The issue of human rights and its contemporary theory has drawn the attention of the author for a long period of time. Specifically, the rights of two groups of citizens of our planet that have existed next to one another for as long as the world has been turning a " the perpetrators of crimes and their victims. And, unfortunately, this will never change. To learn more about the author please visit his website at www.stanik.name and www.kosmas.cz. Also published by Zsolt StanA k (in English) are in printed form and available on www.amazon.co.uk: An Angel in Hell, Humour at its Best, Joy Till Death and I Forgive You One Sin on www.fast-print.net/bookshop: Farewell to Bad Times and I Forgive You One Sin on www.kosmas.cz: Ita s enough to drive you crazy (as an E-book)

Providing a range of different perspectives on some of the peoples who have inhabited various parts of Britain, this book combats the popular myth and media image that migrants and minorities are new to the British Isles. Included is Shivdeep Grewal's article on Southall, which is derived from his documentary film, "Remembering Southall. Keith Copley and Cronain O'Kelly offer comparable perspectives on the attitudes of British labor to Ireland, and an essay by Stephen Hipkin looks at property relations and rural conflict in early modern England, taking as his reference point the work of Robert Brenner.

Virtually everyone supports religious liberty, and virtually everyone opposes discrimination. But how do we handle the hard questions that arise when exercises of religious liberty seem to discriminate unjustly? How do we promote the common good while respecting conscience in a diverse society? This point-counterpoint book brings together leading voices in the culture wars to debate such questions: John Corvino, a longtime LGBT-rights advocate, opposite Ryan T. Anderson and Sherif Girgis, prominent young social conservatives. Many such questions have arisen in response to same-sex marriage: How should we treat county clerks who do not wish to authorize such marriages, for example; or bakers, florists, and photographers who do not wish to provide same-sex wedding services? But the conflicts extend well beyond the LGBT rights arena. How should we treat hospitals, schools, and adoption agencies that can't in conscience follow antidiscrimination laws, healthcare mandates, and other regulations? Should corporations ever get exemptions? Should public officials? Should we keep controversial laws like the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, or pass new ones like the First Amendment Defense Act? Should the law give religion and conscience special protection at all, and if so, why? What counts as discrimination, and when is it unjust? What kinds of material and dignitary harms should the law try to fight-and what is dignitary harm, anyway? Beyond the law, how should we treat religious beliefs and practices we find mistaken or even oppressive? Should we tolerate them or actively discourage them? In point-counterpoint format, Corvino, Anderson and Girgis explore these questions and more. Although their differences run deep, they tackle them with civility, clarity, and flair. Their debate is an essential contribution to contemporary discussions about why religious liberty matters and what respecting it requires.

When a country experiences a civil war, media reports are mainly brought to the attention of the outside world by those who can only report on the surface impressions obtained during a short visit or from the comfort of a studio thousands of miles away. My experiences, living and working at the grass roots level, during and after the crisis in Nigeria in the 1960s has a different perspective. As a young Scotswoman married to a Nigerian from the breakaway republic of Biafra we lived as refugees with our young family, forced to leave our home seven times in the 30 months of the civil war as the war raged around us. Cut off from the outside world, in a situation the British High Commissioner in Nigeria had predicted at the onset, would be over in two weeks, we lived a life full of experiences which gave me a `qualification in survival' no university could have imparted. Without electricity, gas, petrol or phones, and often without money, medicine or safe drinking water we learned to appreciate the basic necessities of life. I was 18 years old, living in Dunfermline, Scotland when the man I was to marry asked me for a dance at the Kinema Ballroom. Two years later my career plan to qualify as a nurse was over and I was married to Len Ofoegbu, with a baby daughter and we were on our way to a new and very different life. Our first home was in the capital, Lagos, and was a big culture shock to Len and I. The newly independent West African country was already experiencing political and civil unrest, leading to violence, massacres, coups, and the inability of the central government to control the situation. Hundreds of thousands of Easterners who had settled throughout the whole of the country now `went home' as they had become the targets of slaughtering mobs. The secession of the Eastern Region, calling itself Biafra, followed and a David and Goliath bitter conflict ensued. The word `kwashiorkor' and pictures of starving children and adults appeared in the Western press for the first time. I was one of around a dozen, mainly British, foreign wives of Biafrans who remained with their husband throughout the civil war. I worked voluntarily with relief agencies in feeding centres, clinics, an orphanage and, after Biafra surrendered in January 1970, in a children's hospital in return for food for my growing family. In May 1970 we moved back to live in Lagos where we went through more crises as a family. I became an early member of Nigerwives, an organisation for foreign wives and partners of Nigerians which became like an extended family as we gave mutual support and strove to resolve anomalies in Nigerian laws which put unnecessary restrictions affecting our particular circumstances. By the 1980s I accepted that my husband and I had grown so far apart that I could no longer remain with him. My legal reason to remain in Nigeria was `to accompany him' and he could withdraw his immigration responsibility for me at any time. I needed a security which he could not give me and I left him and Nigeria to begin a new life and career in Britain in 1985. I was advised when I completed the original manuscript in the 1970s not have it published as Nigeria was extremely sensitive about any account which was sympathetic to the Biafran side of the civil war. In 1986 a much shorter version of Together in Biafra, titled Blow The Fire, telling the story up to 1970 was printed by Tana Press in Nigeria. I retain the copyright. It was published under my married name Leslie Jean Ofoegbu. It has been cited in academic papers. An example is A Lingering Nightmare: Achebe, Ofoegbu and Adichie on Biafra, Francoise Ugochukwu 2011.

