The International Law Governing India-Administered Kashmir and How the Removal of Article 370 has Created a New Normal

BY: Keerat Singh

Keerat Singh is a sophomore in the School of Foreign Service studying foreign service, business, and global affairs. She is currently an Assistant Editor for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

Kashmir has historically been a region of contention between India, Pakistan, and China, dating back to when India and Pakistan became independent from British colonial rule in 1947. Although Kashmir technically refers to the Kashmir Valley, it has colloquially come to encompass the Indian-administered regions of Jammu, Kashmir and Ladakh, the Pakistani-administered regions of Azad Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan, and the Chinese-administered regions of Aksai Chin and Trans-Karakoram Tract.[1] This large region has been the subject of political skirmishes, protests, and wars between the three nations that control its different corners. Religious violence has also plagued the Kashmir Valley region in particular, as a result of clashes between the Muslim majority in Kashmir and the Hindu majority in India.[2] Sadly, the violence in the Indian controlled part of Kashmir is worse than ever and likely to endure as key legal safeguards on Kashmir’s autonomy are eroded.

The reason the region of Jammu and Kashmir agreed to join India after the India-Pakistan partition in 1947 was based explicitly on the provisions of Article 370 of the Indian constitution, which grant the region a special autonomous status.[3] The article sets out special rules for the Kashmir region, exempting it from following the Indian constitution like other Indian states. Under Article 370, Kashmir is guaranteed its own constitution, its own flag, and sovereignty over all of its laws except those pertaining to finance, defense, foreign affairs, and communications. It also notably denies property rights in the Kashmir region to non-Kashmiris.[4]

In 1954, Article 370 was supplemented by Article 35A, also part of the Indian constitution and known as the Permanent Residents Law. This law allows the local legislature in the Indian-administered region of Kashmir to define what qualifies permanent Kashmir residents. It also forbids any outsiders from residing in Kashmir, owning property, holding local government jobs, or winning Kashmiri education scholarships.[5]

Since the creation of the Indian constitution, Article 370 had been heavily diluted through over 40 presidential orders by the Indian government which acted as amendments to the original article.[6] On the other hand, Article 35A had remained fully intact.[7]

This all changed on August 5, 2019, when the Interior Minister of India, Amit Shah, moved to revoke those two key constitutional provisions, in an effort to unite India under the Hindu nationalist message of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government.[8]

The removal went into effect soon after this announcement. Fully aware of the backlash that it would have, the Indian government jailed many prominent Kashmiri political leaders, shut down communication everywhere in the region, cutting off access both within the country and to the rest of the world, and deployed thousands of Indian troops to curb protests.[9] These conditions continued for months following the announcement, despite the Indian government’s denial of any unrest or instability.

In December of 2020, over a year later, the first sign of a return to normalcy appeared as Kashmiris voted in the first local elections since the revoking of their special status.[10] With Kashmir now a federal territory ruled directly by India, the BJP made a major push to unite Kashmiris under their nationalist message and earn votes. However, many Kashmiri separatist parties united on a strong front as well, with many carrying anger towards the BJP over the events surrounding Article 370.[11] The BJP has so far been quite successful, winning 74 seats in the 280-seat District Development Council, the elected local government of the Jammu and Kashmir territory.[12]

Their claims of democracy and normalcy, however, have been less convincing. This is due to the many Kashmiri politicians and public figures still in detention or under threat, the hurried calling of the election, and the obvious BJP propaganda being paraded throughout the region.[13]

Kashmir, although in a better state than last year, seems firmly under the grip of the Indian government and forever changed in the eyes of both Indian domestic law and international law. The state of normalcy that Kashmiris may now be seeking will look very different than the autonomy they are accustomed to and were once legally entitled to.

The Indian government’s perspective on the issue is clear: they believe Kashmir is a vital part of India that will benefit from being a part of the Indian democracy. They attribute the anti-India sentiment in Kashmir to outside forces such as the Pakistani government.[14] Kashmiris, on the other hand, have a distinct identity connected to both Kashmir and Islam. Consequently, they want to govern themselves. Based on opinion polls, nearly 90 percent of Kashmiris feel this way, while the Hindu majority in Jammu and the large Buddhist population in Ladakh are generally content under Indian rule.[15] Kashmir’s substantial Muslim population, which has faced centuries of injustice, will never be satisfied under the rule of a Hindu-majority country like India.

If India continues to assert its rule, Kashmir will continue to be ravaged by internal protests, instability, and discontent. It is the responsibility of international agencies like the UN to recognize the religious issue at play and demand Kashmir gain back its autonomy.

However, there might not be any organizations or countries willing to combat the largest democracy in the world. Therefore, as long as nationalist sentiment rages on in India, Kashmiris may be looking at their new normal.

[1] “Kashmir.” Encyclopedia Britannica, Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc., 

[2] Srivastava, Spriha. “India Revokes Special Status for Kashmir. Here’s What It Means.” CNBC, CNBC, 9 Aug. 2019, 

[3] “Kashmir Article 370: Article 370 and 35(A) Revoked: How It Would Change the Face of Kashmir.” The Economic Times, Economic Times, 5 Aug. 2019,

[4] “Kashmir Special Status Explained: What Are Articles 370 and 35A?” Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera, 5 Aug. 2019, 

[5] Supra. See note 2.

[6] Halder, Anirban. “How J&K’s Special Status Was ‘Diluted’ over the Years.” The Times of India, TOI, 6 Aug. 2019,

[7] Supra. See note 3.

[8] “Full Text of Govt’s Proposal to Revoke Article 370 in Kashmir.” Business Today, 5 Aug. 2019,

[9] Samuels, Elyse. “Kashmir: The Indian Government vs. the Facts on the Ground.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 23 Aug. 2019, 

[10] Fareed, Rifat. “What Do the Local Elections Mean for Kashmiris?” Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera, 4 Dec. 2020, 

[11] Schmall, Emily. “Kashmir Votes, and India Hails It as Normalcy in a Dominated Region.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 22 Dec. 2020, 

[12] Press Trust of India. “J&K DDC Election Results: Winning Candidates Declared at 276 Seats; PAGD Gets 110, BJP 74.” Firstpost, 23 Dec. 2020, 

[13] Supra. See note 10.

[14] “Kashmir Developments – An Internal Matter for India.” The Jammu and Kashmir Issue,

[15] “87 Pct in Kashmir Valley Want Independence – Poll.” Reuters, Thomson Reuters, 13 Aug. 2007,

Google LLC v. Oracle America Inc

BY: Maya Valliath

Maya Valliath is a sophomore in the College studying mathematics and political economy. She is currently an assistant editor for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

On October 7, 2020, the Supreme Court heard oral arguments for a case that has been in the making for over a decade. In 2005, after Google’s negotiations with Sun Microsystems, an American software company, to use its Java API in its Android platform fell through, Google proceeded to use Java’s API in its platform without a license. When Oracle acquired Sun Microsystems in 2010, Oracle sued Google for copyright infringement and years of appeals have ensued.[1]

The case heard before the Supreme Court in October sought to settle whether or not the use of Java’s API fell under the exclusive rights of Oracle and whether copyright law protected “a software interface” as a whole.[2]

Google’s Argument

A central theme of the hearing was addressing whether or not the ubiquity of Java’s API conferred fair use rights. Thomas C. Goldstein, representing Google, relied on Section 102(b) of US Code law, which states:

In no case does copyright protection for an original work of authorship extend to any idea, procedure, process, system, method of operation, concept, principle, or discovery, regardless of the form in which it is described, explained, illustrated, or embodied in such work.[3]

Goldstein essentially argued that the Java API is a non-creative method of operation that can be used to make creative products, and therefore Oracle does not have the right to control who expresses its API.[4] The 1880 Baker v. Selden case, which crystalized the idea-expression dichotomy in copyright law, was also heavily referenced in the hearing:

The copyright protection for a book explaining an art or system extends only to the author’s unique explanation of it and does not prevent others from using the system or the forms incidentally used.[5]

By framing Oracle’s Java API as a method of operating, Goldstein argued that Oracle does not have the exclusive right to the use of its API. Justices likened the use of the API to using a QWERTY keyboard; something that if its expression was protected by copyright, would have detrimental consequences for the consumers of several industries and generally hamper productivity and innovation.[6]

Oracle’s Argument

Oracle’s representation, E. Joshua Rosenkranz, outlined two legal principles to argue that Google’s use of the Java API did not constitute fair use. Rosenkranz first stated:

