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This chapter focuses on the US Marine Mammal Commission, the principles of marine mammal management and conservation associated with it, and the status and conservation issues involved with varying groups of marine mammals. It shows that much of the past several decades' history of marine mammal conservation is reflected in the background, content, and implementation of, and changes to, the US Marine Mammal Protection Act (MMPA). Key provisions of the MMPA are described, including the functions and composition of the Marine Mammal Commission and its Committee of Scientific Advisors, both of which the act established. How the optimum sustainable population determinations evolved, and the development of the ecosystem approach to marine conservation are discussed.

This chapter recalls that the year 2004 was the 70th anniversary of the US Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act of 1934 which fundamentally changed trade policy-making in the US and furnished the template for Congressional advance authorization for Executive Branch negotiations for reciprocal trade liberalization agreements. The chapter describes how Secretary of State, Cordell Hull, designed this Act as a means of breaking ‘the logrolling dynamics’ of the protectionist Smoot-Hawley tariff legislation of 1930. This chapter also explains why the Hull principles of reciprocity and non-discrimination are harder to apply to sectoral services negotiations. As long as the few import-competing producers threatened by trade competition can influence domestic trade policy-making so much more strongly than the many consumers and exporters benefiting from trade liberalization, Cordell Hull's insights on the ‘constitutional failures’ of trade policy-making and on the need for offsetting the political influence of import-competing firms remain of crucial importance.

Chapter 2 examines the 1997 OECD Anti-Bribery Convention on Combating Bribery of Foreign Public Officials in International Business Transactions and related non-binding instruments—the 2009 Recommendation of the Council for Further Combating Bribery of Foreign Public Officials in International Business Transactions and the 2010 Good Practice Guidance on Internal Controls, Ethics, and Compliance. It shows how the OECD’s influence on domestic legal systems has been aided rather than hindered by its association with these non-binding instruments. The US Foreign Corrupt Practices Act and UK Bribery Act 2010 both show that the effectiveness of the OECD Anti-Bribery Convention has been enhanced because of its capacity to evolve through these recommendations and guidance. The OECD Working Group on Bribery has also influenced domestic implementation and enforcement of the Convention, though it operates on the basis of peer pressure rather than binding sanctions. The domestic influence of the Working Group has its limitations, however, as demonstrated by its hard fought battle for implementation of the Convention in the United Kingdom.

This chapter explores how the acting in Game of Thrones (HBO, 2011–present) both confirms and problematizes some common assumptions about British acting, and thus by extension notions of difference between British and American acting. The chapter anchors its analysis in the work by Conleth Hill (who plays Varys) and Liam Cunningham (Davos Seaworth). It considers the ways in which their performances challenge binary distinctions commonly found in discourses on British and American acting (e.g., technical strength versus organic “shooting from the hip,” suitability for stage-versus suitability for screen-based work). By highlighting the complexity and nuance in Hill’s and Cunningham’s acting, the chapter makes an intervention into discourses about British acting that is especially timely given the considerable success of British and Irish actors in contemporary US film and television. In doing so, it makes a valuable contribution to scholarship on performance and transatlantic television.

To understand the development of American water resources, one must first look at American political and social values and American governmental institutions. Even a cursory examination shows the lasting influence of decisions and attitudes moulded as the country took its first hesitant steps as a republic. Historian Joyce Appleby (2000: 249) has argued that the first generation of Americans bequeathed ‘open opportunity, an unfettered spirit of inquiry, [and] personal liberty’ to future generations—qualities, we might note, that often introduce an element of uncertainty into public administration. But if we extend the analysis a bit, we might not only gain an appreciation of the many challenges facing water resource developers, but also illuminate a fundamental question facing democratic nations: to what extent should human liberty be constrained in order to provide and manage a human necessity—water. Beyond Appleby’s observations, one notes at least two pervasive elements woven into American political behaviour. The first, the inescapable, element is distrust of powerful governments. Power corrupts, the first Americans agreed without much hesitation, and the challenge was how to minimize that corruption, how to ensure that good men will not be enticed to do evil, and how to disperse power to minimize oppression. Loudly over the years, Americans continue to proclaim their distrust of big government; even popular presidents generate scepticism when they appear to reach for increased power and authority. Only as a last resort, and then with resignation, not enthusiasm, as during the Great Depression, do Americans turn to the national government to solve their problems (Kelley 1989: 30–1; Wills 1999). The result can be truly impressive: Grand Coulee and Bonneville dams, locks and dams on the Upper Mississippi, the California Central Valley Project, and the Los Angeles flood control system all came out of depression era politics, but, as I will argue, all are aberrations in the story of American water resources. The second element, almost as pervasive as the first, is that power and liberty are fundamental antagonists. The dispersion of power among the three branches of government purposely sets power at war with itself rather than with ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’.

Any judgment of a court or tribunal and any decision of an administrative authority of a third country requiring a controller or processor to transfer or disclose personal data may only be recognised or enforceable in any manner if based on an international agreement, such as a mutual legal assistance treaty, in force between the requesting third country and the Union or a Member State, without prejudice to other grounds for transfer pursuant to this Chapter.

