meeting at Runnymede, about halfway between the fortress of Windsor Castle and the camp of the rebels, became one of the most significant events of Western political history. After raising heavy taxes to fund an expensive and disastrous war in France, King John was deeply unpopular at home. He ruled with might and divine right; the king was above the law. He regularly used the justice system to suppress and imprison his political opponents and to extort more funds from his feudal lords. The peace charter promised an end to the arbitrary rule of the king, guaranteeing the liberties of feudal lords. The document became known as Magna Carta (the “great charter”), described by Lord Denning as “the greatest constitutional document of all times – the foundation of the freedom of the individual against the arbitrary authority of the despot.”1

Sociologist Andrés Guerrero famously examined how nineteenth-century liberal legislation in Ecuador created a “ventriloquist’s voice” that mediated Indigenous expressions of resistance to exclusionary governing structures. The assumption is that intermediaries purportedly spoke out in defense of subaltern rights but in reality only desired to advance their own interests. Intermediaries allegedly added another layer of exploitation to an already marginalized and silenced population. Careful studies, however, reveal that Indigenous activists did advance their own agendas, both alone and in collaboration with sympathetic urban allies. Recovering subaltern voices, nevertheless, is complicated by a lack of the written archival documentation that typically forms the basis for scholarly examinations. This lack of sources is not the fault of local organic intellectuals, but rather a result of the racist attitudes of a dominant class who did not find the thoughts and actions of Indigenous people worthy of preservation. This essay examines the gap between the perception of both domestic and international surveillance operations and the realities of rural mobilizations.