In many parts of the world, the maritime zones (territorial sea, contiguous zone, exclusive economic zone (EEZ) and continental shelf) of neighbouring States overlap. If conflicts over resource exploitation and other activities in areas of overlap are likely, it will be desirable for the States concerned to establish a boundary between their overlapping zones, whether by negotiation, with the aid of a mediator or conciliation commission, or by recourse to arbitration or an international court. The UN Convention on the Law of the Sea provides limited guidance as to how such boundaries are to be delimited, especially boundaries between overlapping EEZs and continental shelves. Greater guidance has been provided by international courts and arbitral tribunals. The chapter begins by explaining the possible processes by which a maritime boundary may be established. It then analyses the relevant provisions of the Convention and the now substantial body of case law on maritime boundary delimitation. It also examines possible alternatives to a maritime boundary, such as a zone of joint management, as well as the obligations of restraint to which States are subject where there is no boundary or agreed alternative arrangement. Finally, the possible consequences of predicted sea-level rise for existing maritime boundaries are explored.

The contiguous zone is a zone of sea contiguous to and seaward of the territorial sea, extending up to 24 nautical miles from the baselines from which the breadth of the territorial sea is measured. In the contiguous zone, the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) provides that States have limited powers for the prevention and punishment of breaches of customs, fiscal, sanitary and immigration laws. The chapter begins by explaining the development of the concept of the contiguous zone and how the zone is delineated. Noting that a State must assert its right to a contiguous zone, the chapter considers claims made to a contiguous zone. It then addresses the legal status of the zone in detail, notably the scope of coastal State jurisdiction and the extent to which States claim contiguous zones for purposes other than those expressly set out in UNCLOS.

Call the Midwife is one of the BBC’s most popular and most long-running series. It sets out to construct the NHS as part of British heritage, reminding the modern viewer of the importance of free healthcare at a time when it has been under attack by austerity politics. In doing so, however, it has courted controversy, inviting debates about the politics of fertility through contraception and abortion plots which have received mixed reviews from feminists and conservatives alike. In addition, as this chapter will discuss, with its emphasis on the ‘heroic’ natural birth and the courageous ‘labour’ of women, it reflects the position of the midwifery profession in regard to their championing of vaginal delivery (Takeshita, 2017). Birth has long been a much-contested area (Mander and Murphy-Lawless, 2013) and the Royal College of Midwives in Britain has been at the centre of controversy in the last few years concerning the relationship between their anti-intervention position and birth complications and mortality. The show does appear to have done much to redeem a profession that has historically been vilified or side-lined, partly because it is female-dominated, and it reminds the audience of the value and importance of its contribution to society. The problem remains, however, that it is largely unwilling to challenge midwifery’s continuing assertion that natural is best, even if that means long-term physical or emotional implications for mothers who do not manage to – or even wish to – achieve a ‘heroic’ birth.

One of the central functions of period drama as a genre is not only to represent and mythologise the past, but also to draw parallels between significant cultural issues past and present. Open dialogues about mental illness are increasingly prominent in the contemporary public sphere, but it was not always thus: those suffering from such maladies were routinely marginalised, excluded from civil society, and in some cases confined physically to primitive mental asylums such as the infamous Bedlam. In this chapter, I analyse the period dramas of Steven Knight, whose work is immersed in the dark underbelly of British history. Employing a framework that places significant emphasis on evolving discourses – both social and scientific – surrounding mental illness and its treatment, I seek to understand the real history informing Knight’s narratives, and how these representations resonate in the present day. Focusing specifically on the BBC series Peaky Blinders and Taboo, the essay examines discourses around PTSD, institutionalisation, hereditary mental disorders, and the cultural constitution of ‘madness’, and analyses how Knight’s characterisations help to demystify popular perception of the concept, in historical and contemporary terms.

Omar Khan reflects on his tenure as director of the Runnymede Trust, a leading anti-racist think tank in Britain. He examines the widespread reluctance to see Islamophobia as a form of racism. He also reveals how the struggle against global white nationalism is hindered by a limited “common sense” view of race and racism. Rather than defining racism as individual bigotry, or the actions of a few “bad apples”, we must recognize that racism, including anti-Muslim racism, has deep roots in collective cultures, intellectual traditions, and institutions. Further, he argues that the fight against white nationalism requires understanding that racism takes specific forms; he calls for listening and coalition-building to resist both anti-black and anti-Muslim racisms.

There are many common differences of legal, academic and technological opinion about privacy, and the goal of this book is to address some particularly important oppositions. First, privacy as control over one’s relationships versus a state of withdrawal. Second, privacy as active and empowering for the individual versus being passive and let alone. Third, privacy as relevant only to individuals versus its also applying to (some) groups. Fourth, privacy as primarily relating to information flow versus its being more widely implicated in a range of social relationships. Fifth, privacy as a normative good versus a variably valued, context-dependent state with unpredictable costs and benefits. Sixth, privacy as constructed out of better-formed concepts (reductionism) versus a first-order phenomenon. Seventh, privacy as a human right versus an often strong preference. Eighth, privacy as a utilitarian notion whose value relates to the goods it provides versus something people want, at least sometimes, intrinsically and for its own sake. Ninth, privacy as incoherent versus clear and meaningful. Tenth, privacy as a technical construct of expert discourse versus a term in common use among competent native speakers of English requiring no expertise to understand it. In each case, the book argues for the second of the two options. The last two oppositions are its main focus.

The site of Hawara is described, including details of the royal pyramid complex built by King Amenemhat III, and the nearby labyrinth and cemetery. Flinders Petrie’s fieldwork at Hawara is discussed, including his priorities in digging, and his approach to cataloguing and transporting the artefacts that were excavated.

The early development of the British Empire in India was decisively shaped by concerns for the domestic constitution, and, conversely, the East India Company was an important feature in debates on ‘economical reform’ in Britain. Studies of corruption in the East India Company have frequently focused on the allegations levelled against their overseas employees, dubbed ‘nabobs’, culminating in the spectacle of Warren Hastings’s impeachment trial. This chapter, however, uncovers the intersections between various forms of Old Corruption in the British state and those in the East India Company at a time when the Company was undergoing a metamorphosis from a private mercantile corporation into a quasi-independent imperial agency. Whereas Hastings’s impeachment took place after the passage of Pitt’s India Act of 1784, which settled the major contours of the relationship between the state and the Company until well into the nineteenth century, the corruption analysed in this chapter was intimately connected with the process of reform, and thereby had a far more significant impact on the development of the British Empire in India. In particular, the chapter argues that the legislative reforms imposed on the Company during the 1760s and 1770s, which aimed to curtail certain forms of corruption, inadvertently opened the door to many others, as the domestic and imperial became structurally entangled.

While the privacy discourse framework focuses on the distinctions between the levels, it is also the case that the levels influence each other, and these connections should not be lost. The example of personal space is used to show how its definition implicates a number of the levels, and removes the temptation to assume it provides a unified account of one type of privacy; instead it subtends its own specific conception of privacy. Further examples, of the Jennicam webcam and the South Korean molka pornographic voyeur video genre, are explored to show how these very rich and significant contexts require separate discussion at all levels of discourse. The results at one level cannot simply be derived from accounts at other levels; they are related but independent.