If you watch a group of children at play in an unstructured situation, soon you will be treated to a microcosm of how societies make rules, boiled down to the essentials. After some random running about, the children will eventually seek to build a social structure in the form of a game. The process unfolds with remarkable swiftness and predictability. By definition, every game requires rules, and these are the subject of considerable haggling at the outset. You have to touch the tree to be safe; no one can go past the rocks. The participation rules are negotiated with special care, because every child knows intuitively that these will affect the outcome. You have more people, so we get the big kid. It is equally fascinating to observe who makes the rules of the game. Over a chorus of competing ideas, the rulemaker is often the oldest or most assertive child, but not always. Someone may make a credible threat based on her resources and the power that accompanies them: It’s my ball and I don’t want to play that game. Alternatively, she may appeal to a source of moral authority recognized by the other players—it’s my house and my birthday party. Once settled, all participants in this miniature society must understand and abide by the rules. Those who break them are subject to a collective outcry from the group and even efforts at third-party enforcement: Mom, Richard keeps cheating! The situation is not so very different from the inner workings of our entire civilization, which is built upon a vast infrastructure of rules. Every business and every community, every religion and nonprofit organization, every terrorist network, taco vendor, and art museum relies on social rules to achieve its ends. Throughout this book we have seen how our lives and our landscapes are shaped by these rules, be they policies or property rights, safety codes or shared cultural norms. We are now ready to take a closer look at a special and very powerful category of rules—I call these super rules—that decide how other rules are made.

This chapter looks closely at Google’s ethical claims, with reference to Leibniz (“the best of all possible worlds”), Spinoza (users as “monads”), and Weber (his Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism). Google is seen, not surprisingly, as fundamentally undemocratic and unethical, most particularly through the algorithm that drives it AdWords and the compromised political stance of its relation to China.

Article 4(11) (Definition of consent) (see also recital 32); Article 7 (Conditions for consent); Article 8 (Conditions applicable to child’s consent); Article 9(2) (Processing of special categories of personal data) (see also recital 51); Article 5 (Principles relating to processing of personal data) (see too recital 39); Article 23 (Restrictions) (see also recital 73); Article 89 (Safeguards relating to processing for archiving, research and statistical purposes) (see too recitals 156–163).

Recital 6; recital 48; Articles 13(1)(f) and 14(1)(f) (Information to a data subject); Article 15(1)(c) (Right to access information about data recipients in third countries); Article 23(2)(d) (Member States can restrict individuals’ rights but must provide for safeguards to prevent abuse or unlawful transfer) (see too recital 153); Article 28(3)(a) (Provisions of a data processing agreement stipulating controller’s instructions regarding data transfers); Article 30(1)(e) and (2)(c) (Internal records about data transfers); Article 40(2)(j) (Data transfer codes of conduct); Article 70(1)(j) (Guidelines of the Board specifying criteria for data transfers on the basis of derogations); Article 83(5)(c) (Fines for non-compliance with data transfer restrictions).

This chapter uncovers the paradoxes of the peace between the ‘civilized’ and the ‘savages’ by analysing the normative framework upon which the European discourse on civilization rests: the discourse on barbarism. It sketches the basic principles of this discourse from the ancient Greeks to the Scottish Enlightenment underlying the development of ‘civilization’. It then demonstrates how the ‘civilized’ nations diminished the position of ‘savages’ and ‘barbarian’ peoples by distinguishing these non-civilized ‘others’ from themselves. This is illustrated using the example of the US-Indian Act of 1830 and John Stuart Mill’s political philosophy. Mill develops the idea of a right of the ‘civilized’ to civilize the ‘barbarians’ by means of educational dictatorship and to disregard the rights of ‘savage’ peoples. The paradox consequences of the idea of different historical stages of societal development are demonstrated using arguments from the early twentieth century about the warfare against ‘savage’ peoples.

This contribution reviews the role of the World Trade Organization’s (WTO) Appellate Body—a part of its dispute-settlement mechanism—in interpreting the Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS). It discusses, first, the way in which the Appellate Body functions when compared to a common law jurisdiction or a general or specialized domestic court. The contribution then turns to the three disputes concerning the TRIPS Agreement that have reached the Appellate Body since 1995, and the five cases filed against Australia challenging plain packaging measures targeting tobacco products. The primary purpose of the contribution is not to discuss those cases individually in detail but rather to offer a perspective on how the Appellate Body might play a greater role in building the interface between the rules and standards contained in the TRIPS Agreement, and those contained in international law outside the WTO.

This chapter follows the handling of Japan’s racial equality provision as it unfolded at the Paris Peace Conference. It argues that the Japanese greeted their victories in Paris with mixed feelings. Despite being one of the top five Powers at the peace conference, Japan’s proposal for legal racial equality in the postwar world order was rejected. When the delegation returned home, crowds protested their failure. Still, the Japanese saw no contradiction in treating Koreans as inferior people both in Japan and in Korea. The race issue is a painful shared history among the Japanese and their fellow Asians; all of them faced discrimination during their time in Europe, never mind dealing with colonials at home. When Japan faced a choice between promoting international racial equality and making territorial gains, it went with the latter, since the former had proved difficult for Japanese elites to accept, much less achieve.