Category Archives: legal theory

Media pluralism and Free Expression

This was my concluding remarks in a legal assessment of media ownership  in the Philippines  that I wrote for a project by Verafiles with the Reporters Sans Frontieres (RSF) 

Formal legal and constitutional protections on free expression abound in contemporary Philippines. But these have largely been pursued along the lines of an individualistic stress on the Bill of Rights, framed as guarantees against state encroachments into individual spheres of freedom.

But this is really to be expected from a dominant discourse of liberal political and legal theorizing on rights as inhering only to individuals; this is not to disparage individual rights, which are important as they are.

The Philippine Supreme Court has acknowledged the Bill of Rights’ debt to the Enlightenment idea of reason as a mode of discovering the truth in its different facets. But more than that, it frames the Bill of Rights, where the constitutional protections against restraints on free speech and free expression are embodied as a hedge around the state, as it were. Perhaps, one of the most eloquent and explicit declaration about the purpose of the protections it accords to the citizen has been made by constitutional scholar Joaquin Bernas, S.J. who, in explaining the intent of the provisions found in the Bill of Rights of the 1987 Charter, said:

First, the general reflections. The protection of fundamental liberties in the essence of constitutional democracy. Protection against whom? Protection against the state. The Bill of Rights governs the relationship between the individual and the state. Its concern is not the relation between individuals, between a private individual and other individuals. What the Bill of Rights does is to declare some forbidden zones in the private sphere inaccessible to any power holder.[1] [italic ours]

But batting for media pluralism as a good state of affairs will not be helped by such a narrow frame of argumentation. This then will require a closer and creative reading of the Constitution and other legal sources, to be able to better account for why as a matter of state policy, a plurality of media sources in contemporary Philippine society would augur well for a vibrant public life.

There is, as the political philosopher Jonathan Chaplin remarks, borrowing from the legal philosopher Mary Ann Glendon, a missing dimension of “sociality” in much of liberal theorizing on institutional rights, which has been decidedly individualistic in orientation. “Because contemporary liberalism lacks an adequate notion of sociality,” says Chaplin, “liberal legal, constitutional, and political [theories] have proved unable to generate a convincing account of the reality and character of the legal rights of institutions”.[2]

As Chaplin argues, “[t]he empirical observation that many social institutions themselves do have positive legal rights is indisputable, yet liberal individualism seems unable to offer much beyond an implausible contractualist explanation of their origin and status”[3] Liberal theorists tend to construe the phenomenon of institutional rights as merely derived from the rights of associating individuals rather than as having some independent foundation and status not finally reducible to individual rights.

In practical terms, what this means is that the state ought to recognize the proper place of a plurality of institutions – in our case – of media institutions, in a democratic deliberation. Along that line, free expression as a right best flourishes with a legal framework where such a structural or an associational plurality is also promoted and pursued.

There are ample constitutional sources for safeguarding and ensuring media pluralism:

The Congress shall regulate or prohibit monopolies in commercial mass media when the public interest so requires. No combinations in restraint of trade or unfair competition therein shall be allowed. [CONST. art. XVI, sec. 11(1)]

 The State shall regulate or prohibit monopolies when the public interest so requires. No combinations in restraint of trade or unfair competition shall be allowed.” [CONST. art. XII, sec. 19]

 The State shall provide the policy environment for the full development of Filipino capability and the emergence of communication structures suitable to the needs and aspirations of the nation and the balanced flow of information into, out of, and across the country, in accordance with a policy that respects the freedom of speech and of the press[ CONST. art. XVI, Sec. 10]

 The Congress shall give highest priority to the enactment of measures that protect and enhance the right of all the people to human dignity, reduce social, economic, and political inequalities, and remove cultural inequities by equitably diffusing wealth and political power for the common good [CONST. art. XIII, Sec. 2]

These constitutional provisions hammer the important point about “structural pluralism” as a corrollary to “viewpoint pluralism”, that for individual freedoms to flourish, they as well require the flourishing of various supporting institutions.

It is now a given that the right to free expression and the right to information are two sides of the same coin. One is the corollary of the other. The theory is that a better, rational, discussion of public matters is best achieved when citizens have at their disposal information pertinent to the issues at hand. The quality of such public discussion is only as good as the pertinent information made available to citizen-discussants.

