A Seat At The Table

<p>This thesis concerns the recent innovative developments in the Whanganui River and Te Urewera Treaty settlements of 2014. The Whanganui River has become the first specific environmental resource to receive the rights and status of a legal person. Te Urewera has been removed from the 1980 National Parks Act to also become its own legal person. Both legal personalities will be co-managed by boards of equal Crown and iwi members. The Te Urewera Board will, however, be rearranged in 2018 to have a Tūhoe majority, another first for Treaty of Waitangi settlements. These new features are considered particularly innovative in this thesis because of the context of Crown indivisible sovereignty and its unequal share of power in negotiating settlements. This thesis considers the ability of these settlements to provide space for iwi to practice rangatiratanga in relation to the resource that is central to their history and identity. If rangatiratanga is considered in this context to be the ability of iwi to practice self-determination and autonomy, then these settlements go further than previously seen because the application of the legal personality and the way it is co-managed is based for the most part on the worldview of the iwi. However, this worldview will continue to be practiced within the wider context of the English political and legal system. Because the improvement of the health and wellbeing of the Whanganui River and Te Urewera will be based on tikanga and mātauranga, Whanganui iwi and Tūhoe have been provided with more space than the Crown has previously conceded to practice rangatiratanga over these resources.</p>

<p>This thesis concerns the recent innovative developments in the Whanganui River and Te Urewera Treaty settlements of 2014. The Whanganui River has become the first specific environmental resource to receive the rights and status of a legal person. Te Urewera has been removed from the 1980 National Parks Act to also become its own legal person. Both legal personalities will be co-managed by boards of equal Crown and iwi members. The Te Urewera Board will, however, be rearranged in 2018 to have a Tūhoe majority, another first for Treaty of Waitangi settlements. These new features are considered particularly innovative in this thesis because of the context of Crown indivisible sovereignty and its unequal share of power in negotiating settlements. This thesis considers the ability of these settlements to provide space for iwi to practice rangatiratanga in relation to the resource that is central to their history and identity. If rangatiratanga is considered in this context to be the ability of iwi to practice self-determination and autonomy, then these settlements go further than previously seen because the application of the legal personality and the way it is co-managed is based for the most part on the worldview of the iwi. However, this worldview will continue to be practiced within the wider context of the English political and legal system. Because the improvement of the health and wellbeing of the Whanganui River and Te Urewera will be based on tikanga and mātauranga, Whanganui iwi and Tūhoe have been provided with more space than the Crown has previously conceded to practice rangatiratanga over these resources.</p>

The global emphasis on stakeholder engagement in protected area management has increased over the last three decades. Here we present key values of statutory and non-statutory stakeholder groups as they relate to their relationship with the former Te Urewera National Park (NP), New Zealand, which is now recognised as “a legal entity” with “all the rights, powers, duties, and liabilities of a legal person.” Non-statutory stakeholders conveyed a close, personal connection to Te Urewera NP in terms of heritage and legacy, which include both consumptive (e.g., hunting; fishing) and non-consumptive use (e.g., sight-seeing, hiking, boating). In contrast, statutory stakeholders expressed a more distant and procedural relationship with the park. Both stakeholder groups perceived the possible transfer of ownership or governance of Te Urewera NP to Tūhoe (the Indigenous Māori peoples of the Te Urewera region) favourably and expressed a desire to be engaged in the future stewardship of the NP. Stakeholders considered the fostering of relations with Tūhoe and other stakeholder groups as important to nurturing and maintaining their links with the area in future. Importantly, common interests that emerge from these relationships can increase mutual understanding between cultures and willingness to collaborate. Moreover, we posit that the legal personhood status for protected areas will be a powerful tool for reconciling pluralistic values and enable deliberative processes and flexible modes of collaboration between Indigenous peoples and non-indigenous stakeholders.

