Alcohol and other drug use (AOD) use tends to hold a privileged position within legal decision-making (Seear, 2020; Flacks, 2023), and the criminal case of R v Taj (2018) was no exception. The defendant, who was – it was agreed by all parties – experiencing paranoia and psychosis, launched a violent attack on a man he suspected of being a terrorist. Mr Taj had been drinking on eve of the incident, and the night before that, but tests on the day found no trace of alcohol in his bloodstream. He was nevertheless unable to plead self-defence on the basis that he honestly believed there was a risk to life and limb because, successive courts argued, he was already at fault for drinking alcohol, which led to the psychotic thoughts. There were some significant and potentially far-reaching claims in the case, including that intoxication-related behaviour does not require the presence of alcohol in the body, and that psychosis can be caused by alcohol alone. This allowed the court to conclude that Mr Taj was wholly responsible for his actions and so could not claim excuse or mitigation.

This chapter explores legislative time limits on the prosecution of crime in civil and common law jurisdictions. It addresses the rationales for barring the prosecution of old crimes and undertakes a comparative analysis of three jurisdictional groupings: Continental Europe (with a focus on Germany and France), the Commonwealth (with a focus on England and Wales) and the United States (with a focus on federal law). The analysis identifies comparable features in limitation doctrine across jurisdictions while revealing how the theory and practice of statutes of limitation differs markedly in different legal systems. In broad terms, Continental systems codify general and categorical time limits on the prosecution of offences; Commonwealth systems tend not to have any statutory time bars on the prosecution of offences other than minor offences; and in the United States, most offences, other than the most serious, are subject to statutory limitation periods. The chapter concludes by drawing together the points of comparison between the three jurisdictional groupings, commenting on their distinctions and similarities.

Following an analysis of key colonial accusers, Chapter six focuses attention on the target of Alberta’s performances at theatres of accusation: criminally accused individuals. It reveals a politics through which accused subjects were formed at police-guided accusatory theatres – including information gathering, arrest, and examination. These theatres required targeted subjects to perform roles, under the threat of force, as law’s accused persons. Referring to three paradigmatic examples, the discussion centres on how colonial law recognized criminally culpable individuals. Underscoring individually based accusations, this law moulded accused personas through at least two key techniques. First, its justices transcribed what could be legally ‘heard’ and translated complex relations into idioms of law – thereby attributing degrees of culpability for crimes to accused individuals and deflecting attention away from conflict-generating social structures. Secondly, the theatres managed avowals of legal truth, thus subtly promoting obedience to colonial law and thence settler social order.

Akenroye and Clarke discuss the difficulties of fitting the moral ambiguities of violent conflict into the neat victim/perpetrator binaries of international criminal law. At center stage in this chapter is a discussion of the trial of Dominic Ongwen in the International Criminal Court in The Hague. The trial centered on the culpability of a man whose horrific acts of violence in the Ugandan civil war of the early 2000s led the ICC to issue 70 counts of war crimes and crimes against humanity against him. The ambiguities of the case and the reference point of the trial’s arguments center on Ongwen’s recruitment as a child soldier under the notorious Lord’s Resistance Army headman, Joseph Kony. At what point does a child’s transition into adulthood change the conditions of their responsibility for crime? At what point is a child soldier expected to repudiate his or her superiors and escape the scene of atrocity? And if repudiation and escape are called for in this and other cases of this kind, how might this example extend to other forms of aberrant socialization, the “brainwashing,” for example, that can lead an entire nation to accept and act on ideas of the inhumanity and need to eliminate a national minority?