Congress defined literary work to include software and granted copyright protection as long as the code is original. Google conceded Oracle’s code is original. That’s the end of the question.[7]

Rosenkranz went on to argue that Google’s use of the Java API in its own Android software served the exact same purpose that it did in Java. Rosenkranz also made sure to point out that other companies have paid millions of dollars to license the use of Oracle’s Java API. Echoing Justice Alito, he also made clear that major competitors of Google’s, such as Apple, do not use the Java API and have invested billions of dollars to create their own original software, emphasizing that software development as a whole does not rely on Oracle’s Java API. He argued that by granting Google fair use rights because the API was ubiquitous in the software industry, and consequently denying Oracle licensing rights, Oracle was being punished for its innovation and brilliance. Following up on the QWERTY metaphor, Rosenkranz articulated that the burden of innovation would not fall on consumers, a worry of the Justices, but rather on “independent economic actors.” In response to Goldstein’s comment that the Java API was uncreative, Rosenkranz argued that the complexity of the API made it so that it was inherently creative.[8]

Implications of the Upcoming Decision

As the software industry eagerly awaits the SCOTUS outcome, two important factors hang in the balance. It boils down to an almost principal economic problem: how does the government simultaneously lower barriers to entry for innovation while also incentivizing it? On one hand, Google argued several times that siding with Oracle would stifle productivity and innovation in the software industry, forcing developers to reinvent the wheel. On the other hand, Oracle argued that by making its Java API free to use without licensing rights and copyright protections, it would disincentivize the creation of better or newer technologies because their creation would no longer be profitable.

[1]Google LLC v. Oracle America, Inc.: The Supreme Court Considers the “Copyright Lawsuit of the Decade”, Harvard Journal of Law & Technology (2020), (last visited Jan 4, 2021).

[2]Google LLC v. Oracle America Inc, Oyez, (last visited Jan 3, 2021).

[3]17 U.S. Code § 102 – Subject matter of copyright: In general, Legal Information Institute (1990), (last visited Jan 4, 2021).

[4]Google LLC v. Oracle America Inc, Oyez, (last visited Jan 3, 2021).

[5] Baker v. Selden, 101 U.S. 99, 25 L. Ed. 841, 1879 U.S. LEXIS 1888, 11 Otto 99 (U.S. Jan. 19, 1880).

[6] Idem.

[7] Idem.

[8] Idem.

An Overview of the 25th Amendment

BY: Lauren Scarff

Lauren Scarff is a junior in the School of Foreign Service studying International Politics. She is currently a managing editor for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

In the aftermath of the insurrection and violence in the Capitol on January 6th, many citizens and lawmakers have called on Vice President Mike Pence to invoke the 25th Amendment to remove President Donald Trump from office.[1] The 25th Amendment is one of the newest amendments to the U.S. Constitution and has rarely been invoked in U.S. history.[2] This moment in time offers a unique opportunity to examine the 25th Amendment’s history, purpose, and current significance.

Drafting of the 25th Amendment began in 1955 as President Eisenhower was recovering from a heart attack. Eisenhower was affected not only by his own health scare, but also by the serious illnesses other presidents had experienced. For example, Woodrow Wilson served the final months of his term incapacitated from a stroke he had suffered in 1919.[3] These concerns over the potential chaos that may ensue should a sitting president ever be unable to perform his duties drove Congress to finally pass the 25th Amendment in 1965, but only after the tragic assassination of John F. Kennedy emphasized the need for such an amendment. The 25th Amendment was ratified in 1967.[4]

The purpose of the 25th Amendment is to assure there is never any confusion over who is acting as president, and the amendment achieves this in four sections.[5] The first section outlines that should a president be removed, the vice president will take his or her place. The second section delineates how presidents should resolve a vacancy in the vice presidency. The third section allows the president to temporarily appoint the vice president as the acting president. Finally, the fourth section, the most relevant given recent events, creates a process through which the vice president and the president’s cabinet can remove a sitting president.[6] The first three sections of the 25th Amendment have previously been invoked; however, the fourth section has never been used since the amendment was ratified.[7]

The fourth section of the 25th Amendment states that if the vice president and a majority of the president’s cabinet submit to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives a written statement declaring that the president is “unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office,” the vice president will assume the position of acting president.[8] This may appear to be the easiest way to remove a president from office; however, section four also indicates that should the president affirm that he or she is, in fact, able to carry out his or her duties, he or she then can resume office. The president can only be officially removed if the vice president objects to the president’s assertion that he or she is fit for office, and two-thirds of Congress votes to support this objection.

There are a few interesting textual ambiguities that have been recently misconstrued by the media and others. The first of which being what was meant by “unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office.”[9] Senator Birch Bayh, one of the authors of the 25th Amendment, made it abundantly clear in debates that the 25th Amendment was not to be used for political or partisan purposes. Senator Bayh believed that the amendment should only be used “if the President was as nutty as a fruitcake. Mental illness, pure and simple, is the only time this provision would be used.”[10]  The 25th Amendment was never intended to be an easier way to impeach and remove a president or to remove a president on the grounds that he or she is disliked.

The second ambiguity of the amendment comes in the process in which a president could assert that he or she is fit for office and reclaim power. One reading of this portion of the amendment indicates that there would be multiple transitions of power from the president, to the vice president, back to the president, and potentially back to the vice president if the vice president chooses to object to the president’s ability to fulfill his or her duties. This interpretation could result in a constitutional crisis as the president and vice president each claim power over the White House and the military.[11] The intention of the text, however, is that the president only reclaims power if the vice president does not object. The text states “the President […] shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President [objects].”[12] This means that after the vice president initially assumes the role of acting president, he or she will continue in that role until Congress votes on whether or not to support the vice president’s objection to the president’s ability to be in office.

At these crucial points in the history of the United States, it is important to consider and understand the processes put in place to protect American democracy. Lawmakers, the media, and citizens are all vulnerable to misinterpretations of legislation; however, at critical moments, misinterpretation can lead to constitutional crises. The only way to prevent this is to understand the history, purpose, and pitfalls of pieces of legislation.

[1] Miles Parks, “What the 25th Amendment Says About Removing a Sitting President,” NPR (Jan. 7, 2021, 2:15 PM),

[2] Chloe Jones, “What is the 25th Amendment and what could it mean for Trump?” PBS (Jan. 8, 2021, 1:58 PM),

[3] Erin Blakemore, “Calls to Replace Trump via the 25th Amendment are growing. Here’s why it’s never happened before,” National Geographic (Jan. 7, 2021),

[4] Parks, supra note 1.

[5] Brian C. Kalt, “The Entire Point of the 25th Amendment,” The Atlantic (Jan. 8, 2021),

[6] U.S. Const. amend. XXV.

[7] Blakemore, supra note 3.

[8] U.S. Const. amend. XXV § 4.

[9] U.S. Const. amend. XXV § 4.

[10] Birch Bayh, One Heartbeat Away: Presidential Disability and Succession 283 (1968).

[11] Kalt, supra note 5.

[12] U.S. Const. amend. XXV § 4.

SCOTUS Preview: The Fourth Amendment, Police Accountability, and Unsuccessful Seizures

BY: Priyanka Shingwekar

Priyanka is a sophomore in the College of Georgetown University studying government, economics, and philosophy. She is a line editor for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

This term in Torres v. Madrid, the U.S. Supreme Court will confront a case with important questions for police accountability under the Fourth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.[1] In the wake of the Black Lives Matter protests this summer, the verdict of Torres is being closely monitored. The outcome could potentially create a constitutional loophole for the use of excessive force by the police when pursuing a suspect without a warrant. The first question before the Court is whether law enforcement officers conduct a “seizure” within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment when they attempt to detain a suspect by the use of physical force but are unsuccessful. The second question is whether physical force must be successful in detaining a suspect to constitute a “seizure.”[2]

In 2014, New Mexico State Police officers Richard Williamson and Janice Madrid were acting upon an arrest warrant for Kayenta Jackson that led them to an apartment complex in Albuquerque.[3] Another citizen, Roxanne Torres was in the parking lot of the apartment complex as the officers approached her car. Perceiving the officers as carjackers, Torres entered her vehicle and drove forward. The officers shot at her twice, injuring Torres as she left the scene. Officers Madrid and Williamson testified that they fired at the driver to stop the car from hitting Madrid out of fear of injury. Torres was later arrested and pleaded no contest to three crimes: aggravating fleeing from a law enforcement officer, assault on a police officer, and unlawfully taking a motor vehicle. A no contest plea means, while she did not admit guilt, she did admit the truth of the facts alleged in the indictment.[4]

            In October 2016, Torres filed a complaint against the police officers in the federal district court, alleging the excessive use of force as a violation of her Fourth Amendment rights.[5] Her claim against the officers is that they committed a violation of the Fourth Amendment for unreasonable seizure in the shooting. However, the court concluded that the officers had not successfully seized Torres at the time of the shooting. Without a seizure to cite, the court decided that there could be no violation of the Fourth Amendment’s prohibition of unreasonable search and seizure. Therefore, the district court granted summary judgement for the officers. The U.S. Court of Appeals for the Tenth Circuit affirmed the lower court’s decision.[6] Thus, Torres filed an appeal with the Supreme Court. Torres asked the Supreme Court to reverse and hold that whenever the police use deadly force, such as firing their weapons to restrain someone, the police seize that person within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment, even if the person eludes police custody.

