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This chapter offers a pluralist reading of transitional justice built around three meanings of pluralism. The first is value pluralism – the idea, dear to Isaiah Berlin, that values are irreducibly manifold, potential conflicting and frequently incommensurable in such a way that they cannot be ranked or weighed on any single scale. The second meaning of pluralism is cultural pluralism. It refers to the fact that there are many different cultures, many different collective ways of life, none of which can claim superiority. While insisting on the possibility of a cross-cultural conversation around core values, the proposed pluralist approach rejects the normal model’s tendency to reduce transitional justice to one set of (Western) cultural forms. The third form of pluralism briefly considered is legal pluralism, meaning the coexistence of competing legal orders. Discussing Rwanda’s experience with the so-called gacaca courts, the chapter suggests a pluralist understanding of the rule of law flexible enough to accommodate cultural variation while remaining committed to what I take to be its universal core. The chapter ends by proposing a pluralist method for thinking about transitional justice, which is linked to basic commitments referred to as sense of reality, anti-monism, situated thinking, decolonised cosmopolitanism and fallibilistic mentality. The chapter argues that these commitments can help mitigate a number of problematic trends in contemporary transitional justice discourse and practice.
It’s easy to assume that all businesses (of any scale at least) are corporations, and that all corporations are run the same. They have executive leadership, boards of directors, and their overriding aim is to make profit for their investors. This is how most large corporations are organized and operate; and you could be forgiven for assuming that this is just the way things work. That said, close readers of this volume have likely intuited that this way of running a business is in fact historically specific, and owes a lot to neoliberal ideas about how a business and how society should work (hierarchically, with a minimum of democracy, and all organized to generate profits and reward shareholder owners). Here, Wood and Palladino take these assumptions apart by illustrating all the different way that other people (even workers!) can in fact own and control companies. One simple thing this chapter shows is that in designing a business or organizing a company, it doesn’t need to be top-down and oriented toward maximizing shareholder value; but can be oriented toward other values, and these values can be reflected in its organization.
In a recent article Wilson explores the origins and explanation of ownership (property) as a custom, and argues that the custom of ownership is the primary concept and that property rights are subordinated to ownership. I argue that Wilson's subordination argument is unpersuasive; the linguistic evidence used by Wilson fits better with the concept of possession; and ownership is not a human universal.
Ownership is universal and ubiquitous in human societies, yet the psychology underpinning ownership intuitions is generally not described in a coherent and computationally tractable manner. Ownership intuitions are commonly assumed to derive from culturally transmitted social norms, or from a mentally represented implicit theory. While the social norms account is entirely ad hoc, the mental theory requires prior assumptions about possession and ownership that must be explained. Here I propose such an explanation, arguing that the intuitions result from the interaction of two cognitive systems. One of these handles competitive interactions for the possession of resources observed in many species including humans. The other handles mutually beneficial cooperation between agents, as observed in communal sharing, collective action and trade. Together, these systems attend to specific cues in the environment, and produce definite intuitions such as “this is hers”, “that is not mine”. This computational model provides an explanation for ownership intuitions, not just in straightforward cases of property, but also in disputed ownership (squatters, indigenous rights), historical changes (abolition of slavery), as well as apparently marginal cases, such as the questions, whether people own their seats on the bus, or their places in a queue, and how people understand “cultural appropriation” and slavery. In contrast to some previous theories, the model is empirically testable and free of ad hoc stipulations.
Bart Wilson suggests that economists interested in property rights have it all backwards when they define ownership as a bundle of rights. Rather he argues that ownership comes first in the form of an abstract concept. I claim there is a small element of truth to this, but the bulk of what he argues is already understood through the concept of economic property rights. Wilson's consternation is mostly the result of a failure to appreciate this latter concept.
Concentrated ownership, role played by promoters in companies and their cross shareholdings in group companies raise concerns about shareholder engagement and voting in Indian companies. The Companies Act, 2013 along with regulations of the Securities and Exchange Board of India is believed to have expanded the rights of shareholders. A pilot study for writing this chapter has been conducted to assess the shareholders engagement and voting pattern in Nifty 50 companies listed on National Stock Exchange, India. The Companies Act allocates powers to shareholders and company boards, but shareholders’ supremacy is reflected in general meetings of the company. The chapter has covered different types of shares ranging from simplest one share one vote to shares with differential voting rights and superior voting rights along with other rights of shareholders in general meetings. Impact on voting pattern during virtual meetings allowed during pandemic have also been observed in the chapter.
