Chapter 2 portrays the changing legal landscape addressing the legality – or lack thereof – of the cross-border movement and trade of cultural property. It starts by identifying the key features of legal divergence across national legal systems, concerning both private law and public law aspects, and discusses how this disparity poses a challenge for dealing not only with past actions but also with the current features of the global market for cultural objects. It then provides an overview of the evolution of international institutions and legal norms related to cultural property, such as the 1970 UNESCO Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property,

1 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property, Nov. 14, 1970, 823 U.N.T.S. 231

This chapter provides an account of the Public Records Office of Ireland as a legal repository, before its destruction in 1922 as an early ‘casualty’ of the Irish Civil War. The chapter supplies a succinct account of Ireland’s historic courts and their record-keeping, providing an overview of the legal contents of the Public Record Office of Ireland at the moment of its destruction. Using several case studies, the chapter then illustrates the process of archival reconstruction through the use of substitute and replacement sources, spanning the late medieval period up to the end of the nineteenth century. It argues that attempting to reconstruct these lost legal archives constitutes a powerful method of historical reappraisal, revealing how many of Ireland’s historic courts were created, evolved and disappeared.

National narcotics agencies are a feature of law enforcement for drug crimes worldwide. They exist in most Southeast Asian nations that retain the death penalty for drug offences, including in Indonesia (Badan Narkotika Nasional); Singapore (Central Narcotics Board); Thailand (Narcotics Control Board); and Malaysia (Agensi Antidadah Kebangsaan). This chapter undertakes a comparative study of national narcotics agencies in Southeast Asia. Each of the aforementioned four agencies plays an outsize role in shaping both public opinion and government policy on the death penalty for drugs and on punitive responses to non-capital drug crimes more generally. Previous NGO reports and academic studies on Southeast Asian drug policy have failed to consider the institutional dimensions of drug control: this chapter aims to rectify this particular gap in the literature. Comparing relevant institutions across the region, this chapter accounts for organisational similarities and differences, explores the relationship between anti-drugs and other state institutions, and suggests modest policy recommendations.

This chapter takes aim at the assumption that affording special legal protections to journalists, beyond those enjoyed by the public, effectively limits law enforcement’s power to interfere with the press function. First, it describes how law enforcement often evades, violates, or simply ignores existing protections, raising questions about their effectiveness. Supporters of special protections from law enforcement might argue that the underinclusiveness of existing rules simply illustrates the need to update and expand these protections. But expanding procedural safeguards is unlikely to adequately protect the press function. Indeed, heightened press-specific rules might actually encourage law enforcement to use other substantive approaches to criminalize journalism and reporting and thus evade procedural protections. Amid broadening efforts to criminalize protest, trespass, and newsgathering, the substantive criminal law offers many possible avenues for law enforcement to crack down on critical reporting, threatening the checking function. This dynamic suggests that the press’s long-standing strategy of seeking procedural or narrow protections against law enforcement is misguided and ineffective. Instead, to ensure its autonomy and independence in the long run, the press should be a more active participant in seeking to limit law enforcement power and authority.

Indians experience violence at twice the rate of any other racial group in the United States. Violence against Indian women is particularly severe; in fact, Congress stated the rate of violence against Indian women has become an “epidemic.” Aside from its prevalence, violence against Indians is unique because, unlike other racial groups, the majority of crimes committed against Indians are perpetrated by non-Indians. The high rate of crimes against Indians is attributable to Indian country’s peculiar jurisdictional rules. Most notably, tribes cannot prosecute non-Indians. This limitation is not a product of the 1700s or 1800s; rather, it is a result of the Supreme Court’s 1978 decision in Oliphant v. Suquamish Indian Tribe. Oliphant has been widely critiqued in legal scholarship, but it remains the law. Jurisdictional limitations are compounded by Indian country’s geographic isolation, meaning tribes rely on law enforcement agents that are often located more than 100 miles away. Not only are state and federal law enforcement far away; they have little incentive to prioritize Indian country crime. Consequently, criminals have been known to target reservations.

This chapter focuses on the police and other law enforcement agencies. Mapping their transformation since the 1979 Revolution, it highlights the tensions and overlapping jurisdictions between different law enforcement agencies and units, arguing that their security mission has expanded alongside their disciplinary and religious morality mission, especially since the disputed 2009 elections. To maintain order, the Islamic Republic has taken several measures, such as the expansion of law enforcement units, the establishment of several special forces for crowd control and anti-riot missions, and heavy investment in the training and equipment of these forces. The police force has also dramatically intensified its ideological programs for the indoctrination of its members and has made changes to recruitment by shifting focus toward more conservative parts of society. Despite some attempts at reform, Iran’s various police forces are not consistently subject to the rule of law, nor are they accountable to elected institutions.

The main goal of this chapter is to introduce one type of AI used for law enforcement, namely predictive policing, and to discuss the main legal, ethical, and social concerns this raises. In the last two decades, police forces in Europe and in North America have increasingly invested in predictive policing applications. Two types of predictive policing will be discussed: predictive mapping and predictive identification. After discussing these two practices and what is known about their effectiveness, I discuss the legal, ethical, and social issues they raise, covering aspects relating to their efficacy, governance, and organizational use, as well as the impact they have on citizens and society.