Nature as an Ancestor: Two Examples of Legal Personality for Nature in New Zealand

The burdens of judgment are considerations intended to explain the persistence of reasonable disagreement, and to motivate parties to obey the constraints of public reason in the face of this disagreement. Public reason constrains political agents, when those agents seek to engage the coercive machinery of politics. In particular, political agents are enjoined to restrict the reasons they invoke (in certain political contexts) to those that do not rely crucially upon comprehensive doctrines about which the parties can be expected to disagree. The ideal of public reason involves a principled refusal, on the part of political agents, to invoke their own controversial moral and political views when arguing about constitutional essentials and matters of basic justice. The burdens of judgment are intended to support the commitments of these political agents, by giving a series of explanations for the existence of a reasonable pluralism of comprehensive doctrines. The burdens of judgment help these agents avoid the temptation to regard their own comprehensive doctrines as a sufficient justiication for political coercion exercised over those who reject that doctrine. To accept the burdens of judgment, he argues, is to commit oneself to the shared task of seeking standards of justiication that can be accepted by a plurality of reasonable comprehensive doctrines. Reasonable people commit themselves to the search for these standards, even in circumstances in which they might be able to rely upon their own comprehensive doctrines as justiications for public policy. The burdens of judgment are intended as a set of considerations to provide support for reasonable agents in this search.

The idea of dignity is often taken to be a foundation for principles of justice and democracy. In the West it has numerous formulations and conceptualisations. Within the capabilities approach to justice theorists have expanded the concept of dignity to encompass animals and ecological communities. In this article I rework the idea of dignity to include the Māori philosophical concepts of mauri, tapu and mana – something I argue is necessary if the capabilities approach is to decolonise in the Aotearoa context. Furthermore, the article links the nation's recognition of three extensive geographical regions – Te Awa Tupua, Te Urewera and Mt Taranaki – as legal persons to M ā tauranga M ā ori and nonhuman dignity. In doing so, I identify the potential that this understanding of dignity and these legal moves have to decolonise democracy within the settler state.

<i>Modernism and the Meaning of Corporate Persons</i> by Lisa Siraganian

The Flint water crisis: An analysis of public relations as a mediator between human and corporate persons

This study examines how minority groups in Uganda, such as ethnic, religious, and sexual minorities, are represented in politics and included in government structures. Even though the Constitution promises equal rights and democratic participation for all, these groups often face challenges and barriers preventing them from fully participating in politics. This study aims to comprehend the influence of legal systems, cultures, electoral processes, and civil society processes on marginalized groups' political agency and representation. With intersectionality theory and the concept of multicultural citizenship as its guiding powers, this study is quantitative, using in-depth interviews with community leaders and policy experts, content analysis of parliamentary proceedings, and NGO publications and reports. Some significant findings indicate that although a small minority of communities have managed to use advocacy groups and international connections to secure their political voice, their representation at national and local governance levels has been insignificant and mostly symbolic. This paper explains that minority groups in Uganda are still excluded because of unfair laws, limited access to justice, and government institutions that do not respond to their needs. Although Uganda’s democracy appears to include everyone, it often leaves out these groups, continuing the unfair treatment they have faced in the past. The research indicates that to enhance inclusiveness, Uganda requires legal reforms, minority reserved seats or quotas in politics, the provision of adequate civic education to everybody, and effective collaboration between the state and civil society organizations. The study contributes to broader debates concerning democracy, citizenship, and development in Africa, providing helpful concepts and viable recommendations on change.

