To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
The Audubon Society decision was a seminal step toward the protection of Mono Lake, but only the first step – and an uncertain one at best. It required the Water Board to consider Mono’s public trust values before adjudicating new permits, but without specifying how to balance the competing interests at stake. Moreover, it was not the only means by which advocates fought to protect the area. Policy proposals and new litigation added force to the court’s command that the state take its obligation to protect the Mono Basin environment seriously. This chapter addresses the legal, legislative, and political aftermath of Audubon Society. It reviews the creation of the Mono Basin National Forest Scenic Area and traces the complex CalTrout litigation to protect the Mono Basin creeks. It recounts how the Water Board ultimately implemented all Basin litigation in Decision 1631, the historic legal moment that ensured more water for Mono Lake. Finally, it addresses the brave choices Los Angeles made in response – water conservation decisions that changed the direction of Mono Basin recovery. The chapter closes with an update on the ongoing efforts to protect the Mono Basin and Owens Valley.
Should central banks favour green assets in their operations? This question has caused an intense debate in the Euro area and the UK, focussed on corporate bond portfolios purchased by the Eurosystem and the Bank of England. It has been argued that their initial purchases supported economic activity that was not consistent with the stated targets of the EU and the UK governments to hit net zero carbon emissions by 2050. Sustainability issues are not a primary objective for central banks, and their independence could be damaged by exceeding their remits. Nevertheless, the risks arising are highly relevant to their existing primary objectives. Furthermore, central banks and all other institutions must do what they can if society is to deal with the growing existential threat. That draws on their secondary objectives. We argue that: (1) Not only is it permissible for a central bank to be involved in climate mitigation activities, but existing mandates require it. (2) The expansion of central bank balance sheets gives room for more action. (3) All market operations are in scope. (4) Central bank staff do not need to make capital allocation choices between businesses. (5) There is no trade-off with monetary policy objectives.
This chapter reviews the reach of public trust principles across the globe and compares them to a competing model of environmental rights, the rights of nature movement. The former affirms public rights to the environment, while the latter confers rights on the environment itself. Both reflect dissatisfaction with the failure of existing laws to ensure environmental stewardship. The rise of such advocacy responds to the missing foundations for environmental law identified in the Introduction, including weak constitutional foundations in the United States. Exploration begins with a review of public trust principles around the world, followed by a whirlwind tour of global rights of nature initiatives. The rights of nature movement provides an unapologetically biocentric alternative to the inherent anthropocentrism of the public trust and more typical environmental laws, which also premise the value of natural resources on their human beneficiaries – yet they are evolving along similar legal pathways. The chapter concludes with comparative analysis of the two approaches, contrasting the underlying ethics that divide them while recognizing the practical characteristics that unite them.
Chapter 5 examines court cases in Xinjiang (1912–25). Consular officials worked a compromise between administering consular law, carrying out imperial objectives and allowing the jurisdiction of local custom over British subjects. Consuls were aided by aqsaqals, senior merchants who resolved minor disputes of the British communities in various towns. Consuls not only incorporated this indigenous administrative practice into British administration, but also arranged the aqsaqal system that had clear influences from Indian community organisation. The chapter therefore shows how Indian communities and Indian influences shaped British administration in Xinjiang.
Chapter 1 introduces the book’s central questions: Why have labor activists in Europe turned to the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) to claim trade union rights, and what impact does this international litigation have on labor movements? While organized labor has historically relied on collective action rather than courts, this chapter situates that shift within broader transformations, including the erosion of union power under neoliberalism and the expanding authority of international courts. Yet the limited reforms states often undertake in response to ECtHR rulings rarely meet activists’ expectations. To explain how international litigation became a resource for workers, the chapter introduces the concept of strategic mobilization of human rights: an instrumental approach in which activists deploy human rights law to pursue concrete goals without necessarily embracing its ideals. Even pending or unsuccessful cases can catalyze social movements and shift political dynamics. The chapter also outlines the book’s methodological approach, which combines an original database of ECtHR labor rulings (StrasLab) with fieldwork on labor movements in Turkey and the UK. Situating the book’s contribution to debates on legal mobilization, labor revitalization, and international courts, it argues that the transformative potential of human rights courts ultimately depends on mobilization from below.
The third chapter explores how Tengyue consuls worked in a court to resolve Sino-British cases involving local populations (1909–35). The court was a reflection of the coming together of local laws and British and Chinese jurisdiction. The consular role was to work alongside Chinese officials and act as linguistic and cultural mediators between these officials and their Burmese counterparts. They therefore balanced British imperial objectives – such as furthering colonial claims to land – with efforts to ensure Chinese cooperation in the resolution of transfrontier cases.
The fourth chapter examines the establishment of extraterritorial jurisdiction in Xinjiang (1880–1918). There, no treaty existed defining consular rights in the province. As a result, the consular official George Macartney carved out his rights through adjudicating Sino-British cases and by diplomatic negotiation with the Chinese authorities. As Macartney worked for the Indian government and, after 1908, was also a China consular official, he therefore bridged the colonial and semicolonial world. From 1918, his legal powers were derived from consular frameworks, but he could apply colonial laws from British India. He also sent suspects and convicts to India, creating an administrative and judicial fusion between the consular and colonial system.