            With this case, the Court will need to clarify what constitutes as a seizure under the Fourth Amendment. Specifically, the Justices will need to delineate the differences between touching someone directly with one’s hands and using one’s hands to touch another person with an inanimate object, on the other in a constitutional definition of a seizure.[7] One question that arose briefly at the oral argument in this case was whether shooting a person in the back qualifies as a seizure even though the officer’s “touching” of or applying physical force to the suspect happened indirectly through the projectile of a bullet.[8] Furthermore, the second issue of this case is whether an unsuccessful seizure is still considered a seizure for purposes of the Fourth Amendment. The officers maintained that to successfully complete a Fourth Amendment seizure, they would have had to intentionally acquire physical control, which did not occur because Torres fled from the scene. However, the Court had previously ruled in California v. Hodari D. in 1991 that touching or applying physical force to the suspect is a seizure, even if the touching or physical force fails to lead to successful apprehension.[9] The new question in front of the Court is whether that seizure would be considered unreasonable and, thus, a violation of Torres’ Fourth Amendment rights.

            Although this case does not directly pertain to a current anti-police protest, Torres could create a loophole that would give the police more protection in future excessive force cases. In an amicus brief, the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund wrote that a ruling in favor for the police could “open the door to countless more unjustified shootings against innocent people, a burden that will disproportionately affect African-American communities.”[10] In cases where victims of police brutality are able to flee, they may not be able to rightfully contest the use of excessive force that would have violated the Fourth Amendment. If the Court rules that the unreasonable shooting of Torres does not constitute an illegal seizure, this could also have dangerous results for the use of other forms of physical force, such as tasers or batons. At a time where the U.S. has become increasingly aware of police brutality, the verdict of Torres v. Madrid is anxiously awaited.

            I believe that the Court should rule in favor of Torres in this case. The Fourth Amendment’s protection against unreasonable searches and seizures embodies the core values of security and privacy, and a verdict for the police officers would go against the central aim of the amendment’s provisions. To accomplish this, the definition of a “seizure” should be somewhat expanded to encompass the different ways a police officer can apply force, whether through physical touch or through a bullet.

[1] Torres v. Madrid, SCOTUSblog,

[2] Torres v. Madrid, SCOTUSblog.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Robert A. Beattey, “What You Should Know About Pleading ‘No Contest,’” Ohio State Bar Association, September 27, 2016,

[5] Torres v. Madrid, Constitutional Accountability Center, 2021,

[6] Torres v. Madrid, SCOTUSblog.

[7] Sherry F. Colb, “What Is a Seizure, and What Is a Holding? The Court Hears Argument in Torres v. Madrid,” Verdict Justia, November 4, 2020,

[8] Torres v. Madrid, SCOTUSblog.

[9] California v. Hodari D., Oyez,

[10] Nick Sibilla, “Supreme Court Could Create New Fourth Amendment Loophole For Police Shootings,” Forbes, October 12, 2020,

Working Through Challenges to Repatriating Foreign Children of the Islamic State

BY: Veronika Matysiak

Veronika Matysiak is a sophomore in the School of Foreign Service studying international relations and affairs. She is a line editor for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

The functional defeat of the Islamic State (IS), designated a terrorist organization by the US State Department, the European Union, and the UN Security Council, has not ended the problems arising from the group.[1] IS, once committed to imposing a fundamental Islamic theocratic state or proto-state, controlled significant swaths of Iraq and Syria but was functionally defeated after losing 95 percent of its territory by the end of 2017.[2] Captured fighters and families have been relocated to detention camps in Syria, where 12,300 of the 70,000 detainees are foreign nationals.[3] A significant number that remain in the camps are women who emigrated from western states to marry fighters and their children from those marriages. From this, a problem arises. What is the legal status of these women and children? Many of the women left their homes voluntarily: some disposed of their passports, while others renounced their citizenship. Some committed acts of terrorism, while others just abetted. The reality is that many states do not want these women back, nor the children that come with them.

Many states have either formally or informally prohibited IS women from reentry. On one end of the spectrum, the United Kingdom has formally divested over 100 fighters and women of their citizenships.[4] Yet, on the other end, Russia, Malaysia, Uzbekistan, Kosovo, and Tajikistan have attempted to repatriate IS participants.[5] In a murky middle ground, the US has extradited some citizens, while France has allowed some citizens to be tried on terrorism charges in Iraq and sentenced to death.[6] There is no internationally consistent approach to repatriating IS women, and few approaches are consistent with international law, especially in regard to children born to IS.

Of the 12,300 foreign nationals in Syrian detention camps, 8,700 are children.[7] By closing off access to consular assistance to IS women, states are effectively rendering children stateless for the sins of their parents. This is in violation of several international conventions, namely the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, UN Conventions on Statelessness, the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, and the European Convention on Nationality. Each of these agreements explicitly secures the right of all children “to acquire a nationality,” or for states to facilitate protection for children born to nationals.[8] [9] These protections stem from the concepts expressed in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights “that childhood is entitled to special care and assistance.” First, this right is protected by the family, “the fundamental group of society.”[10] In this case, once the family has proven unable to properly provide for the child, the duty falls on the state, which is explicitly named as a protector in the conventions.

It is inaccurate to claim that states are not responsible for ensuring these rights; rather, it is unpopular politically for states to devote resources to those who are perceived as traitors to their country. Violations of these conventions cannot be dismissed as a necessary by-product of national security concerns associated with repatriating IS fighters. While there is a legitimate security element that may be considered, it cannot outweigh the rights guaranteed to children for their protection and development. Beyond even moral arguments, there are emerging tangible case studies that demonstrate it is possible to fully repatriate former IS associates.[11] The fact that there is no effective enforcement arm of these conventions does not invalidate state commitments; if anything, it reinforces that the rights of those who have no other protection are self-evident.

[1] Foreign Terrorist Organizations – United States Department of State, U.S. Department of State (2020),

[2] Timeline: the Rise, Spread, and Fall of the Islamic State, Wilson Center (2019),

[3] Henrik Pryser Libell, ISIS Wife’s Return to Norway Divides Government, The New York Times (2020),

[4] Jamie Dettmer, Britain Strips More Than 100 Islamic State Fighters of Citizenship, Voice of America (2017),

[5] Women and Children First: Repatriating the Westerners Affiliated with ISIS, Crisis Group (2019),

[6] Women and Children First, supra note 5.

[7] Libell, supra note 3.

[8] International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, UN OHCHR, 23 March 1976;

Convention on the Rights of the Child, UN OHCHR, 2 September 1990.

[9] European Convention on Nationality, Council of Europe, 6 November 1997.

[10] Convention on the Rights of the Child, supra note 8.

[11] Women and Children First, supra note 5.