In my article, “Coming to Terms with the Antagonism Between Rhetorical Reflection and Political Agency,” I argue that academic desire is inherently frustrated by motives in tension with each other (2012). As rhetoric scholars, we are supposed to explore what we find politically interesting or important by isolating a chosen element of the political in order to perform a systematic study of that element and generate some insight about it. Yet graduate students quickly learn that moral fervor and political commitment are not the same thing as studying something that they care about. And this moment of revelation is no less true for a partisan in the throws of a political campaign than it is for an academic shut away in an archive. For example, political campaign operatives charged with polling a subset of the electorate are not, in the act of designing and performing the poll, acting as political operatives. Rather, in their role as pollsters, they must resist their own wishes or expectations or they will not actually be of any service to their campaign or party. Instead, to be of service, they must apply methods that are intended to return results that would be valuable to anyone who might have access to them. This is why campaigns hide their internal polls from both the public and competing campaigns. They do not want either the public or competing campaigns to know what they have learned precisely because such malleable knowledge could be applied by others in ways that might thwart their own campaign's strategy.Nevertheless, the difference between a political campaign's internal polling operation and an academic should be clear. Like internal pollsters, academics engage in systematic study in order to produce results that anyone could potentially use. However, unlike pollsters, academics do not keep the results of their research hidden away for partisan advantage but rather make those results public because their research is intended to serve the interests of anyone who might engage the products of their analysis. Like internal pollsters, however, academics also do not need to be understood as “value-neutral.” Of course they aren't. They will have chosen what they want to study because they suspect that an inadequate understanding of some element of reality may be the cause of problems that they hope improved understanding might somehow contribute to ameliorating. Now, if an academic fails to deliver a product that is of use to anyone because it takes a form that no one can figure out how to use, and use in a relatively sophisticated way, then the academic might be considered to have failed. She will have failed insofar as she had hoped that improved understanding might potentially aid those directly involved in addressing the problem.Might we say that academics work amid a broader competition to enact particular policies, just as internal campaign pollsters work amid those directly competing to win elections? Hence, are not both academics and internal campaign pollsters “in” the contest but not “of” the contest? Might we say that faithful service to either of the two demands it? In Slavoj Žižek's language (following Lacan), attempting to cut the corner, to directly engage in the contest, would be an example of what he calls “giving way” on one's “desire” (1989, 117–18). In the language of my prior article, it is an example of refusing the challenge that constitutes the antagonism, in this case, the antagonism between reflection and action that constitutes the academic subject position. Recall, however, that antagonism does not mean simple opposition. Rather, it points to a state of affairs in which an ideology or subject position unavoidably contains elements that are in tension. And “tension” is the right word because it can mean both pressing together and pulling apart. Antagonism, in Žižek's sense, means inseparability paired with incommensurability (to be a politically effective internal campaign pollster one must forswear politics). At his most esoteric, Žižek writes that antagonisms do not exist in what he calls “the real” (which can mean something like reality in the absence of symbols), because antagonisms are products of language (2005, 249–54). No word or set of words can say everything, and what is left unsaid in any moment will continue to torment what is said, creating the experience of antagonism—or an anxiety-producing need to say two different things at the same time (1991, 154; 1989, 21, 43, 49; 1994, 21, 26). Yet, while both things must be said, those two things, within language, always manifest as in tension with each other (in the world but not of the world, wholly God and wholly man, the mysteries of the sublime).Effacing an antagonism by reducing the saying of one thing to the saying of another—and acting as if it “resolves” the antagonism—entails giving way on one's desire. It is the construction of a cheap substitute when what is needed is not exactly the real thing itself, but the pursuit of the real thing. Hence, the pursuit of the real thing entails refusing to take a shortcut to one's desire (1989, 117–18; 1993, 60). The very idea of an “academic as public intellectual” is just such a shortcut. In it's material manifestation, it is an unstable, unsatisfying compromise that is wholly committed to neither reflection nor action. And, because it is neither one nor the other, it also cannot be both.For example, consider Fuller's account of the plight of the public intellectual. First, he explains that the “rhetorical challenge for academics seeking a public voice has been to reestablish their elite status in forums.” In order to reclaim their allegedly rightful place in public discourse, Fuller argues that academics need to more carefully consider what it takes “to compete with such ‘media elites’ as professional writers, journalists, and other ‘celebrities’ for prime-time television exposure.” And what it takes, he says, is the careful cultivation of a persona that keeps some of the affectations of the academic yet is entertaining enough to attract a wide audience. Walter Lippmann, Fuller argues, is an especially good model for aspiring academics as public intellectuals because, even though he was not