Despite the growing prominence and use of Rights of Nature (RoN), doubts remain as to their tangible effect on environmental protection efforts. By analyzing two initiatives in post-colonial societies, we argue that they do influence the creation of institutionalized bridges between differing land-ownership regimes. Applying the methodology of inter-legality, we examine the Ecuadorian Constitution of 2008 and the Ugandan National Environment Act 2019. We identify five normative spheres that influence land-ownership regimes. We find that the established Ecuadorian RoN have an institutionalized effect on the nation's legal system. Their more recently established Ugandan counterpart shows potential to develop in the same direction.
In the introduction we describe the “wicked” global property problem of homeless squatting on empty land or in empty properties and outline some key themes explored in the book. We reflect on the nature of squatting as a property problem; and introduce the concept of “scale,” which we deploy throughout the book to describe the dynamic nature of state responses to squatting. We outline the importance of seeing “the state” in the analyses of squatting and other property problems, through its interactions with individuals, interactions with other state-bodies, and interactions with its territory, and interactions with its own institutions. Finally, we set out the structure and approach followed in the book, including reference to five primary jurisdictions: the USA, Ireland, Spain, South Africa and England and Wales.
In this chapter, we explore the phenomenon of homeless squatting on empty land through the prism of ownership and owners, and reflect on how the changing nature and conceptions of ownership have re-shaped the norms and narratives of absent ownership. We begin by examining “ownership” as a scaled concept: building on our approach in Chapter 6, we explore how the registers of scale – and, particularly, the dynamics of “upscaling” and “downscaling” – reveal the multiple layers of meaning, values and interactions within the frame of ownership: between individual (absent owners) and institutional (the law of ownership; the institution of private property) stakeholders, and between these interests, squatters, and the state. We reflect on how the character of ownership, and of owners, have changed since the 1970s, resulting in the emergence of the “investor model” of owner-occupation, and the normalization of small-scale landlordism and property development. We consider the resilience needs of absent owners, and examples of state action in relation to unlawful occupation that allocates resilience to absentee owners. Finally, we begin to reflect on the impact of absenteeism on neighborhoods, and the relationships between absentee owners and owner-neighbors.
Predicting the future is a perilous exercise. But that has not stopped us trying. Hunter-gatherers carefully studied their natural environment to predict food availability. The earliest farmers developed sophisticated ways to predict rain. In the eighth century BCE the oracle of Delphi attracted to her temple those who wanted to know the future. Others have searched for clues to future events in bones, marbles, cards and crystal balls. For a quick fix, just page to the horoscope section in your daily newspaper.
It makes sense to want to know the future. Knowledge is power. And power is money. Entrepreneurs must predict the future demands of their customers, the behaviour of their competitors, and the cost of their inputs. In more volatile environments, prediction is more difficult, which increases risk and requires higher reward. That is why it is so difficult to attract investment in unstable times.
The COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted that leveraging medical big data can help to better predict and control outbreaks from the outset. However, there are still challenges to overcome in the 21st century to efficiently use medical big data, promote innovation and public health activities and adequately protect individuals’ privacy. The metaphor that property is a “bundle of sticks” applies equally to medical big data. Understanding medical big data in this way raises a number of questions, including: Who has the right to make money off its buying and selling, or is it inalienable? When does medical big data become sufficiently stripped of identifiers that the rights of an individual concerning the data disappear? How have different regimes such as the General Data Protection Regulation in Europe and the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act in the US answered these questions differently? In this chapter, we will discuss three topics: (1) privacy and data sharing, (2) informed consent, and (3) ownership.
Belonging and the sense of belonging are vital factors of human identity, loyalty, and roles, the expectations we have of ourselves and of one another. The boundaries, social and sexual, that all human societies deploy to protect personal privacy and personal and group dignity are modulated by our sense of belonging and often by a complementary sense of difference. The bonds of affinity and the corresponding sense of belonging that modulate our norms and roles are perhaps most visible in the striking colorations they assume in the eyes of outsiders viewing the mores of traditional societies. But the vital necessity of a sense of shared identity is all the more critical when social identities are fragmented by faction, tribalism, or racism, or when anomie and alienation have sapped the sense of commitment that energizes collaborative efforts in any human group. Few dimensions of personal outlook and awareness are more powerful in communal, legal, or political settings than the sense of belonging, that curiously shared identity by which we bind ourselves and one another to shared goals and values in some version of the sense that we are one.
In late medieval and Renaissance Italian societies, family was conceived as a quasi-corporate entity, continuing across generations. But in law ownership was conceived as an attribute of individuals, and generally of only one person in a household, the paterfamilias. Legal experts worked to accommodate legal notions to the realities of family life, which were close to what anthropologists have come to term an economy of sharing (with multiple and overlapping rights). Law thus came to provide instruments that helped perpetuate families or terminate them. It fell to the paterfamilias to manage property and use legal instruments to do so in order that the patrimony, substantia, could be transmitted to the next generation.