An early theory of American constitutional design, expressed in an oft-quoted concurring opinion of J. Brandeis –a master of legal aphorisms – holds that:

Those who won our independence believed that the final end of the State was to make men free to develop their faculties, and that, in its government, the deliberative forces should prevail over the arbitrary. They valued liberty both as an end, and as a means. They believed liberty to be the secret of happiness, and courage to be the secret of liberty. They believed that freedom to think as you will and to speak as you think are means indispensable to the discovery and spread of political truth; that, without free speech and assembly, discussion would be futile; that, with them, discussion affords ordinarily adequate protection against the dissemination of noxious doctrine; that the greatest menace to freedom is an inert people; that public discussion is a political duty, and that this should be a fundamental principle of…. government.

They recognized the risks to which all human institutions are subject. But they knew that order cannot be secured merely through fear of punishment for its infraction; that it is hazardous to discourage thought, hope and imagination; that fear breeds repression; that repression breeds hate; that hate menaces stable government; that the path of safety lies in the opportunity to discuss freely supposed grievances and proposed remedies, and that the fitting remedy for evil counsels is good ones. Believing in the power of reason as applied through public discussion, they eschewed silence coerced by law — the argument of force in its worst form. Recognizing the occasional tyrannies of governing majorities, they amended the Constitution so that free speech and assembly should be guaranteed.[4]

Explicit in the necessity of providing citizens “an opportunity to discuss freely supposed grievances and proposed remedies” so as to build that “path to safety” towards a stable society is the requisite means – free speech and assembly; implicit in the process is the need to broaden the opportunity for public discussion by assuring a wide variety of avenues for it.

The legal and jurisprudential support for individual rights to free expression and right to information is robust and well developed in Philippine experience. But viewed in Glendon’s – and Chaplin’s – sense of sociality, the right to free expression and the right to information are now to be understood in a broader sense; that is, that the individual exercise of such rights must be correlated with institutional or associational support.

It is important that the news media maintain credible internal checks against the encroachment by the crass business bottom-line into the editorial room. Having said that, these internal checks guaranteed by the strict separation between the advertising room and the newsroom should be matched by external checks against a situation where a single dominant player in the media market controls both access to news and the news content.

The former is a function of how media owners understand the grand traditions that make good journalism work the way it should. The latter is a function of how the government understands the idea that a proliferation of independent news media assures the polity of a vibrant public discourse crucial to a functioning democracy. This is a question of extreme urgency, given contemporary trends in politics here and abroad about widespread distrust towards mainstream media and the rise of social media is the principal source of information for many.

Social scientists have a name for it: triangulation. The more independent media outlets reporting about the same issue or event, the more confident we are that we are getting all possible angles to the news of the day. The implications of just one or two giant business interests gatekeeping what gets to be reported as news by various media outlets should give us pause.

Media companies are a-typical in the sense that while on the one hand, they are supposed to serve the public interest in some way, the model that has so far proved sustainable, if barely for most, is that of a profit-driven, business enterprise. Therein lies a seemingly irreconciliable dialectic. In Philippine experience at least, we have not seen much of a media enterprise that is not just one of many interests across different business sectors owned by the same business empire, family-owned or otherwise.

This all the more drives home the point about the necessity of the state itself stepping in by setting up an effective system of checks and balances against media monopolization. In any case, as the discussion has already shown, it is not just a legal duty but a constitutional one for the state. While we have benefitted greatly from the earnest cultivation of individual freedoms, we have however neglected that other set of constitutional protections against media concentration that also threatens the same freedoms, if in a more insidious way.

In much of theorizing on structural pluralism in relation to civil society, the plurality of non-state actors participating in public discourse is seen as a normative goal; it presents a buffer to state overreach, and primordially, a mediating layer between individuals and the state.