primarily an academic in the institutional sense of the word, he nevertheless played the part. He cultivated the public persona of “the calming presence of an all-knowing insider” as his authorizing—and entertaining—hook or gimmick, which permitted him to exercise a high degree of individual political agency. In contrast, John Dewey's problem, according to Fuller, was that he remained too singularly focused on maximizing effective citizen political participation, through various forum movements and improved public education, to the detriment of maximizing the reach of his own political voice. Thus, while Dewey may have thought of himself as something like what we call a public intellectual, he actually was not one in Fuller's sense of the word because either Dewey refused to perform a broadly entertaining persona or was simply, as a matter of temperament, not amusing or entertaining enough to effectively playact the role of the wise, trustworthy, plain-spoken professor for a mass audience.This is the same advice Stephen Hartnett gives academics who aspire to be public intellectuals. They must, as I noted in the prior article, learn to “speak clearly and look authoritative” while offering “mass-media-shaped tidbits” (2010, 81–83). The academic as public intellectual must look authoritative (play the part of an academic) while saying things that could just as well be said by a celebrity guest. The bait-and-switch quality of the academic playing the role of an academic on TV is apparent in a number of those whom Fuller identifies as public intellectual “exemplars,” particularly Noam Chomsky, Niall Ferguson, and Cornel West. Chomsky's “public intellectual” work, for example, bears only a passing resemblance to the academic research for which he is known. Hence, whatever a public audience might get from Chomsky's books about whatever the current outrage is, they should not be afforded special attention due to his renown as a professor of linguistics. Ferguson's August 2012 cover story in Newsweek arguing against the reelection of Barack Obama is a particularly egregious example of this bait-and-switch technique: he lures the audience in with the promise of rigorous academic intelligence but instead writes a deceptive account of the Affordable Care Act; no one expects the Harvard professor to be plainly dishonest (Ferguson 2012; Krugman 2012). Cornel West, the former Harvard professor who has cultivated what Fuller calls a “righteous politicized persona,” has definitely been adept at competing for the media spotlight, but it is not at all clear that his current persona promotes anything resembling what an academic is supposedly uniquely equipped to offer public discourse—namely, some sort of intellectual contribution. Together, all three become caricatures in line with the worst of what the public believes about academics—that they are unstable ideologues who pursue political agendas under the auspices of higher education.Each of them also fulfills Fuller's academic-as-public-intellectual obligation “to exploit the distinctive communicative resources afforded by all the media.” What he means by this, here and elsewhere, is that academics who want to be public intellectuals have to not only be ready with but must also promote the nickel, fifty-cent, and ten-dollar version of their “ideas” in order to maximize each idea's public reach, appeal, and effectiveness. Yet how different is the nickel version of any intellectual idea from what many other similarly minded commentators, politicians, or protestors are already saying? Is the nickel version of Chomsky much different than what is printed on T-shirts outside of World Trade Organization meetings? And, in the case of Chomsky, does his actual academic expertise intellectually ground those slogans? And how is the talk radio or morning television version of any idea ever an “intellectual” contribution to public discourse? All that is left of the intellectual is the wise or iconoclastic professor persona cultivated by the professor doing the speaking; recall the number of conservative “thinkers” on television who enact their thoughtfulness by their choice in neckwear (always a bowtie).Is Fuller not recommending something like an ironic inversion of the classic advertising line “I'm not really a doctor, but I play one on TV,” except now the professor says, “I am really a professor but, until the next commercial break, I'm just going to play one on TV”? Just as celebrities trade on their stardom to play the game of political winning and losing, academics as public intellectuals ought to trade on their scholarly persona. In other words, one plays the part of the academic intellectual but must not supply what the persona promises to deliver. And this, Fuller says, is what it means for academics as public intellectuals to adopt a style in the tradition of Voltaire and Sartre, “marked” as “thinking things through for themselves—not as if from a script largely written by others”? And it therefore follows, then, in a line Fuller likes to repeat, that it is the traditional academic who is little more than “a proud ventriloquist's dummy” (2005, 100)?Yet perhaps the deeper problem is bound up with idea that the spirit of broader academic arguments or intellectual syntheses continues to live inside their stripped-down nickel versions. However, as I argued in the earlier article, every academic conclusion drawn from however rigorous or voluminous the research will necessarily (should it ever come into contact with public discourse) be reduced to a simplified metaphor or simplifying shorthand term (Welsh 2012, 17). Still, in its simplified form, it is never simply a short or a nutshell version. Rather, it is a discursive resource in its own right that becomes immediately detachable (and is detached) from its origins and takes on new and unanticipated forms, which is to say that it immediately becomes available for diverse, often opposing forms of appropriation.Consider, for example, the term “social capital” that emerged among Dewey and his followers at the end of the nineteenth century, particularly as discussed by the political scientist James Farr (2004). “Social capital,” a term that continues to be used