When a country experiences a civil war, media reports are mainly brought to the attention of the outside world by those who can only report on the surface impressions obtained during a short visit or from the comfort of a studio thousands of miles away. My experiences, living and working at the grass roots level, during and after the crisis in Nigeria in the 1960s has a different perspective. As a young Scotswoman married to a Nigerian from the breakaway republic of Biafra we lived as refugees with our young family, forced to leave our home seven times in the 30 months of the civil war as the war raged around us. Cut off from the outside world, in a situation the British High Commissioner in Nigeria had predicted at the onset, would be over in two weeks, we lived a life full of experiences which gave me a `qualification in survival' no university could have imparted. Without electricity, gas, petrol or phones, and often without money, medicine or safe drinking water we learned to appreciate the basic necessities of life. I was 18 years old, living in Dunfermline, Scotland when the man I was to marry asked me for a dance at the Kinema Ballroom. Two years later my career plan to qualify as a nurse was over and I was married to Len Ofoegbu, with a baby daughter and we were on our way to a new and very different life. Our first home was in the capital, Lagos, and was a big culture shock to Len and I. The newly independent West African country was already experiencing political and civil unrest, leading to violence, massacres, coups, and the inability of the central government to control the situation. Hundreds of thousands of Easterners who had settled throughout the whole of the country now `went home' as they had become the targets of slaughtering mobs. The secession of the Eastern Region, calling itself Biafra, followed and a David and Goliath bitter conflict ensued. The word `kwashiorkor' and pictures of starving children and adults appeared in the Western press for the first time. I was one of around a dozen, mainly British, foreign wives of Biafrans who remained with their husband throughout the civil war. I worked voluntarily with relief agencies in feeding centres, clinics, an orphanage and, after Biafra surrendered in January 1970, in a children's hospital in return for food for my growing family. In May 1970 we moved back to live in Lagos where we went through more crises as a family. I became an early member of Nigerwives, an organisation for foreign wives and partners of Nigerians which became like an extended family as we gave mutual support and strove to resolve anomalies in Nigerian laws which put unnecessary restrictions affecting our particular circumstances. By the 1980s I accepted that my husband and I had grown so far apart that I could no longer remain with him. My legal reason to remain in Nigeria was `to accompany him' and he could withdraw his immigration responsibility for me at any time. I needed a security which he could not give me and I left him and Nigeria to begin a new life and career in Britain in 1985. I was advised when I completed the original manuscript in the 1970s not have it published as Nigeria was extremely sensitive about any account which was sympathetic to the Biafran side of the civil war. In 1986 a much shorter version of Together in Biafra, titled Blow The Fire, telling the story up to 1970 was printed by Tana Press in Nigeria. I retain the copyright. It was published under my married name Leslie Jean Ofoegbu. It has been cited in academic papers. An example is A Lingering Nightmare: Achebe, Ofoegbu and Adichie on Biafra, Francoise Ugochukwu 2011.