How a Unanimous US Supreme Court Victory is Helping to Change the US Military’s Culture of Sexual Assault

BY: Paris Nguyen

Paris is a sophomore in the School of Foreign Service majoring in International Politics. He is a line editor for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

In a 2019 study on sexual misconduct in the military conducted by the Department of Defense, accountability and discipline were identified as crucial factors that were vital to a positive work culture. Holding service members liable for their actions and enforcing punishment led to a more structured and positive environment while tolerating negative behaviors created harmful working environments.[1] Surveys conducted in the study further revealed that senior leadership had a history of ignoring infractions concerning sexual harassment.[2] Some individuals did not even believe those infractions were inappropriate.[3] By ignoring any cases of sexual harassment, the leadership within the military effectively normalized the inappropriate behavior. This creates a toxic military culture that weakens the “zero tolerance” policy of the armed forces. Since 2012, the number of reported sexual assaults within the US military has rapidly increased and reached an all-time high of 6,236 cases in 2019.[4] Even more alarming is the fact that this number fails to account for the unreported assaults and cases involving civilians or foreign nationals. The US military has a clear problem with sexual assault that stems from its culture of complacency towards offenders, and unfortunately, there exists no easy solution to this issue. However, the recent Supreme Court case of United States V Briggs (2020) serves as a small step in the right direction by holding offenders and leaders accountable for their actions. 

In February of 2014, LtCol Michael Briggs (USAF) was court-martialed in violation of Article 120(a), Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ), for raping Airman First Class DK, a subordinate of his flight squadron.[5] The violation itself occurred in 2005, eight years before the court-martial. Under the current UCMJ, the statute of limitations for the majority of offenses is five years. However, military offenses, “punishable by death, may be tried and punished at any time without limitation.” under Article 43(a).[6] Rape is one of 14 offenses still punishable by death under the UCMJ today. Therefore, the case moved forward resulting in a military judge finding Briggs guilty of rape and sentencing him to dismissal from the Air Force, five months imprisonment, and a reprimand.[7]

Contrary to the UCMJ, Coker V Georgia (1977) established that the death penalty cannot be administered for cases of rape under the 8th amendment.[8] Using this precedent, Briggs took the case to the Court of Appeals for the Armed Forces (CAAF) arguing that the five-year statute of limitations should apply since only offenses punishable by death can be tried indefinitely under UCMJ. The CAAF overturned the Court Martial concluding that “punishable by death” in Article 43(a) of the UCMJ meant “capable of punishment by death when all applicable law is taken into account.”[9] Since Coker V Georgia was an “applicable law,” the case of Briggs was therefore subject to the five-year statute of limitations. The case was dismissed by the CAAF, and Briggs faced no consequences for his actions.

The US appealed this case to the Supreme Court and was granted certiorari on November 15, 2019. In an 8-0 decision, the CAAF’s ruling was overturned enabling the Air Force to reinstate the original Court Martial. In the opinion of the court, led by Justice Alito, he stated that the “punishable by death” statute of limitation exception in the UCMJ is a “term of art… defined by the specification of the punishments set out in the penalty provisions of the UCMJ.”[10] A “term of art” is a phrase that has a precise, specialized meaning.[11] In this case, the specialized meaning of “punishable by death” is tied to the UCMJ, not “all applicable law” as argued by Briggs.

Justice Alito cited three reasons for this decision. First, the UCMJ is the most natural referent for deciding what is “punishable by death,” not other external bodies of law [ie. Coker v. Georgia]. And offenses “punishable by death” includes rape under UCMJ.[12] Second, adopting an interpretation of “punishable by death” that applies “all applicable law” would create a “statute of limitations that no one could have understood with any real confidence.”[13] Essentially, applying “all applicable law” to decide whether rape is punishable by death in the case of Briggs creates numerous other unresolved and complex Constitutional questions. Lastly, because the purpose of the five-year statute of limitations in the UCMJ enacted by Congress is different from the purpose of the Eighth Amendment, the relation between the UCMJ Statute of Limitation and the eighth amendment should be taken lightly.[14] This means that the Eight Amendment should not be relied upon in this case as Briggs had done. In short, the Court believed that “punishable by death” was a term of art that allows the case to be prosecuted indefinitely under UCMJ. 

The decision in United States V Briggs effectively closed the statute of limitations loophole utilized by other offenders to avoid prosecution. In 2000, Master Sgt Richard Collins violently raped Harmony Allen, a military technician. It was not until 2017 that Collins was convicted and sentenced to 16.5 years behind bars only to be released after the CAAF’s ruling on Briggs. Collins, like Briggs, had his charges dropped and walked away facing zero consequences for his actions.[15] Instances such as Briggs and Collins initially escaping justice are detrimental to the US military’s efforts to combat sexual assault because it reaffirms the lack of accountability and leadership within the military justice system and further normalizes the acceptability of sexual assault. Furthermore, it deters current and future victims from coming forward to report their assaults because they rightfully believe that not much will occur after a report is made. By reversing the CAAF’s decision, the Supreme Court helped combat the current culture of sexual assault by enabling the military to prosecute any other offenders who utilized the statute of limitations loophole. This in turn helps restore faith in the military justice system by demonstrating that offenders will face consequences for their actions. Hopefully, this will lead to more victims feeling confident enough to speak up and hold offenders accountable. In addition, as concluded by the DOD study, the accountability and discipline that emerged from the decision help to create a more structured and positive work culture. While the decision in US v. Briggs alone cannot prevent further incidents of sexual assault from occurring, it serves as a small victory in the larger battle against the current culture of sexual assault in the US military.

When asked about the military’s rampant sexual assault problem, Former Defense Secretary Chuck Hagel stated that “We need cultural change, where every service member is treated with dignity and respect, where all allegations of inappropriate behavior are treated with seriousness, where victims’ privacy is protected, where bystanders are motivated to intervene and where offenders know that they will be held accountable by strong and effective systems of justice.”[16] This necessary culture change can only begin by holding individuals accountable for their actions to demonstrate that sexual assault will not be tolerated within the US military.

[1]Department of Defense. 2019. Military Service Gender Relations Focus Groups Overview Report. [online] Available at:

[2] Id.

[3] Id.

[4] Department of Defense. 2020. Annual Report on Sexual Assault In The Military. [online] Available at:

[5] United States v. Briggs, No. 16-0711-AF (C.A.A.F 2019)

[6] Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ), 10 U. S. C. § 843(a) (2006)

[7] United States v. Briggs, No. 16-0711-AF (C.A.A.F 2019)

[8] Coker v. Georgia, 433 U.S. 584 (1977)

[9] United States v. Briggs, No. 16-0711-AF (C.A.A.F 2019)

[10] United States v. Briggs, 592 U.S. 1 (2020)

[11] Term of Art, Merriam Webster’s Dictionary. (11th ed. 2020)

[12] United States v. Briggs, 592 U.S. 1 (2020)

[13] Id.

[14] Id.

[15] Catherine Valentine, Et. al, Loophole lets convicted military rapists walk free; victim shares her story, Knoe News. (May 14, 2019)

[16] Jim Garamone, SecDef calls for culture of dignity, respect, Am. Forces Press Service. (May 8, 2013)

The Guantanamo Veil: The Right of Habeas Corpus to Detainees Under the Jurisdiction of the United States

BY: Karan Balaji

Karan is a sophomore in the School of Foreign Service studying international political economy. He is currently an editorial assistant for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

Since the War on Terror was launched by the United States in response to the tragic attacks of 9/11, the treatment of suspected terrorists has become a widely-debated legal issue. One particular question stands out—should prisoners held in the U.S. naval base of Guantanamo Bay have the right to habeas corpus? In other words, do these detainees reserve the right to challenge the legality of their restraint by another entity? I argue here that these prisoners not only deserve the right to habeas, but that habeas must be granted to anyone detained within the jurisdiction of the United States.

To understand why prisoners detained on soil under United States jurisdiction do reserve the right to habeas, it is necessary to compare the decision-making behind two landmark cases regarding habeas and national jurisdiction— Johnson v. Eisentrager, 339 U.S. (1950), and Rasul v. Bush, 542 U.S. 466 (2004). In Eisentrager, the Court dismissed a petition for habeas corpus by twenty-one German detainees, stating that the respondents’ detainments did not lie within the bounds of the United States’ federal courts’ jurisdiction. Rasul ruled in favor of detainees in the American naval base at Guantanamo Bay petitioning for habeas, ruling that the base was within the jurisdiction of the United States, where habeas rights could be applied.

The Rasul Court states:

“The United States occupies the base, which comprises 45 square miles of land and water along the southeast coast of Cuba, pursuant to a 1903 Lease Agreement executed with the newly independent Republic of Cuba … “the Republic of Cuba consents that during the period of the occupation by the United States . . . the United States shall exercise complete jurisdiction and control over and within said areas.” In 1934, the parties entered into a treaty providing that, absent an agreement to modify or abrogate the lease, the lease would remain in effect “[s]o long as the United States of America shall not abandon the . . . naval station of Guantanamo.” Rasul v. Bush, 542 U.S. 466, 471 (2004).