today among certain liberals as well as conservatives, tends to be understood as a call to look for cultural, educational, institutional, and economic “investments” that might support integrated and healthy communities. At its best, it frames social life in morally rich terms of connectedness and interdependence, taking the place of morally debilitating visions of “survival of the fittest” or “winner take all.” Farr argues that that the term's continued resonance has to do with the artistic twist it gives to common words and meanings. Yet it offers more than momentary delight. It invokes a revised world with modified priorities. It is morally suggestive and a richly heuristic play on words.Hence, people can do with it something very much like what Robert Putnam (1995) suggested in his widely read article “Bowling Alone” and invest in community groups and gatherings, treating social connections as a form of capital requiring steady investment. And certain kinds of conservatives can also use the term to rationalize cohesive communities—built on the exclusion of outsiders. At the same time, opponents of social capital in either of these senses could reframe the term in order to recommend forms of community ruled by the demands of capital accumulation. Efforts at building social capital in either of the two prior senses could be cast as impeding the production of the “real” social capital, which such opponents might argue is the economic output of the members of a society. Time spent at “social clubs” and “off the job” could be presented in terms of lost economic growth or diminished hard capital, the same capital needed to pay for the social “get-togethers.” Money doesn't grow on trees, you get what you pay for, there is no such thing as a free lunch.More economically progressive uses of the term “social capital,” others could say, is just code for “socialism” (a word that has a constant presence in American political discourse, complete with images of Stalin), a tactic designed to scare citizens away from progressive reforms. All of these arguments are already in place, ready to be marshaled into service should the term “social capital” begin to seriously challenge prevailing ways of speaking in any particular way. It could even be that those most sympathetic to the diverse uses to which the term can be put should argue for setting it aside because it is simply too fraught with difficulty. Is there any other two-word combination that draws attention to the dominant political and economic tension of the twentieth century more than “social capital”? Could there be?Fuller's argument, however, is that academics can, and must try to, actively “control the public reception” of their messages. Yet once an academic's “message” is reduced to a central metaphor, control is already lost. And, in addition to it no longer being in any respect a complicating “intellectual” message or discourse, in that same moment everyone is granted the freedom to pick it up and use it quite differently than intended—all the while continuing to tout the authority of its academic provenance. Thus, once one moves from academic discourse to public discourse, the scholarly product becomes a rhetoric, and once it becomes a rhetoric it becomes just one more rhetorical pivot point susceptible to leveraging competing policies. It becomes what C. Wright Mills called a part of the sociological imagination (2000, 4–5, 48, 71).However, is this not precisely the place where rhetorical scholarship becomes most relevant to public affairs? Any rhetorical analysis or critique worthy of the name must be rooted in the recognition that private terms are more likely to become public rhetorics when diverse groups of people can imagine using them in pursuit of a wide variety of goals. Hence, there is no teacher of rhetoric that has ever claimed to have found the political message that needed to get out. Rather, as Fuller himself argues in The Intellectual, the earliest teachers of what we tend to think of as rhetoric, the Sophists (whom Fuller also refers to as the first public intellectuals), did not advance particular ideas but, instead, offered training in using ideas as rhetorical instruments in light of a student's aims (2005, 7). Fuller argues that “the sophists never understood themselves as ‘idea merchants,’ as one might characterize think-tank dwellers today or, in more elevated tones[,] … Voltaire.” “No,” Fuller clarifies, “the sophists were purveyors of certain skills and perhaps even tools” (2005, 9). Moreover, Fuller explains how “the sophists mainly wanted to help clients win lawsuits and sway public opinion, to take greater control of their fate, as befits citizens in a democracy” (2005, 9). My argument is that rhetoric scholars should see themselves in just this way—as devoted to understanding public discourse, which entails weighing the shifting and unpredictable assets and liabilities of the wide range of rhetorical resources. By seeing themselves in such a light, they provide a service to all citizens, activists, and politicians engaged in unpredictable and constantly evolving rhetorical contests for power (Welsh 2013).Perhaps the key distinction here concerns whose agency academics should be interested in promoting. Fuller says that we are doing a bad job if we are not constantly thinking about how to win support for our own particular visions of what is good or just—the academic thus needs to be a political campaign's internal pollster, strategist, and messenger all in one. Hence, Fuller is comfortable arguing that Dewey's fundamental problem was that Dewey did not see his role as either “constructing” or “bidding” for citizens' inherently malleable “beliefs and desires,” a quality of human beings that Dewey clearly recognized. Rather, like the Sophists, Dewey remained committed, as a scholar and educator, to serving the political agency of all, even if that meant not fully maximizing his own. Yet, considering the influence that the tedious, boring old Dewey had on politics and education alone, I think we can say he also did pretty well for himself—because he refused to efface the antagonism that structures academic desire and, therefore, did not give way on it.