Maritime security, also known as non-military security, refers to a condition in which the maritime rights and interests of a State, recognised by the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea and other rules of international law, are free from harm, danger or attack. This chapter discusses seven acknowledged threats to maritime security in the exclusive economic zone (EEZ) and the international legal framework for addressing them. The seven threats are piracy and armed robbery against ships; terrorist acts involving shipping, offshore installations and other maritime interests; illicit trafficking in arms and weapons of mass destruction; illicit traffic in narcotic drugs and psychotropic substances; smuggling and trafficking of persons by sea; illegal, unreported and unregulated fishing; and intentional and unlawful damage to the marine environment. The discussion then turns to the measures coastal States can take to protect their maritime security interests in the EEZ in the context of the longstanding doctrine of exclusive flag State jurisdiction. The concluding section examines emerging international efforts to combat threats to maritime security on a regional basis and discusses a potential solution to treat maritime security in the EEZ as collective security interests to meet the jurisdictional gap.

Chapter 20 focuses on the UK legal landscape around the investigatory powers of UK law enforcement authorities (LEAs) and the duties of service providers to cooperate with them. The primary legislative framework from which LEAs derive their powers to obtain digital evidence is the Investigatory Powers Act 2016. The chapter examines the different categories of data that may be requested from communication services providers and the legal procedures governing such lawful access. It also looks at other legal sources available to LEAs, to provide a comprehensive framework for cooperation between service providers and LEAs in obtaining digital evidence. Last, the chapter explores the cooperation of UK LEAs with non-UK-based service providers, as well as that of UK-based service providers with foreign LEAs.

Chapter 21 provides an account of the governing legal framework with respect to the gathering of digital evidence by US law enforcement authorities (LEAs) and the rules that bind US service providers – an issue that, given the quantity of data of interest in the hands of US-based providers, increasingly matters to LEAs around the world. It describes the general statutory and constitutional scheme governing data collection in the United States, with a focus on the federal level. It then examines specific questions with respect to cross-border cooperation, particularly in light of the Clarifying Lawful Overseas Use of Data (CLOUD) Act, which seeks to better facilitate cross-border access to data, in specified circumstances, and in accordance with baseline procedural and substantive protections. The chapter’s concluding thoughts point to both the need for more attention to cross-border access to data and some of the lacunae in US law.

This chapter is about how police officers in China enforce anti-prostitution laws. These regulations outlaw the exchange of sex for money or other material goods in all of its forms, and for all individuals who engage in it. Yet in practice, police enforcement primarily targets low-tier sex workers. Of the array of possible sanctions, these women are more likely incarcerated than fined, and they are placed in institutions with a rehabilitative mission that, in practice, is not met. In addition, law enforcement officials often engage in illegal and abusive practices when arresting sex workers. Clients are not completely immune from punishment, but they are less likely to be arrested than are the women they solicit. The major exception to that pattern involves high-profile men whose actions have crossed the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). Their cases are taken out of the hands of street-level police officers and into the world of elite politics, with prostitution charges used to help secure their downfall.

What does Chinese law have to say about people who are involved in sex work and the places where it occurs? Prostitution control is a universal problem for which states have adopted a variety of policies to address the public order, public health, and commercial challenges that it presents. This chapter describes that range of regulatory possibilities. It then explains the official choices that China has made, through discussions of the policing, health, and taxation rules and institutions that the People’s Republic of China (PRC) has adopted to regulate prostitution.

This chapter is about how police officers engage with sex workers when they are not enforcing anti-prostitution laws against them. By focusing their enforcement efforts on low-tier sex workers, the police help create a space for the middle tier of China’s sex industry – entertainment venues and their hostesses—to thrive. I find that law enforcement officers engage actively and in myriad ways with the sex industry when they are not focused on arresting sex workers. Some of their actions are purely extractive interactions. Yet other police behavior, while still self-serving, also benefits sex workers. Making sense of police actions in this context requires shifting our framework from exclusively viewing police as powerful figures in relation to sex workers to also viewing them as street-level bureaucrats who are accountable to the local government and the vast police bureaucracy of which they are at the forefront. This approach provides a different perspective on police officers, underscoring their weakness within China’s bureaucratic system rather than their strength in relation to the sex workers. Their vulnerability vis-à-vis the state even affects how they engage with sex workers and underscores conditions under which the job security of frontline police officers in fact depends on a cooperative local sex industry.

Although in all of the EU member states, law enforcement institutions have to adhere to European standards of facial recognition technology (FRT) usage, each country has local national standards that transpose these requirements into the framework of FRT in practice. However, recognising that each society has an important role in controlling the implementation of legal acts, especially where they relate to human rights, society and related interest groups have to regard the proper implementation of FRT regulation as necessary; otherwise it remains declarative and void. If public awareness and pressure to have a law implemented properly are high, the implementing institutions are forced to take action.

This chapter analyses the regulation of FRT usage by Lithuanian law enforcement institutions. Public discussion relating to FRT usage in the media, the involvement of non-governmental organisations, and other types of social control are also discussed. Finally, the chapter considers the changes that may be brought to national regulation of FRT by the EU Artificial Intelligence Act.