As the Arctic warms and snow and sea ice melts, hitherto inaccessible parts of the Arctic Ocean are opening up, with important implications for the shipping sector generally and the cruise ship industry specifically. Thus far, international regulation has failed to keep pace with the environmental impacts of increasing cruise ship activity, in particular black carbon (BC) emissions and underwater radiated noise (URN). The absence of binding international regulation on BC and URN reflects a widening regulatory gap at precisely the moment when legal intervention is most needed to mitigate escalating and potentially irreversible environmental impacts.

Since the 1960s, Third World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL) scholars 1 have argued that decolonization requires more than formal sovereignty; it demands equal participation by low- and middle-income countries (LMICs), particularly post-colonial states, in meaningfully shaping the rules of international order. The global health governance system, however, was largely constructed within a post-World War II order and, thus, reproduced rather than dismantled imperial hierarchies. Power and agenda-setting authority remained concentrated in former colonial states, Western hegemonic powers, and newly created international institutions that entrenched asymmetrical decision making. Over the past eight decades, global health governance has thus been disproportionately shaped by Global North actors, limiting the ability of many states to exercise meaningful agency and influence. The result has been a persistent erosion of principles of equitable global health and international law, including a core principle of participation, rooted not in the absence of legal recognition but in the centralized allocation of authority within global health institutions and organizations. 2

56 billion in 2024 to $8.9

In the context of climate change, conflicting legal claims are being articulated and adjudicated about who is owed reparations. Vulnerable individuals and states, primarily from the Global South, have advanced arguments in various forums that they are owed reparations or compensation for the harms caused by excessive emissions of high-emitting states or corporations. Yet concurrently, fossil fuel companies are utilizing international investment law and arbitration to seek compensation for government policies that promote a transition away from fossil fuels.

Ownership over the deep seabed and its mineral riches was unsettled until well into the twentieth century. Yet, by the 1960s, a remarkable spirit of universalism prevailed. States declared the deep seabed to be the common heritage of [hu]mankind, determining that its exploitation and protection would require collective management. The seabed beyond national jurisdiction (or, the “Area”)1 spans roughly half of the surface of the Earth. It contains critical minerals, such as cobalt and copper, which technological advances have rendered increasingly within reach. States have worked collectively and proactively to regulate the near-future exploitation of the deep seas, thus far acting squarely within the law of the sea. As the possibilities of commercial mining appear clearly on the horizon, and as the impacts of mineral extraction come more and more sharply into view, the time has come to reassess whether the (monumental) concept of common heritage—part of the law of the sea—is enough to balance equities among states, mining companies, and human populations affected by mining. Is the current law capable of adequately preserving fairness and equity among all stakeholders in isolation from the legal regimes for human rights, environmental protection, cultural heritage, and the protection of Indigenous peoples and local communities? These regimes emphasize that deep seabed mining is not just an economic pursuit, it is also one that affects the lives and identities of individuals and peoples—and provide legal tools and strategies for harmonizing those interests. Yet established rules and norms around participatory governance and cultural rights have been all but ignored within recent international negotiations about how to regulate seabed mining.

In April 2020, President of the European Commission Ursula von der Leyen called for a “Marshall Plan for Europe.”1 Almost a year after her appeal, the European Union implemented the recovery and resilience program Next Generation EU (NGEU). NGEU, we show, shares several features with the Marshall Plan, including size, redistributive allocation, conditional grantmaking, and the pursuit of a distinct political agenda. But the new Marshall Plan also differs from the old. NGEU is financed through common EU debt rather than an infusion of funds from the United States. Marshall aid was disbursed almost entirely as grants, while NGEU funds consist of a mix of grants and loans. Further, NGEU is unprecedented in distributing grants in exchange for post-austerity and climate-friendly reforms and investments, rather than budget cuts. This alternative model, we argue, can serve as a template for international financial institutions such as the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank.

Digital evidence is rapidly emerging as a tool for migration authorities in refugee status determination (RSD)—the procedure for determining whether a person meets the criteria for protection as a “refugee.” Its growing popularity may be seen as a response to the relative dearth of “hard” evidence in asylum procedures, where decisions often hinge exclusively on the applicant's personal narrative and assessment of her credibility. In this essay, we critically examine the growing use of digital evidence in RSD by authorities and the human rights concerns that arise from some of these practices. We then move to outline some examples of how digital evidence might also present new opportunities for scholars, practitioners, and asylum seekers themselves, helping to substantiate claims and document underlying inequities in existing RSD practices. In the process, we seek to navigate a balance between the techno-solutionism that hails digital evidence as a panacea and those a priori dismissing digitization as techno-hype and inherently problematic.

Public revenues, who decides on them, and their justification and legitimation are among the oldest constitutional issues of all. In the EU, member states ultimately control the scope of European policy and the independence of the European level via the EU's budget. This can be interpreted either as a bug or as a feature. The European Parliament reflects representation without taxation, as it has no taxation powers, and the EU does not have budgetary autonomy.