In the more than half a century since James Bedford reportedly became the first person to undergo whole body cryopreservation in 1967, the number of cryogenic ‘patients’ and people who have registered to be cryopreserved upon their death has slowly but steadily increased. These preserved ‘patients’ present problems for both bioscience and bioethics. But they also present problems for several core legal principles – including the concept of legal personhood in private law. This article introduces the concept of private law personhood and identifies its three core tenets: private law personhood terminates at death; it is focused on the self-interested individual; and it is ill-equipped to weigh the interests of the individual against those of society. This article argues that each of these core tenets is fundamentally challenged by the existence of cryopreserved individuals, who have an awesome and ongoing physical presence despite being technically dead, but are nonetheless entirely reliant on the care of the living for their ongoing maintenance – even when such care causes the living to suffer harm.

Jeremy Waldron, Torture, Terror, and Trade-offs: Philosophy for the White House (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), viii + 357 pp. In Torture, Terror, and Trade-offs, Jeremy Waldron assesses s...

&lt;p&gt;W artykule podjęto zagadnienie podstaw sprawiedliwości. Pomimo dominujących narracji o konwencjonalnym charakterze tej kategorii przyjęto, że podstawą sprawiedliwości jest przyrodzona godność człowieka. Sprawiedliwość znajduje swą realną, bytową podstawę w godności człowieka. Tak zatem wiążąca się z samą istotą człowieka przyrodzona (wrodzona), niezbywalna, nieutracalna godność jest podstawą sprawiedliwości i jej wymogów nakazujących „oddać każdemu to, co mu się należy” (&lt;em&gt;suum cuique tribuere&lt;/em&gt;), oddać „każdemu, co jest jego”, co jest własne, co jest należne. A chodzi o naturalne uprawnienia, prawa człowieka, z których najbardziej elementarne to prawo do życia i prawo do osobowego rozwoju. Zagwarantowanie/urealnienie tych uprawnień, podstawowych praw człowieka, nie jest kwestią jakiejś konwencji, uzgodnień, umowy, woli prawodawcy czy gier politycznych, lecz kwestią sprawiedliwości – naturalnej sprawiedliwości.&lt;/p&gt;