In another, though, relevant context – on the question of the regulation of political advertising, that is – J. Mendoza has written about the constitutional command against political inequalities that justifies government regulation and the deep principle he refers to rings through for our concern as well:

The notion that the government may restrict the speech of some in order to enhance the relative voice of others may be foreign to the American Constitution. It is not to the Philippine Constitution, being in fact an animating principle in the document. Indeed, Art. IX-C [Sec. 4] is not the only provision in the Constitution mandating political equality. Art. XIII, [Sec. 1] requires Congress to give the `highest’ priority to the enactment of measures designed to reduce political inequalities, while Art II, [Sec. 26] declares as a fundamental principle of our government ‘equal access to opportunities for public service.’ Access to public office will be denied to poor candidates if they cannot even have access to mass media in order to reach the electorate. What fortress principle trumps or overrides these provisions for political equality?[5]

A side remark: in the latest case of GMA v. Comelec, the Supreme Court has unfortunately made a counter-intuitive ruling that defeats the purpose for which the Fair Elections Act was passed in the first place; the ruling practically gives the moneyed candidates more room to wiggle and reverses Osmena in the result, even if it upholds its original intent. But perhaps, this situation only points to the fact that we need more than regulation of political advertising if we want wide-ranging electoral reforms: we have to look at the necessity of campaign finance and party system reforms, to begin with.

Media monopolization courts the danger of speech being shaped by and directed towards a dominating commercial interest.

In the language of jurisprudence, it is in the “substantial interest” of government to regulate media monopolization precisely for that reason.

Yet, as this study has shown, we face multiple challenges to establishing media pluralism.

To begin with, there are various structural issues that require our immediate attention.

First, there is the seemingly incoherent system of rules concerning the intersection of mass media and public utilities. Such incoherence has often resulted in lax or incompetent regulation.

Second, there is the lack of a dedicated media authority that specifically deals with monopolistic arrangements. What obtains is a system of several overlapping institutions that deal separately with franchise, standards and competition. What this means is that it is difficult to develop administrative competence with a deep appreciation and respect for media pluralism and freedom where the authority to regulate is widely dispersed. The current system also requires close coordination between and among regulatory agencies but this coordination depends to a large extent on a proactive and enlightened regulators.

Third, there is the ever-present specter of regulatory capture. Constitutional and legal requirements on ownership of public utilities and media outfits have been ostensibly rendered ineffective by half-hearted regulation. This regulatory failure has a direct effect on the form and shape of the Philippine media landscape.

Fourth, related to this is the lack of legal safeguards against conflicts of interest of regulators. Very little legislation has been made to address this “revolving door” – the quick transition of individuals from working as a public officer to a private employee, and vice versa.

In this situation, public officers often have to deal with the moral hazard of exercising discretion in a manner that may unduly benefit private companies with the expectation that they may eventually exploit such benefits as a potential hire in the future. Similarly, newly elected or appointed public officers from the private sector may unduly use insider information obtained in their prior employment to create unfair advantages for their industry or company.

To date, only the PCC’s enabling law has a meaningful set of qualifications required of its commissioners designed to avoid such situations of conflict. This calls for a wide-ranging legislative reform. 

Fifth, there is the issue of media ownership transparency. This exercise in legal assessment has also shown how current rules on corporate disclosure are inadequate to address the established phenomenon of corporate lawyering. Even anti-dummy legislation appears inadequate to address the problem, precisely because corporate layering requires active investigation beyond what is available on the face of corporate papers filed with the Securities and Exchange Commission. At the same, as seen in the Gamboa ruling, regulatory agencies themselves appear to be remiss in their legal duty to enforce regulation. Transparency is important, given the strong tendency we see of interlocking ownerships of media businesses in the Philippines.

To close: the current hype given to the “convergence” of public utilities, mass media and new media promises to present a greater challenge to the cause of democratizing media, if we follow Tiglao’s pointed allegations about the vertical and horizontal reach of the Salim empire in the Philippines.

Winthrop Yu, the President of the Philippine chapter of the Internet Society, has shared with me in an online conversation a thought experiment – that is, posit a contest between two teams consisting of the existing “duopolies”, PLDT and Globe v. GMA and ABS-CBN. “If the barriers between media and telcos were lowered, which doupoly would prevail and eventually dominate the medium and the message?” he asks.

He said he would place his bet on PLDT and Globe. “Thus, the threat to democratic space.”

I think he is not in the wrong, if we consider that there are now probably more smartphones than television units in the country. If Internet penetration reaches more Filipinos in the next few years, such a “convergence” will rule the day.

[1]Sponsorship speech of Commissioner Bernas, Record of Constitutional Commission, Vol. 1, p. 674, July 17, 1987.

[2] Jonathan Chaplin, Towards a Social Pluralist Theory of Institutional Rights, (3) Ave Maria Law Review 147-149 (2005).

[3] Id. At 148.