This innovative book provides an overview and critical assessment of the current avenues and remedies available to victims seeking recourse from private military and security companies (PMSCs) for human rights violations. Kuzi Charamba explores the challenges of regulating PMSCs and the significant jurisprudential and practical difficulties that victims face in attaining recourse from PMSCs, whether through state or non-state, judicial or non-judicial mechanisms. In response to these problems, Charamba proposes the introduction of a new victim-focused grievance structure, based on international arbitration. He argues that this will provide for a more robust, inclusive, and participatory governance system to support the effective operation of a globally administered and locally accessible remedial mechanism. Taking a forward-thinking approach, the book also analyses law making and regulation by non-state actors in a globalized world and offers policy and legislative proposals for the reform of the national security sector. Hired Guns and Human Rights will be a valuable resource for students, scholars, and practitioners of international legal theory, international human rights law, global governance, business and human rights, and international dispute resolution. Its focus on both state and non-state responses to human rights grievances against corporations around the world will also benefit policy-makers and international NGOs.

The Beauty Trade takes seriously the frequently maligned and trivialized beauty economy, just as it has become one of the most important worldwide industries. Through the lens of beauty products, practices, and ideas of youth in Guadalajara, Mexico, the book analyzes whether and how beauty norms are changing in relation to the globalizing beauty economy. It looks at who benefits and who loses from beauty globalization and what this means for gender norms among youth. Weaving together fascinating ethnographic research on beauty practices, global political economy, and feminist analysis, the book presents a feminist analysis of the global economy of beauty. Rather than a sign of frivolity, the beauty economy is intimately connected to youth's social and economic development. Cosmetic makeovers have become a modern rite of passage for girls, enabling social connections and differentiations, as well as entrepreneurial activities. The global beauty economy is a phenomenon generated by young people, mostly women, laboring in, teaching, and consuming beauty. Globalization in the beauty economy is a phenomenon propelled by youth, eager for belonging and originality, using every mechanism at their disposal to look good. Contrary to popular wisdom, globalization in the beauty economy is not homogenizing beauty standards to a Western ideal; it is diversifying beauty standards. The Beauty Trade explains how globalization, combined with youth's desires for uniqueness, is enabling the spread of a diversity of beauty cultures, including alternative visions of gender appropriate looks and behavior.

The Justitia Omnibus is the journal of the the Amnesty International society at the London School of Economics and Political Science. Written, designed and edited by students, the journal has become an annual endeavour for the society. The journal aims to provide a platform for students to express their views on human rights issues all over the world as well as to highlight the work our society undertakes to support Amnesty International on campus, such as campaigning and fundraising events.

The LSESU Amnesty International Society aims to further the work of Amnesty International UK on a campus level. We run campaigns to raise awareness of key human rights issues and host events to raise money which goes towards helping AIUK further its vital work. Highlights of this year include a panel discussion on the human rights concerns evident in the Syrian conflict and our campaign week to highlight the need for an International Arms Trade Treaty.

This insightful book offers a critical reflection on the sustainability and effectiveness of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) and its legacy over the last 70 years. Exploring the problems surrounding universality, proliferation and costs, it asks the provocative question, can we still afford human rights? Expert contributors illustrate the interdependence between these three key issues in an unprecedented way, addressing many of the contemporary criticisms voiced against the human rights system and the reasons for popular skepticism about human rights. In order to interrogate the deficiencies of the UDHR, chapters analyse the following questions: Can and should we keep claiming that human rights are universal? Is their proliferation rendering human rights meaningless? And have human rights become too costly? The book concludes that there is a pressing need for a renewed and lasting commitment to human rights. We cannot afford not to afford human rights. This book will be a valuable resource for academics and students of international relations, the political sciences and comparative legal studies. Covering policy and advocacy issues as well as the evolution of case law regarding particular human rights, it will also be beneficial for policy-makers and human rights practitioners.

Exploring the notion that norms are often seen as static structures governing society, politics and legislation, this thought-provoking book offers insights into Robert Alexy's theory of constitutional rights and the range in rigidity of two norm categories: rules and principles. Arguing that constitutional pluralism and the differentiation between norms is also present in EU law, Anne Wesemann asserts that EU Citizenship is a principle and thus a constitutional rights norm. Providing new perspectives on constitutionalism in the EU, this book considers the way the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) discusses and applies the EU citizenship Treaty norms by analysing the court's approach to decision making, which mirrors the balancing and weighing of conflicting principles. Wesemann proposes a new approach to constitutional analysis of the EU and its legal framework, arguing that the existence of constitutional rights norms in EU law enables this particular legal order to respond effectively to societal and political challenges within the rigidity of constitutionalism. Citizenship in the European Union will be a key resource for scholars and students of constitutional law and politics. Its contribution to the discourse around judicial activism and politicisation will also be essential reading for those studying the workings of the CJEU.