Reviewed by: Recognition: Examining Identity Struggles by Renante D. Pilapil Jozon A. Lorenzana Renante D. Pilapil Recognition: Examining Identity Struggles Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2015. 194 pages. One of the challenges of scholarship is bringing oneself into conversation with other disciplines. At a time when multiple perspectives are needed to understand complex phenomena, thinking beyond disciplinary boundaries and thematic concerns becomes crucial to our task of knowledge production. The work of scholars who mediate between disciplinal boundaries or the theoretical realm and empirical context is significant. Such labor takes various forms, which include philosophical analysis, particularly in the field of philosophical anthropology. In this area of philosophical inquiry, notions about the human person are based on empirical work. Renante D. Pilapil, a philosopher based at the Ateneo de Davao University, shows how philosophical anthropology can be deployed in the Philippine context and beyond through his work Recognition: Examining Identity Struggles. Based on his doctoral dissertation at KU Leuven, the book provides a critical introduction to the concept of recognition, a term that is readily invoked but rarely utilized as an analytical or constitutive framework in empirical social and cultural studies. Pilapil engages theorists of recognition, particularly Axel Honneth of the Frankfurt school of critical theory. The book is concerned with the question of how we ought to think about identity claims in the present context, which is marked by a global resurgence of ethnoracial politics and nationalism. Pilapil reflects on how recognition serves as a normative framework to think about identity politics and social relations. Drawing on Honneth, Pilapil understands recognition as the act of not only perceiving but also, more specifically, affirming the preexisting traits, abilities, and moral autonomy of an individual or group. His work examines the normative theory of recognition and explains how its opposite, misrecognition (in the experience of disrespect, being unloved, and disesteemed, among others) dehumanizes persons (61). Moving beyond a philosophical scrutiny of the concept, the author points out how issues of recognition resonate in the Philippine experience through mundane examples presented in each chapter and a test case on the Moro struggles in Mindanao in the final chapter. Pilapil argues that, notwithstanding the problematic implications of the formal recognition of the identity and difference of individuals and minority groups (formal affirmative recognition), it is the [End Page 407] best means available for responding to identity claims of minority groups. In linking recognition to redistribution, Pilapil acknowledges the way cultural identity is bound up with socioeconomic conditions of people. In so doing, recognition becomes a matter of social justice and gains normative bite. The arguments unfold in six chapters, beginning with a critique of Charles Taylor's assumption about the role of culture as a source of and basis for identity (chapter 1). As Taylor argues, recognition of peoples' cultural identities presupposes their equal worth. Pilapil then raises questions about equality and differential treatment arising from cultural distinction. Drawing from Will Kymlicka, he complicates the notion of cultural difference by pointing out how equal treatment may disadvantage minority groups. Acknowledging the possibility of the majority imposing itself on minority groups, Kymlicka proposes group-differentiated rights. The question of justifying rights on the basis of cultural identity claims is then tackled in the second chapter. Pilapil looks at Mark Tully's contestation approach as a counterpoint to formal affirmative recognition. In this formulation Tully assumes that demands for recognition have no resolution but are always in a state of struggle. Pilapil argues that Honneth's elaboration of recognition provides a way out of the debate on what grounds it can be justified. In Honneth's theory, social recognition becomes a precondition for having an identity (chapter 3). Its lack or denial is detrimental to the processes of self-realization and personhood (75–79). Hence, Pilapil suggests that Honneth's theory highlights the moral basis for recognition. Honneth situates recognition within the intersubjective nature of human beings. Through particular relationships or spheres of interaction that overlap, humans form aspects of their personhood. In relations of love, which include family and friends, persons develop confidence; with peers they gain esteem; and in legal relations people acquire respect. According to Honneth, social or mutual affirmation...

The threat of misappropriation is one of the major challenges facing traditional knowledge in Africa today. This paper seeks to identify the challenges and potential opportunities for safeguarding this valuable heritage and will pay particular attention to the function of the African Regional Intellectual Property Organization and the recent Swakopmund Protocol. This research utilizes a documentary analysis to evaluate the protections afforded to traditional knowledge not only as a matter of justice but as a means of enhancing the socio-economic status of local communities. Based upon these results, the paper suggests establishing customized governance structures for the recognition and value of traditional knowledge so that local communities can realize tangible social and economic returns on their traditional knowledge and enhance their cultural identities. Finally, it is stressed that a persistent and collaborative effort by all stakeholders is required if traditional knowledge is to be preserved for future generations. The Swakopmund Protocol has been identified as an important model for regional intellectual property law and a comprehensive legal structure for the protection of traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions by ARIPO member states, which represents an important milestone in the establishment of community rights over their indigenous knowledge.