The Court explicitly acknowledges that the United States could exercise “complete jurisdiction and control” over the leased areas provided by the lease agreement with Cuba, over which the Guantanamo Bay naval base exists. Not only does the United States exercise jurisdiction over the territory in which Guantanamo detainees are currently being held, as per the lease agreement, but after 1934, the United States could exercise such jurisdiction in perpetuity as the lease would “remain in effect” until the United States withdrew from the naval base. Id., at 471.

In order to dismiss the petition for habeas filed by the twenty-one respondents in Eisentrager, the Court resorts to a six-part test to determine whether the detainees are constitutionally entitled to sue for habeas. The Court states:

“We are here confronted with a decision whose basic premise is that these prisoners are entitled, as a constitutional right, to sue in some court of the United States for a writ of habeas corpus. To support that assumption, we must hold that a prisoner of our military authorities is constitutionally entitled to the writ, even though he (a) is an enemy alien; (b) has never been or resided in the United States; (c) was captured outside of our territory and there held in military custody as a prisoner of war; (d) was tried and convicted by a Military Commission sitting outside the United States; (e) for offenses against laws of war committed outside the United States; (f) and is at all times imprisoned outside the United States. We have pointed out that the privilege of litigation has been extended to aliens, whether friendly or enemy, only because permitting their presence in the country implied protection. No such basis can be invoked here, for these prisoners at no relevant time were within any territory over which the United States is sovereign, and the scenes of their offense, their capture, their trial and their punishment were all beyond the territorial jurisdiction of any court of the United States.” Johnson v. Eisentrager, 339 U.S. 763, 777-778 (1950).

The Court also mentions that “in extending constitutional protections beyond the citizenry, the Court has been at pains to point out that it was the alien’s presence within its territorial jurisdiction that gave the Judiciary power to act,” stating, however, that war “exposes the relative vulnerability of the alien’s status. The security and protection enjoyed while the nation of his allegiance remains in amity with the United States are greatly impaired when his nation takes up arms against us.” Id., at 771.

Using this test, the Eisentrager Court found it appropriate to deny any constitutional claims by the respondents to receive habeas. In essence, the Court employs all six points of contention to determine whether the constitutional right to habeas (as provided by Art. I, sec. 9, c. 2—the Suspension Clause—of the Constitution) applies to the German detainees. The German detainees ultimately fail this test (“no right to the writ of habeas corpus appears.” Id., at 781). Additionally, the Court stresses that the offense, capture, trial, and punishment of the detainees were “beyond the territorial jurisdiction of any court of the United States,” and that the constitutional rights of an alien are impaired if the alien is a national of a country at war with the United States. This is where an important constitutional tool comes into play—the Suspension Clause.

The Clause states “The Privilege of the Writ of Habeas Corpus shall not be suspended, unless when in Cases of Rebellion or Invasion the public Safety may require it.” U.S. Const. art. I, sec. 9, c. 2. There is no indication of the citizenship status of a prisoner in the clause, and the Eisentrager Court itself does not consider citizenship to be the central point of contention. It can be reasonably inferred from all contentions in the Court’s test, as well as the emphasis placed on the facts of the detainees’ detainment’s far removal from the territorial jurisdiction of U.S. courts, that the facts of an alien’s detainment must comply with all factors of the six-part test, the extraterritoriality of their detainment, and the belligerent status of the alien’s residential nation in order for the alien to be denied their constitutional right to habeas as provided for by the Suspension Clause. The decision of Eisentrager is not challenged, and its framework acts as precedent for constitutional determination.

Rasul v. Bush demonstrates that providing substantial evidence of differentiability in the facts of an alien’s detainment and the precedent set by Eisentrager allow for an alien to exercise their right to habeas. Ruling in favor of the detainee petitioners, the Rasul Court states:

“Petitioners in these cases differ from the Eisentrager detainees in important respects: They are not nationals of countries at war with the United States, and they deny that they have engaged in or plotted acts of aggression against the United States; they have never been afforded access to any tribunal, much less charged with and convicted of wrongdoing; and for more than two years they have been imprisoned in territory over which the United States exercises exclusive jurisdiction and control. Not only are petitioners differently situated from the Eisentrager detainees, but the Court in Eisentrager made quite clear that all six of the facts critical to its disposition were relevant only to the question of the prisoners’ constitutional entitlement to habeas corpus.” Rasul v. Bush, 542 U.S. 466, 476 (2004).

In order to make its decision in favor of the detainees, the Court contrasts the situation of the detainees with the situation of Eisentrager respondents and subsequently takes crucial note of how the test utilized in Eisentrager was relevant to the Germans’ constitutional entitlement to habeas. A similar approach must be taken to analyze the facts of Guantanamo prisoners’ detainments, to demonstrate that their cases share a similar fact pattern with the petitioners in Rasul, but that their detainment does not comply with the framework created by Eisentrager. Understanding that the United States exercises jurisdiction over the Guantanamo Bay naval base is the first and foremost indication that the facts of Guantanamo detainment differ too greatly from the story of Eisentrager. The Guantanamo detainees are currently being held within the territorial jurisdiction of the United States, already conflicting with the facts of the detainment of the German respondents, who were imprisoned in a United States army-run prison on occupied German soil. The Eisentrager Court relies on the fact that the German detainees’ “trial and their punishment were all beyond the territorial jurisdiction of any court of the United States,” and so they could rightfully withhold any constitutional right for the aliens. However, acknowledging the Court’s claim that “the Court has been at pains to point out that it was the alien’s presence within its territorial jurisdiction that gave the Judiciary power to act,” Guantanamo detainees are expressly granted the constitutional right to habeas corpus by the precedent set by Eisentrager as the naval base at Guantanamo Bay is within the territorial jurisdiction of the United States. Johnson v. Eisentrager, 339 U.S. 763, 778 (1950), Id., at 771. 

Of course, it’s important to understand the historical application of rights under the jurisdiction of a state, and its derivation from common law. The Rasul Court recalls that under common law, “courts exercised habeas jurisdiction over the claims of aliens detained within sovereign territory of the realm, as well as the claims of persons detained in the so-called “exempt jurisdictions,” where ordinary writs did not run, and all other dominions under the sovereign’s control.” Rasul v. Bush , 542 U.S. 466, 481-482 (2004). Pointing to cases like United States v. Villato, where habeas relief was granted to non-citizen detainees in the United States, the Court further backed their claim that common law, as utilized in the United States, provided for habeas relief to non-citizens under the jurisdiction of the United States. Id., at 481. Further historical evidence of the writ of habeas corpus extending anywhere under the jurisdiction of a state is provided by Judge Rodgers in his dissent of Boumediene v. Bush, 476 F.3d (D.C. Cir. 2007):

“There is ample evidence that the writ did issue to faraway lands. In Ex parte Anderson, 3 El. & El. 487, 121 Eng. Rep. 525 (Q.B.1861), superseded by statute, 25 & 26 Vict., c. 20, § 1, the Court of Queen’s Bench exercised its common-law powers to issue a writ of habeas corpus to Quebec in Upper Canada after expressly acknowledging that it was “sensible of the inconvenience which may result from such a step.” Id. at 494-95, 121 Eng. Rep. at 527-28; see also Brown, 5 B. & S. 280, 122 Eng. Rep. 835 (issuing a writ to the Isle of Man in the sea between England and Ireland). English common-law courts also recognized the power to issue habeas corpus in India, even to non-subjects, and did so notwithstanding competition from local courts, well before England recognized its sovereignty in India.” Id., at 1003.

Justice Rodgers employs common law to argue that state authorities like the English government may extend the writ of habeas to anywhere under its jurisdiction, regardless of hindrance in the case involving Upper Canada and regardless of sovereignty in the issuing of habeas corpus in India. In the same light of traditional jurisprudence, the Rasul Court states “No party questions the District Court’s jurisdiction over petitioners’ custodians.” Rasul v. Bush, 542 U.S. 466, 483 (2004). Theoretically, habeas corpus, as expressed in the Suspension Clause, should extend over any territory where an American official exercises the jurisdiction of the United States and, in this case, to an American custodian over prisoners held in Guantanamo Bay. Liberal democracies today champion the use of legal institutions because of their ability to standardize the treatment of any individual under the supervision of the state. Unlike in, say, a theocracy, where inequality is fostered by adherence to archaic custom and laws not rooted in reason, a liberal state theoretically upholds egalitarianism under the presumption that law is absolute. Guantanamo Bay suggests otherwise, standing as unfortunate evidence that law is merely “absolute” to those who can gain proper exposure to it.