[4] Whitney v. California 274 U.S. 357 (1927)

[5] 288 SCRA 472, 473 (1998). CONST. (1987)

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Void ab initio: A legal history

“He who has real power is also capable of determining concepts and words,” wrote Nazi constitutional theorist Carl Schmitt. “Caesar dominus est supra grammaticam (Caesar is also the lord of grammar).”

Schmitt is studied not as a grammar Nazi but for the import of his most famous words in the very first line of his “Political Theology” (1922): “Sovereign is he who decides on the exception.” A true sovereign wields unchecked power to name friends and enemies of the state.

Solicitor General Jose Calida may not have read Schmitt in law school, but his use of the Latin maxim void ab initio in Sen. Antonio Trillanes IV’s amnesty case is textbook Schmittian grammar. It is what the President says it is.

In 1941, the German Jewish émigré Ernst Fraenkel published in the United States his book, “The Dual State,” showing how the Nazis applied Schmitt’s ideas to seize control of German administrative and judicial bodies.

The legal scholar described two contrary features of Hitler’s government: There was the “normative state,” the formal constitutional norms for civil and political rights, and the “prerogative state,” with its arbitrary exercise of power. Fraenkel’s study shows the gradual surrender of the normative state to the prerogative state by German lawyers, legal scholars and judges after Hitler declared martial law on Feb. 28, 1933.

For one, German courts considered martial law a political act outside their jurisdiction. Schmitt argued that the grounds for martial rule in Article 48 of the Weimar constitution cannot limit the Führer’s own prerogatives. If the constitution provides but two grounds for martial law—rebellion or invasion—he may disregard it. Or he may hold that terrorists who lay siege to Berlin are committing rebellion, even if it means treating them as a political group, as long as he gets his martial law.

Hitler had argued that he is the societal order. Thus, he who opposes the president opposes law and justice. Yet many believed him. Every governmental action must align with the goals of National Socialism, a “religion without a god.”

In 1929, professor Carl Bilfinger wrote that international law is limited by reservations on national security. Schmitt agreed, saying the reservations are more important than the treaty. Both scholars would be fine with the Philippine withdrawal from the International Criminal Court as a sole executive prerogative.

There was only muted resistance to this system, like a lower court ruling that a composer is entitled to royalties for his music aired by radio stations, rejecting arguments that the stations — since they also aired Nazi propaganda — were exempt from royalty fees.
Otherwise, democratic institutions toed the line. Across Germany, the prerogative state reduced the rule of law to its arbitrary and irrational diktat.

Even civil servants were denied access by the courts to their own official records in disputes with their superiors (sounds familiar?). A 1935 decision of the Prussian Supreme Administrative Court abolished Article 129, Section 3 of the constitution guaranteeing the right, as it contradicted the Nazi “leadership principle.”

The Prussian Supreme Court also held that all religious activities must meet government regulations; if not, believers may be guilty of stoking “indirect Communist danger.”
In 1938, another court convicted a minister of breaching the peace for praying for prisoners held by the Nazis. Fraenkel noted how the highest court of Bavaria erased the fundamental principle of double jeopardy, punishing anew a man who had already served his sentence for “high treason.” The principle is merely procedural, it so held.

All eyes are now on the Makati City Regional Trial Court Branch 148, and the Supreme Court: Is ne bis in idem, as the principle is said in Latin, also void ab initio, as the President says?

By 1936, “the resistance of traditional law-enforcing bodies was weakened.” We all know what happened to German Jews — they lost their right to property, and their very own lives. For, by simply being born into a race not of their own choosing, they rendered their right to exist void ab initio.

This was first published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, October 3, 2018.

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Dante as Proto-Kuyper?

In which Kantorowicz casts Dante as originator of a proto-sphere sovereignty idea that’s apparently non-Thomistic (though he worked within the same system).Also, analogical borrowing (concept-formation in the Dooyeweerd sense) from theologians by jurists to form a “political theology.”

 

 

So you see law coming to its own more and more.

 

 

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The “public interest” and its (mis)use throughout history

 

Politicians, courts and activists invoke the “public interest” at the drop of a hat, the better to marshall it in support of a favored doctrine or project. But consider this:

For the sake of the public interest Plato and Fichte defended the withdrawal of the children from their parents and wanted their education to be entrusted to the body politic. With an appeal to the public interest Plato wanted to abolish marriage and private property as far as the ruling classes of his ideal State were concerned. Aristotle wanted education to be made uniform in ‘the public interest’; on the same ground Rousseau wished to destroy all the particular associations intervening between the State and the individual citizen. Wolff desired the body politic to meddle with everything human and, at least for the Protestant Churches, he wanted the government to fix the confession.