The sharing economy and the legal devices clustered about it became increasingly distinct from ownership vested in one person, which would be at the heart of the sense of property developed in modern law, beginning in the Enlightenment. Overlapping rights were too confusing and liable to keep property from transactions in the increasingly important market economy. The continuity between father and son that Bartolus saw at the heart of the family became harder for others to envision.
The bulk of African peacekeeping is funded externally, particularly by Western powers. Indeed, some African peacekeeping missions have been unable to get off the ground – literally – without logistical and other support from beyond the continent. This has led some commentators to argue that African peacekeeping is not, in fact, 'owned' by Africa. This claim is explored and challenged in this chapter. The authors begin by unpacking and historicising the concept of Pan-Africanism, a language often marshalled by African governments to explain and interpret their involvement in peacekeeping but also a discourse which can obscure as much as it reveals. The chapter then looks in greater depth at the funding and governance of African peacekeeping missions, looking in particular at the bureaucratic politics at the heart of the African Union. The chapter concludes by problematising the linking of financial support to lack of ownership in the context of peacekeeping, underscoring the various ways in which African states and governments exercise agency in the peacekeeping sphere despite their dependence upon external funding.
Middle-managers' innovative behaviours are considered an essential determinant of firm-level innovativeness. While prior research has traditionally focused on the contextual determinants of middle-managers' innovative work behaviour (IWB), research regarding individual-level determinants continues to remain scant. Particularly lacking is research which explores how middle-managers' ownership feelings influence their IWB. This study investigates whether middle-managers' affective commitment mediates the relationship between their psychological ownership and their IWB. Data are collected from 110 middle-managers – supervisor dyads in a large Malaysian IT organisation. Findings from this study contribute to enhancing our understanding of the individual-level determinants of middle-managers' IWB.
In recent decades, companies around the world have deployed an arsenal of tools - including IP law, hardware design, software restrictions, pricing strategies, and marketing messages - to prevent consumers from fixing the things they own. While this strategy has enriched companies almost beyond measure, it has taken billions of dollars out of the pockets of consumers and imposed massive environmental costs on the planet. In The Right to Repair, Aaron Perzanowski analyzes the history of repair to show how we've arrived at this moment, when a battle over repair is being waged - largely unnoticed - in courtrooms, legislatures, and administrative agencies. With deft, lucid prose, Perzanowski explains the opaque and complex legal landscape that surrounds the right to repair and shows readers how to fight back.
This paper considers Douglass C. North's ‘puzzle’ concerning China's household responsibility system (HRS) and offers a possible solution. China's HRS, which has evolved over the past four decades to become its dominant form of rural land ownership, has stimulated spectacular economic growth and poverty reduction; however, it is based on a type of ownership which is far removed from the property rights regime which North regarded as essential. Two features of the HRS merit attention. The first is ‘split ownership’: this refers to the allocation of different aspects of ownership, including rights of access, use, management, exclusion and alienation, to a range of individual and collective actors with interests in the land in question. The second is polycentric governance: rules governing land use are derived in part from community-level action and in part from state intervention. We argue that in explaining the functioning of the HRS we need to move beyond the narrow conception of legally enforced private property rights on which North relied. We should instead embrace understandings of ownership as an emergent, diverse and complex institution, of the kind emphasized by A.M. Honoré's legal theory of ownership and Elinor Ostrom's theories of the common-pool resource and polycentric governance.
This chapter shows that the book’s core transactional techniques are viable under existing law, and it defends the book’s analysis as a matter of statutory interpretation. It also provides various alternative transactional means to achieve similar goals, both as practical alternatives and to show the conceptual robustness of the book’s main proposed transactional technique.
Traditionally, courts and legal scholars alike have rejected conversion claims related to DNA. Justifications for dismissing these causes of action include fears that they could hinder scientific research or commodify the human body. Judges and academics reason that–even absent actionable claims for genetic conversion–plaintiffs have access to adequate legal protections in the form of breach of fiduciary duty, lack of informed consent, invasion of privacy, or unjust enrichment. However, upon closer inspection, these claims reveal themselves as inadequate, particularly in the context of consumer genetics. People who purchase their genetic tests directly are not usually in the kinds of fiduciary or research relationships necessary to trigger legal duties. This chapter proposes that a right to genetic conversion could provide consumers with appropriate relief. Far from stifling research or disaggregating the self, genetic conversion is a modest solution for the ownership disputes that arise in the growing field of consumer genetics.