To Know or Not to Know: Anonymous Reproductive Donors and Their Children

BY: Solveig Baylor

Solveig is a junior at Georgetown University studying Philosophy, Economics, and Math. She is currently a managing editor for the Georgetown University Undergraduate Law Review.

Pandemic isolation has motivated thousands to search for meaningful connection, including through finding their long-lost biological parents.[1] Children conceived through Assisted Reproductive Technologies (ART) such as in vetro fertilization (IVF), surrogacy, artificial insemination, and others are often denied information about their biological origin informally by their parents.[2] Cryobanks offer known or anonymous options for donation, the latter guaranteeing that the child and his or her parents will not know the donor’s identity and vice versa.[3] Many suggest that even though donor-conceived children maintain fulfilling relationships with the parents that raised them, donor-conceived adults often indicate a hole in their identity left by their unknown biological origins.[4] Generally a child cannot communicate with the donor until 18 years of age, at which point processes vary for facilitating outreach, but both the child and donor must agree to reveal identifying information.[5] More often than not, these requests hinge on the donor’s response: a 2011 study found 82 percent of donor-conceived children would like contact with their donor.[6] The question remains of how the rights of the child are weighed against those of the involved adults.

Cryobanks, fertility organizations, and the law generally prioritize the donor’s right to privacy. The option to anonymously donate limits the human element of connection. This reduces repercussions like donor-conceived children interfering with donors’ families, parentage issues, and potential financial exploitation. Many donate to earn money for side income or when cash-strapped, the amount depending on whether they are eggs or sperm, so anonymity limits these social complexities.[7] But how far does this privately-protected right to privacy extend? In Johnson v. Superior Court (California Cryobank, Inc.), a Santa Barbara family sued California Cryobank, one of the largest and most-reputable sperm banks in the country, for not disclosing a donor’s history of kidney failure.[8] While donors fill out medical history and undergo medical tests, the family had not received any of this information. The court found that California Cryobank’s protection of the donor’s privacy was not absolute, and that the rights of the child’s health and the parent’s redress take priority.[9] This triumph helps balance the scales of donor-conceived children’s rights.

Case law and academia have broadened to include a wide range of children’s rights. Questions of custody through family and contract law have guided this ethical minefield without establishing broad, constrictive rulings.[10] Legal scholarship has addressed complicated questions of citizenship like in the case of international surrogates or ART babies born abroad to American citizens.[11] Answers to these questions depend on the U.S. state, causing families to strategize the birthplace of their child. While citizenship questions helped some, it does not answer the question of the child’s right to know his or her biological origin.

This “right to know” has gained international academic and legal attention. Austria, the United Kingdom, Sweden, and New Zealand have required clinics to record donor medical and identifiable information.[12] Sweden was the first country to ban anonymous donations in 1984, stipulating the child has the right “when sufficiently mature” to know the donor’s identity.[13] Numerous studies have shown, as a result, that parents of donor-conceived children disclosed more often and earlier, cultivating a culture of openness and recognizing the child’s right to know.[14] British law allowed donor-conceived adults to obtain donor information from the national Human Embryology and Fertility Authority register beginning in April 2005.[15] At the same time, all clinics obtained identifiable information from donors, meaning those donor-conceived adults could receive this information starting in 2023.[16] The United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child ratified the Convention on the Rights of the Child, in which Article 7 contains a child’s right to know their parents.[17] With reference to donor-conceived children, the Committee interprets this as the right to know biological origin.[18] This is supported by Article 8 which secures the child’s right to “preserve his or her identity, including nationality, name, and family relations.”[19] The European Court of Human Rights protects this right to a lesser degree, contending this right to identity “is not absolute” as this may conflict with a family’s private rights.[20]

A child’s right to know still faces barriers in some countries. As of March 2020, Japan lacks any statutory laws regulating sperm or oocyte donations.[21] Only anonymous donors may be used in Singapore, Slovenia, and Vietnam.[22] Anonymity persists culturally in France and Greece since they see the parent-child relationship as purely socially-constructed.[23]

While ART varies in legality by state in the U.S., there is no federal regulation in the field.[24] The Food and Drug Administration dictates the medical information cryobanks must collect from donors, but anonymity is not within its purview.[25] While not as strong of a step as the UK or Sweden, Washington state mandated in 2011 that donor-conceived children have access to identifiable donor information once they reach the age of 18 unless the donor opts out, as opposed to the industry standard of opting in.[26] Contrastingly, states like Oregon and Virginia ratified legislation recognizing that donors and donor-conceived children have no duties or rights to each other.[27] Still, the majority of state legislation concerns questions of parentage, leaving the question of donor anonymity and the child’s rights unanswered.[28]

While largely left unanswered, asking the question of the child’s right to know his or her biological origin is a win in itself. A donor’s privacy remains rightfully important, but how does it stack up against a child’s longing to know where her distinct nose comes from? Or why she laughs the way she does? Or why she is the family’s black sheep? IVF law weighs the rights of children and adults, often unintentionally prioritizing some over others to the child’s detriment.  For ART and certainly beyond, the voiceless must have a voice within the law.

[1] Lisa Selin Davis, Pandemic Sparks More People to Hunt for Their Birthparents, Long Lost Relatives, The Washington Post (September 19, 2020),

[2] Child Rights International Network, A Children’s Rights Approach to

Assisted Reproduction 13, (2018)

[3] For example, see the California Cryobank website

[4] Emma O’Friel, Donor-Conceived Adults: A Lifelong Search for Identity, The Irish Times (July 22, 2017),

[5] California Cryobank, supra note 3.

[6] Ashley Fetters, Finding the Lost Generation of Sperm Donors, The Atlantic (May 18, 2018),

[7] Julie Marquis, Court Limits Anonymity of Sperm Donors, Los Angeles Times (May 20, 2000),

[8] Id.

[9] Johnson v. Superior Court (California Cryobank, Inc.) 95 Cal. Rptr. 2d 867, 878 (Cal. Ct. App. 2000).

[10] Jenna Casolo et al., Assisted Reproductive Technologies, 20 Geo. J. Gender & L. 313, 330-337 (2019).

[11] Kristine S. Knaplund, Baby Without a Country: Determining Citizenship for

Assisted Reproduction Children Born Overseas, 91 Denver U. L. Rev. 335 (2014); Scott Titshaw,

Sorry Ma’am, Your Baby is an Alien: Outdated Immigration Rules and Assisted Reproductive

Technology, 12 Fla. Coastal L. Rev. 47 (2010).

[12] Rich Vaughn, Is Sperm Donor Anonymity a Thing of the Past?, Int’l Fertility L. Group (October 30, 2020),

[13] Brigitte Clark, A Balancing Act? The Rights of Donor-Conceived Children to Know Their Biological Origins, 40 Ga. J. Int’l & Comp. L. 619, 635 (2012).

[14] Id. at 635-636.

[15] Id. at 636.

[16] Id. at 637.

[17] Id. at 625.

[18] Id. at 626.

[19] Id. at 627.

[20] Id. at 630.

[21] Yuri Hibino & Sonia Allan, Absence of Laws Regarding Sperm and Oocyte Donation in Japan and the Impacts on Donors, Parents, and the People Born as a Result, 19 Reprod. Med. Biol. 295, 295-298 (2020).

[22] Howard W. Jones & Jean Cohen, Fertility and Sterility S28 (2007).

[23] Id.; Clark, supra note 13, at 634.

[24] Vaughn, supra note 12.

[25] Id.

[26] Bonnie Rochman, Where Do (Some) Babies Come From? In Washington, a New Law Bans Anonymous Sperm and Egg Donors, Time (July 22, 2011),,-By%20Bonnie%20Rochman&text=Traditionally%2C%20the%20identities%20of%20egg,offspring%20to%20ever%20make%20contact.

[27] Clark, supra note 13, at 638.

[28] Id.