The idea of the ‘salus publica’ was the hidden dynamite under the Humanistic natural law theories of Hugo Grotius and S. Pufendorff. In Chr. Wolff’s doctrine of natural law this idea resulted in a frankly admitted antinomy with his theory of innate natural rights. The slogan of the public interest was the instrument for the destruction of the most firmly established liberties because it lacked any juridical delimitation. The terrible threat of Leviathan is audible in this word as long as it is used in a juridically unlimited sense. The universalistic political theories could conceive of the relation between the State and the non-political societal structures only in the schema of the whole and its parts. This is why they could not delimit the idea of ‘the public interest’.
(“Dooyeweerd 1997–III: pp. 442–443)

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Aquinas on Tyrants and Tyrannicide

periander_vat2Aquinas’ De regno ad regem Cypiri (Address to the King of Cyprus, circa 13th C.) : interesting to read this short work written by Thomas Aquinas, especially the section on tyrants and tyrannicide, which I find to be a fertile source for contemporary political thought and discussion. A special note to make is that for Aquinas, a monarchy is the best political arrangement, hence the discussion is centered on the king.

Aquinas is reluctant to endorse private ventures to kill a tyrant; at the most, he appears to allow an uprising led by public authority as a last resort (I suppose, to give it a cloak of legality). Calvin follows this line, as do the Dutch Calvinists (for example, getting William of Orange to lead against Spanish tyranny), but I am not sure if Calvin et al acknowledge Aquinas as their source for their position.

Too, one thinks of the failed attempt to assassinate Hitler that was joined by the Lutheran theologian Diectrich Bonhoeffer, which seems to meet Aquinas’ requirement, as it was hatched by a small group that involved military officers and a couple of civil servants, who thus might qualify as public authorities. Yet Aquinas gives sufficient caution against such an adventurism, citing Roman examples when the ouster of a tyrant led to worse tyrannies. (Think of Pol Pot too!)

He also appears to provide a basis for later social contract theories here: ” If to provide itself with a king belongs to the right of a given multitude, it is not unjust that the king be deposed or have his power restricted by that same multitude if, becoming a tyrant, he abuses the royal power. It must not be thought that such a multitude is acting unfaithfully in deposing the tyrant, even though it had previously subjected itself to him in perpetuity, because he himself has deserved that the covenant with his subjects should not be kept, since, in ruling the multitude, he did not act faithfully as the office of a king demands.”

As earlier stated, Calvin and the Dutch Calvinists appear to echo this Thomist idea of revolt led by public authority; The English Puritans also argue that the governed have the right to revolt against unjust leaders. The American revolutionaries who rose up against the British re-state the same idea, by way of the English social contractarians, notably John Locke.

Ideas have legs, indeed? (Also serves to show Ecclessiastes is right — there is nothing new under the sun. Human nature, being what it is, often falls victim to the same weaknesses and bad habits). Hence the relevance of the battle cry — ad fontes!

Finally, Aquinas allows that tyrants may have been allowed by God to rise to power as punishment for the sins of the people. Now we Filipinos should start asking ourselves whether the present darkness is a punishment or a reward.

 

(photo of the Tyrant Periander of Corinth’s  source)

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The UDHR and the Ontology of Rights

 

UDHRMore than 60 years after its founding, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) remains a document relevant to contemporary issues and problems; Perhaps, its genius lies in the fact that it is a declaration that embodies a broad sweep of the world’s varied traditions, philosophies and perspectives, so that no single bloc can claim ownership over its “sacred truths,” to use a theological term in this highly secularized era of ours.

Perhaps too, it can well be said that their commonality lies in the sureness of their being profoundly human. And while critics may rightly point to how its more influential interpreters often offer to the world a lopsided bent towards the individualistic view of human rights, as a founding document, its relevance is measured by the willingness of its adherents to a reasoned dialogue about the differences and commonalities that characterize various interpretive traditions.

Of course, ontological issues cannot be summarily set swept aside. (Indeed, the Western tradition presses on the primacy of the individual as the supreme if not the only ontological truth there is).