The standard way to distinguish between negligence and recklessness is in terms of the agent’s awareness of the risk he is taking. An agent who knows that there is a risk of harm is reckless, an agent who does not know (leaving aside for now whether the belief is reasonable or not) is negligent. Antony Duff argues that we should amend this slightly – What renders an agent reckless is not caring enough about a risk. Duff’s amendment suggests, very plausibly, that mere lack of awareness is not what really matters morally. What matters, rather, is why an agent is not aware. This is taken for granted in the background conditions for negligence – which, for example, should be distinguished from stupidity. An agent may not be aware of a risk because she is not cognitively capable of such awareness. The background condition for negligence is that an agent could have been aware of the risk, but is not. So if an agent could have been aware of a risk, but is not because she was too lazy to look out the window, or check her calendar, or whatever, if, in other words, the reason that she is not aware of the risk is that she does not care enough, she should count as acting recklessly rather than negligently. I argue that there is something in Duff’s view to be rescued here. The rapist who does not understand or accept sexual refusal is not reckless if he has no awareness at any level of the relevant descriptive and normative facts. However, he should not be seen as negligent either. The structure of the situation is such that his ignorance is systematic, not one off. I argue that it is an important feature of negligence that it is one off, that it is not connected to a system of oppression. This gives us a justification for moralizing the ‘reasonable belief’ requirement in sexual consent cases. Even when a belief is reasonable by epistemic standards, it may be unreasonable by moral standards. The overall point here is that in a society riven by sexism, the essential definition of rape must advert to reasonable moral beliefs rather than reasonable epistemic beliefs.

In explaining why an instance of negligence is a case of culpable wrongdoing, it is natural and common to cite missing features of the agent’s behavior or mental state. “She failed to notice the stop sign,” “He did not check the water temperature before putting the baby in the bath.” In general, it can seem puzzling to ground judgments of wrongdoing and culpability not in the qualities that the agent’s mind and behavior possess but, instead, in the qualities they lack. After all, the class of people lacking the relevant feature is much larger than the class who are guilty of the culpable wrongdoing to which we are responding in cases of negligence. The passenger in the car, as well as the driver, failed to notice the stop sign. The houseguest also did not check the temperature of the baby’s bath. Why are they not guilty of culpable wrongdoing if these respective failures are what supports the charge in the case of the driver and the father? This chapter argues, first, that an account of why cases of negligence are ever cases of culpable wrongdoing must solve this problem by providing an explanation for why some absences are instances of culpable wrongdoing and others are not. Several quick efforts to solve the problem are shown to be inadequate. The chapter then goes on to offer a general theory of culpability that explains why absences – failures to notice or to attend, failures to take precautions – can be instances of culpable wrongdoing, and also why such absences sometimes fail to ground claims of culpable wrongdoing. Along the way, the chapter also draws a distinction between moral and criminal culpability and demonstrates that there can be instances of criminally culpable negligence in the absence of moral culpability.

This chapter defends three ideas. (1) That negligence is essentially a conative failure to exercise due care. The negligent agent doesn’t care enough about a relevant moral aim. (2) Resultantly, the potential cognitive failures of agents, whether they foresee or fail to foresee certain risks of harm, are only incidentally relevant to their negligence. In this way, (3) negligence is conceptually contiguous with recklessness. The hallmark of both reckless and negligence conduct is an insufficient regard for the legitimate interests of others, and what separates them is better understood in terms of conative differences in how each agent disregards those interests, rather than cognitive differences in advertence. I examine these claims in the context of a puzzle regarding negligence and foresight, and consider the implications of my conclusions for negligence culpability in morality and the traditional hierarchy of mens rea in the law.

At this moment, the literature and discourse on command responsibility is incredibly convoluted and controverted. I will show how these knots were produced by an underlying inadvertent contradiction with the culpability principle. The contradiction was created by surface-level doctrinal reasoning that did not adequately consider the deontic dimension. The subsequent twists and turns to deny, obscure, evade, or resolve this contradiction have led to increasingly complex and obscure claims about command responsibility.

The inquiry demonstrates the problems of inadequate attention to deontic limits. It also shows how deontic analysis can help us better understand the trajectory of the command responsibility debate. We can see old controversies in a new light and generate new prescriptions. I argue that command responsibility can be restored to its simple and elegant origins if it is recognized as a mode of accessory liability. As a result, the causal contribution requirement should be respected. This solution is not perfect, but I will show that this is the best reconciliation of the text, precedents, and the culpability principle. By resolving the core contradiction, the myriad complications and mystical evasions about command responsibility become unnecessary.