Sovereignty of Post-Climate Change Affected States Under International Law

BY: Prateek Singh

Prateek Singh is a student at National Law University in Jodhpur, India

In an era of climate change, the sea poses a threat to island states. With an increase in sea levels, the coastal boundaries of a territory are moving landwards, thereby causing a part of the land to get submerged by the sea, leaving it inaccessible for habitation.[1] According to the World Meteorological Organisation, by the end of this century, the global average temperatures are likely to increase by over 3°C, which may in turn cause seas to rise by almost a meter.[2] This could have deadly outcomes for the international community, since a number of states are likely to lose a large percentage of their territories to water. Low-lying nation states like Maldives and the Marshall Islands are expected to be completely submerged by the end of this century.[3]

Section 2 of the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Laws of the Sea (UNCLOS) holds that the maritime territories of a state are measured from its baseline, the line along the coast from which the seaward limits of a state’s territorial sea and other maritime zones are measured.[4] However, with a continuous increase in sea levels, baselines are likely to move landwards. If this occurs, states will lose control over their land and nautical territories. Exclusive Economic Zones (EEZ) are naval zones measured 200 nautical miles from the baseline, under which a nation is exclusively entitled to conduct economic activities such as fishing, navigation, and oil and gas mining.[5] Based on the verdict of the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in the Land Continental Shelf (Germany v Denmark and the Netherlands [1969] ICJ 1), as per the principle of land dominates the sea, a state has no right to control its formerly occupied naval territory, if it loses its land to the sea.[6] If a state loses its land territory to water, it inevitably also loses its right to carry out commercial activities over a certain nautical region.

However, the ICJ’s opinion in the North Sea Continental Shelf case serves as a settled principle of international law, stating that once a nation has once attained its statehood, its status shall not cease to exist even if it becomes unable to satisfy the essentials, as laid under the Montevideo Convention, 1933.[7] This principle affirms the idea that the nature of international law acts not on the basis of sanctions, but on the basis of consent. Since state recognition is merely a social action, other states may continue to interact with submerged states. In addition, it is pertinent to differentiate between the state’s land and the state’s territory. A land possessed by the state which is submerged will continue to remain a part of the state’s territory.[8]

There exists no framework to decide how long a state may sustain without a territory of its own. However, there do exist examples such as the Order of Malta and the Holy See, which represent a state’s ability to exercise control without having power over a defined territory.[9]

Despite the absence of an explicit mechanism regulating the statehood of submerged states under international law, the Sydney Conference of 2018 acted as a turning point, observing a practice for states to demarcate unvarying baselines which shall remain unchanged even if the land territory moves inwards.[10]

Though the law is not very strong on this point, the fact that existing landless states are able to exercise control in their territories indicates that sovereignty persists even if the state loses its characteristics of statehood. Since sovereignty binds a territory, not a land, it is likely that in the circumstance where a state loses its land to the seas, its citizens shall still be entitled to continue controlling within their maritime territories. Professor Burkett has drawn a solid analogy, predicting that a deterritorialized state is bound to exist, as in the case of states with exiled governments.[11] Such states are an example of states maintaining their sovereignty without possessing any land, functioning satisfactorily with due recognition under international law. Tibet is one such state operating despite its government being dislocated.[12]

Therefore, a state’s sovereignty does not simply rest upon its land, but upon its territory, which also includes water and air. Although submergence under the sea would not amount to losing statehood status per se, it is important that states formally declare their baselines on an urgent basis so as to authenticate their land and naval territories and ensure stable maritime governance.

[1] National Geographic. 2020. Weather Shows Evidence Of Climate Change Every Single Day Since 2012. [online] Available at: <; [Accessed 19 October 2020].

[2] World Meteorological Organization. 2019. State Of The Climate In 2018 Shows Accelerating Climate Change Impacts. [online] Available at: <,and%20is%20expected%20to%20continue.&gt;

[3] World Bank. 2010. Climate Change In The Maldives. [online] Available at: <,in%20the%20worst%2Dcase%20scenario.&gt; [Accessed 29 July 2020].

[4]  Section 2, Article 5. United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). [online] Available at: <> [Accessed 5 October 2020].

[5] Part V, Article 57. United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). [online] Available at: <> [Accessed 5 October 2020].

[6] North Sea Continental Shelf (Federal Republic of Germany v Denmark) (Merits) [1969] ICJ Rep 3 para 96.

[7] North Sea Continental Shelf (Federal Republic of Germany/Netherlands) [1969] (The International Court of Justice).

[8] United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 2011. Climate Change Displacement And International Law: Complementary Protection Standards. LEGAL AND PROTECTION POLICY. [online] Available at: <; [Accessed 29 July 2020].

[9] Byrnes, Timothy, ‘Sovereignty, Supranationalism, And Soft Power: The Holy See In International Relations’ (2017). 15 The Review of Faith & International Affairs. Farran, C D’Olivier, ‘The Sovereign Order Of Malta: A Supplementary Note’ (1955) 4 International and Comparative Law Quarterly.

[10] In: Sydney Conference (2018). International Law and Sea Level Rise. Sydney: International Law Association.

[11] Burkett, Maxine, The Nation Ex-Situ: On Climate Change, Deterritorialized Nationhood, and the Post-Climate Era (2011). 2 Climate Law 345, 2011, Available at SSRN:

[12] Hao, Zhidong, ‘Sovereignty, Ethnicity, And Culture: The Tibetan Issue In An Institutionalist Perspective’ (2012) 21 Journal of Contemporary China.


BY: Ishaan Paranjape and Ved Thakur

Ishaan Paranjape is a third year undergraduate student pursuing B.L.S. LL.B. He attends the University of Mumbai, India. He has a keen interest in Constitutional Law, IPR and ADR.

Ved Thakur is a third year undergraduate student pursuing B.B.A. LL.B. (Hons). He attends Gujarat National Law University, India. He has a keen interest in International Arbitration and IPR.

The COVID-19 pandemic has turned out to be a blessing in disguise for certain sectors, such as the pharmaceutical and textile industries, which try to accrue benefits from intellectual property.[1] Globally, there has been a sudden rise in trademark and patent applications[2] for pharma product names that converge with the name of the virus, such as ‘COVID Sanitizers,’ ‘COVID Survivor,’ ‘COVID Sanjeevani’ etc.[3] However, there is a question as to whether these formative marks using the nomenclature of ‘COVID-19’ and ‘CORONA’ can be registered with the Controller General of Patents, Designs, and Trademarks of India.

In this paper, the authors will analyze Section 9 and Section 13 of the Indian Trademarks Act, 1999 in order to determine the legality of the ‘COVID-19’ and ‘CORONA’ trademark. Furthermore, an attempt is also made to view this issue in light of Drugs and Magic Remedies (Objectionable Advertisements) Act, 1954.[4] The authors will also analyze the trademark trends regarding this ‘commercial’ pandemic at the international level.

Through the Prism of the Drugs and Magic Remedies (Objectionable Advertisements) Act

Pharmaceutical companies tend to earn a larger share of profit by protecting their intellectual property rights. It is imperative to understand that if a trademark is granted for a ‘COVID-19’ or ‘CORONA’ formative mark, it will lead to confusion, and possible health hazards.[5] Also, in India, over the counter sales are common. Several customers purchase products without prescription and this will surely lead to more health risks.[6]

One must consider Section 3 of Drugs and Magic Remedies (Objectionable Advertisements) Act, 1954 (“Act”).[7] The aforementioned section prohibits the publication of any advertisement referring to any drug that suggests or leads to the use of that specific drug for the diagnosis, treatment, cure, mitigation, or prevention of any disorder, disease, or condition specified in the rules formulated under the same Act. For instance pneumonia, pleurisy, nervous debility, fevers, paralysis, epilepsy and others are mentioned in the schedule of the Act.[8]

In the Hamdard Dawakhana case, the Supreme Court of India opined that the objective of this Act is to prevent self-medication, and stated that a curb on such ads is a means to achieve the end of prevention of self-medication.[9] Again, the Apex Court, in the case of Yash Pal Sahi v. Delhi Administration, clarified that the purpose of the Act is to save people from being duped into purchasing medicines just because their effects are advertised in eloquent terms.[10] Such advertisements, combined with a lack of knowledge regarding the name of the medicine and the ingredients present, can cause an average customer to purchase a drug from a local pharmacy which may have the words ‘COVID-19’ or ‘CORONA’ in its brand name but may have nothing to do with treating the virus. In such a situation, the consumer might self-medicate, and this exact situation is what the Act seeks to prevent.