But that precisely is the role of reasoned dialogue: to show which interpretative strategy is better able to explain the problems and the solutions to them. Hence how can we better account for the so-called collective/group rights other than a resort to the positivist predilection for the description of the what is (and its undisguised disdain for the teleological)?

This discussion is also crucial to an understanding of the rise of non-state actors in international law. Is the sociological account (as for example, the process view of Higgins) enough to convince us that original objective legal personality must now be seen as something that transcends the state.

Indeed, much of theorizing on the state has been influenced by a philosophical movement that either exalts the state as the only political reality or treats it as a legal fiction of the social contract between among purportedly free and autonomous individuals.

International legal theory takes it for granted that there is an opposition between the individual and the state, to the exclusion of all other non-state actors. International legal theory thus confronts us with a nominalism of the state as the only true sovereign and a nominalism of individuals as the basic elements of the international legal order.

Hence, international law theorists resort to an unsatisfactory strategy of (1) devising external limits to the powers of the state or (2) stressing the primacy of the individual over all else to curtail abuse of state power. This nominalistic approach has so dominated international law that for the most part, the state has been seen as the only source of legal standing and legal personality in the international arena.

The first strategy cannot fully account for the state’s public and private duties while the second strategy fails to do justice to the proper exercise of the same duties as well as to the existence of other non-state entities, such as civil society groups, churches and multinational corporations.

This in fact leads to an irresolvable conflict between the state and the individual, inasmuch as it fails to properly recognize their respective competencies, as well as the existence of other spheres in society.

Neither of the two strategies can properly account for the rise of non-state actors in international legal discourse, other than resorting to notions of democratic participation and legitimacy that in the first place do not provide a convincing ontological justification for why non-state actors should be granted the right to democratic participation and the power to ascribe legitimacy to international legal processes.

As Jeremy Sarkin has persuasively argued, there is a “clear position from 1948,” when the UNDHR was adopted, that the instrument demands that “every individual and every organ of society … promote respect for these rights and freedoms and by progressive measures, national and international, to secure their universal and effective recognition and observance.”

From this standpoint, although “companies may not be in the habit of referring to themselves as ‘organs of society,’ they are a fundamental part of society. As such, they have a moral and social obligation to respect the universal rights enshrined in the Declaration.”[1]

Yet his observation also begs to ask the question thus: is this merely a matter of opinio juris and state practice, or something that requires a radical and fundamental ontological commitment? Of course, we all know that even the positivist position is anchored on an unstated ontological commitment, that is, one that thinks lightly of ontology, if at all.

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On the occasion of International Human Rights Day, Dec. 10, 2015

[1]Jeremy Sarkin, The Coming of Age of Claims for Reparations for Human Rights Violations in the South, 1 SUR INT’L J OF HUM. RIGHTS 67, 69-70 (2004)

 

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International Law as Process

515EilmX7mL._SL500_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-big,TopRight,35,-73_OU01_AA300_It’s time once again to teach public international law. As I’m wont to do before the start of the new semester, I re-read my notes on Rosalyn Higgin’s book. Problems and Process: International Law and How We Use It, the first two chapters of which I discuss with my class in great detail for the first two meetings of the semester. In this book, Dame Higgins famously advanced the view that international law is not rules but process — in fact, according to her it is a process  involving a normative system  of “authoritative decision-making”; In so doing, she wished to avoid the rigidity that is perceived to attach to international law conceived as rules.

Dame Higgins’s definition, drawing from her Yale mentor Myres McDougal’s policy-oriented approach,  emphasizes the dynamic  and formative process set in motion by various institutions to arrive at binding international legal norms. It appears to me that from a reformational view,  this method surfaces two aspects, the kinematic and the historical. Process implies movement; authoritative decision-making implicates institutions that give form to the norms of international law. What it fails to grasp is that international law itself must not be seen as a “thing” but as part of the jural dimension of reality.

While Dame Higgins’s definition is able to capture the dynamic movement that yields international legal norms, that is, through various actors in international law (hence, it also involves the historical, formative  competence that gives positive shape to principles, as expressed  legal norms), it does not see that these aspects form part of  the necessary conditions — the constitutive elements — of the international legal norms themselves.  They form part of the “structural building blocks” of any legal order; they  are presupposed, to begin with, by the idea of an  international legal order.

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