Indian Trademarks Act and the COVID-19 Trademark

Furthermore, one has to consider Section 9 of The Trade Marks Act of 1999.[11] It is clear that the marks which are devoid of any distinctive character are refused to be registered as trademarks under the impugned section. At the same time, Section 9 of the Trademarks Act denies trademark protection to the mark if it designates the kind, quality, quantity, intended purpose, or other characteristics of the product.[12] For instance, if the mark is descriptive in nature, then usually it is not registered.[13] So, we will examine whether the usage of words ‘CORONA’ or ‘COVID-19’ is descriptive.

The ‘CORONA’ or ‘COVID-19’ formative marks clearly try to establish a connection with the pandemic, and thus it can be argued that they can be  descriptive in nature. Being ‘CORONA protected’ or ‘COVID free’ describes the quality of the product and thereby does not pass the muster of Section 9 of the Trademark Act. The Honourable Delhi High Court, in the case of Cadila Healthcare Limited v. Gujarat Cooperative Milk Marketing Federation Limited and Ors., confirmed that the usage of the word ‘Sugar-Free’ cannot be registered as a trademark as it describes the quality of the specific product.[14] Similarly, in Marico Limited v. Agrotech Foods Limited., the Delhi High Court frowned upon a company trying to assert its monopoly over the term ‘Losorb’.[15]  The word ‘Losorb’ is a replacement for ‘Low Absorb’ i.e., the characteristic of that specific product.

Therefore, the prohibition of descriptive marks is adequately explicit through the aforementioned judicial pronouncements. Section 9 also prohibits granting a trademark for marks that could cause confusion. This scrutiny is especially rigorous when it comes to the pharma sector, because the life and limb of individuals depend upon the products this sector sells, and the health risks inherent to the industry necessitates that there should be no room for confusion.

One must be mindful of the concept of deceptive similarity. A mark shall be deemed to be deceptively similar to another mark if it so nearly resembles the original mark that it is likely to deceive or lead to confusion.[16] The case of Milmet Oftho Industries and Ors v. Allergan Inc. clarified the meaning of deceptive similarity and mandated consideration of certain external factors, such as the nature of the goods in respect of which they are used as trademarks and which classes of buyers are likely to purchase the products.[17] In the case of Cadila Healthcare Ltd. v. Cadila Pharmaceutical Ltd., the Apex Court opined that confusion with regards to drugs could be dangerous to the lives of consumers and, thus, all products that may jeopardize the health of the purchasers have to be considered with greater scrutiny.[18] However, determining if a drug trademark is confusing or deceptive falls under the power of the Trade Mark Registry.[19]

Also, on a bare reading of Section 13 of the Trademark Act, it becomes clear that the names of chemical elements, International Non-proprietary Names (INNs), or any deceptively similar names fall beyond the ambit of being registered as Trademarks under the Trademark Act.[20] This is done to avoid confusion. For instance, an Indian Ayurvedic Company – Patanjali created confusion, when they marketed their product as a cure for the coronavirus without government approval.[21]

The Commercial Pandemic Trademarks vis-à-vis International Perspective

Trademark offices across the world are flooded with trademark applications containing the term ‘Coronavirus’. As of May 15, 2020, there were as many as 86 applications in the United States of America alone.[22] Kenyonken Productions LLC were the first to file trademark applications for ‘COVID-19 Survivor’ t-shirts (February 14, 2020).[23] There are several more applications like ‘FXCK Coronavirus’ for several pieces of merchandise.[24] However, these applications are still at the examination stage.[25] Even the Benelux Office for Intellectual Property (BOIP) in Europe has categorically rejected many trademark applications on the grounds that ‘COVID-19’ is descriptive in nature and lacks distinctiveness.[26] BOIP also put forth that these applications can be rejected on the grounds of being against ‘morality’ and ‘public order’.[27]

China’s Intellectual Property Office states that more than 1500 trademark registration applications have been filed since the beginning of the pandemic.[28] Nevertheless, these applications fall under the ambit of Article 10 (8) of the Trademark Law of People’s Republic of China of 1983. The said provision states that anything that is detrimental to socialist morals or customs or having other unhealthy influences cannot be granted a trademark in China. Zhang Chan, Assistant Judge in Beijing Intellectual Property Court, argues that trademarks for Coronavirus falls under Article 10, and thus should not be granted.[29]  Also, Article 11 of the 1983 Chinese Act converges with Section 9 of its Indian counterpart, and thus, the arguments advanced above can be considered applicable here.[30] On a perusal of several IP jurisdictions, it can be discerned that IP offices across the world have shown an inclination towards rejecting ‘COVID-19’ or Coronavirus trademark applications.


Most of the ‘COVID-19’ and ‘CORONA’ formative marks that have been sought are in the examination stage currently. It will be indeed interesting to see what awaits once the examination reports of these applications are published. It is evident that several objections will be raised on the basis of the aforementioned ‘deceptive similarity’ and the confusion such similarity causes. Also, issues regarding Section 13 of the Trademark Act and the Drugs and Magic Remedies (Objectionable Advertisements) Act will be inevitably invoked.

However, the authors firmly believe that irrespective of the marketing-appeal these words may provide, no trademark should be granted for the terminology ‘COVID-19’ or ‘CORONA’ because of evident problems already highlighted above. Nevertheless, we are looking forward to the decision of the registry and interpretation of the judiciary in this matter.

[1] Anusuya Nigam & Vrinda Pathak, Affordable Access to Covid-19 drugs: Are voluntary patent licences here to stay?, The Economic Times, (May 15, 2020)

[2] IP offices implement measures in wake of coronavirus crisis, World Trademark Review (Oct. 1, 2020)

[3] What’s in a name? Coronavirus-related trademark applications pour in, CNBC TV (Apr. 09, 2020)

[4] Drugs and Magic Remedies Act, 1954, No. 21, Acts of Parliament, 1954 (India).

[5] Krishna Singhania & Vanshaj Mehta, ‘Covid’ or ‘Corona’: Can they be trademarks for pharmaceutical industry?, The Daily Guardian, (July 31, 2020),

[6] Ashish Roy, Self-Medication Risks, Exceptions and Prevention, MedLife, (October 25, 2018),

[7] Drugs and Magic Remedies Act, 1954, Section 3, No. 21, Acts of Parliament, 1954 (India).

[8] Drugs and Magic Remedies Act, 1954, Schedule 1, No. 21, Acts of Parliament, 1954 (India).

[9] Hamdard Dawakhana (Wakf), Lal Kuan, Delhi & Another v. Union of India & Ors, A.I.R 1960 SC 554

[10] 1964 A.I.R 784.

[11] Trade Marks Act, 1999, Section 9, No. 47, Acts of Parliament, 1999 (India).

[12] Id.

[13] Id.

[14] (2010) I.L.R 2 Delhi 85.

[15] (2010) 43 PTC 39 (Del).

[16] Satya Sabharwal & Alisha Rastogi, Evolution of Deceptive Similarity Tests under Trademark Law, (August 23, 2020),

[17] (2004) 12 S.C.C 624.

[18] (2001) 5 S.C.C 73.

[19] Trade Marks Act, 1999, Section 18, No. 47, Acts of Parliament, 1999 (India).

[20] Trade Marks Act, 1999, Section 13, No. 47, Acts of Parliament, 1999 (India).

[21] Shruti Mahajan, “Cannot Prevent use of ‘Coronil’ because of a pesticide registered in its name”, SC refuses to entertain trademark against Patanjali, Bar and Bench (Aug. 27, 2020, 2:04 PM)

[22] Vikrant Rana, Bijit Das and Shubhankar Shashikant, The Rise of Corona/Covid Brands Around the World, Mondaq, (May 15, 2020),

[23] Joseph Grasser and Marisol Mark, Stop Trying to Trademark COVID and CORONAVIRUS, Global IP & Technology Law Blog (Mar.25, 2020),

[24] Id.

[25] Krishnan Singnania and Vanshaj Mehta, ‘COVID’ or ‘CORONA’ – Whether they can be Trademarks for the Pharmaceutical Industries?, Lexology, (July 27, 2020)

[26] Benelux Office for Intellectual Property, Official Website


[28] Sophia Liu, Jamie Rowlands and Lara Pentreath, Overview On Intellectual Property Protection Notes In China During The COVID-19 Outbreak, Mondaq, (02 June, 2020)

[29] Zhang Can, Can COVID-19 related terms be registered as Trademarks?, CGTN (Apr.23, 2020, 08:38 P.M)–PVvkAFu968/index.html

[30] Trademarks Law of the People’s Republic of China, 1983, Article 11 (People’s Republic of China).