Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Critiques
3. Critiques
DOI: 10.1093/he/9780198767237.003.0003
Summary
Whether they are conceived as the rights that every human being has,
thus ‘naturally’ setting limits to the legitimate action of states and
others, or as principles of good political action which society agrees
to adopt and follow, human rights have always been subjected to
intense and perceptive critiques. This chapter reviews six such
critiques, deriving from realist, utilitarian, Marxist, particularist
(cultural relativist), feminist, and post-colonial theoretical
perspectives. The first three critiques emerged in reaction to the
(successive) French Declarations of the Rights of Man of the late
eighteenth century; the last three were fully developed in reaction to
the International Bill of Rights enacted after the Second World War.
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3. Critiques
1 Introduction
Human rights, for those who believe in them, embody the promise
of a better world. They are, in Samuel Moyn’s words, the current ‘last
utopia’.2 From the late 1970s, they became the language in which to
articulate high moral precepts in the political sphere, and they displaced
alternative utopias. However, the concept of human rights —and of its
antecedent, natural rights—has always attracted persuasive critiques.
This chapter reviews six critiques, emanating respectively from realist,
utilitarian, Marxist, particularist (cultural relativist), feminist, and, finally,
post-colonial theoretical perspectives.
In one way or another, each of the six critiques reviewed in this chapter
points to a gap between the promise that every human being enjoys a
number of fundamental rights and a world where human rights violations
abound and many people are excluded from the enjoyment of human
rights; that is, a gap between the human rights ideal and practice. Why is
there such a gap? Two rather different answers are possible. The gap can
be thought to exist either because the practice has, so far, failed to live up
to the theory, but without this affecting the validity of the concept of
human rights, or because human rights cannot be what they are said to
be, making the concept invalid. In other words, critiques of human rights
can either require human rights to be true to their word or reject them as
constructed on unsound premises. These two positions correspond to
what will be called in this chapter the practical and the conceptual
critiques of human rights.
The critiques reviewed in this chapter have both conceptual and practical
variants. To complicate matters further, they often overlap. At the risk of
caricature, but in order to introduce them, an attempt can be made to
encapsulate each of them in one sentence. Realists reject the idea that
human rights are natural, simply existing out there to be recognized and
implemented; they argue that human rights cannot be ‘above’ or ‘beyond’
the state but necessarily originate from and are enmeshed within the
state. Utilitarians, seeking the common good, oppose the granting of
individual rights regardless of the consequences for the common good;
they think it is impossible for human rights to be absolute and/or
inalienable. Marxists view rights as sustaining the bourgeois order and
thus feeding oppression by privileging a particular class to the detriment
of the oppressed majority. Particularists object to the idea that moral
judgments can be made that hold true across cultures; they call for
tolerance of practices that are not comprehensible within the dominant
perspective and denounce what they see as the inherent imperialism of
human rights, which are not universal but the product of the society
which has created them. Feminists (p. 43) dispute the idea that human
rights are gender-neutral; they attack human rights’ pretence of equality
and neutrality by observing that rights, which have generally been
defined by men, tend to regulate the so-perceived public sphere, thereby
bypassing the interests and concerns of women, typically associated with
the private sphere. Post-colonial theorists link human rights to
imperialism; they observe that the International Bill of Rights was
developed outside any concern for the inequities arising from the colonial
situation and that the rise of human rights in political discourse has not
signalled an end to inequality.
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2 Early critiques
and under the auspices of the Supreme Being’. Clearly, the intention was
to spell out the belief that human rights were being declared rather than
created. This idea is also found in the UDHR, albeit more implicitly, in line
with the fact that an exact convergence on the foundations of human
rights was lacking, in the more plural context of the United Nations (UN).
The UDHR laconically refers to a ‘faith in fundamental human rights’.10
[F]rom real laws come real rights; but from imaginary laws, from
laws of nature, fancied by poets, rhetoricians, and dealers in moral
and intellectual poisons, come imaginary rights, a bastard brood of
monsters, ‘gorgons and chimeras dire’.12
For Bentham, it was clear that the French Declaration was ‘nonsense
upon stilts’ and the rights it declared imaginary. Not only did these rights
not exist, but making people believe they existed was dangerous, for their
inevitable disrespect would lead to discontent, and possibly in turn,
insurrection. Bentham’s critique was published under the title ‘Anarchical
Fallacies’, which said it all. The Declaration was conceptually fallacious—
a nonsensical flow of words amounting to nothing more than a bundle of
contradictions. It also presented a practical problem as the promise of
rights that could not be respected in practice invited a perpetual
overthrowing of political institutions. As far as Bentham was concerned,
the rights proclaimed in the Declaration were a ‘mere effusion of
imbecility’.13 For him, the way to deal with abusive government was to
induce the legislator to change the law, not to call for its abandonment in
the name of non-existent natural rights.
the real world, where they clearly were not. This led them to use
ambiguous wording, for example, ‘can’ instead of ‘ought’ (as in ‘every
man can do this’ instead of ‘every man ought to be able to do this’).14 If
the rights of the Declaration were not to be taken literally, then they still
(p. 45) meant nothing as they would need to be given limits. For example,
Bentham’s critique was very much directed at the old human rights
orthodoxy, which regarded human rights as natural—a given. For a realist
critique of human rights in their new, increasingly dominant conception—
as agreed upon through a deliberative process—one can turn to
International Relations (IR). IR realism holds the state as the key actor on
the international scene, and one which always follows its own interests.18
According to one of its long dominant variants, the state does whatever is
required to ensure its own survival and, what is more, acts morally when
it does as, in this pursuit, it should not be guided by private morality. The
idea that political ethics should be brought into line with private ethics is
thought ‘not only ill-advised but also irresponsible … not only mistaken
intellectually but also fundamentally wrong morally’.19 In this
perspective, given the ill-advisability of cooperation with other states that
by definition also follow their own interests and cannot be trusted, raison
d’état (literally, reason of state, an idea linked to realpolitik) is a
fundamental concept and state sovereignty a chief concern. Human rights
have no real place.
Not all IR realist scholars are of the persuasion described here. For some,
that states are unwilling to act in ways which restrict their power is an
empirical fact, but not a moral precept. Starting from the observation that
states cling to power as much and as long as they can, these scholars
argue that if states act in apparently immoral ways, it is because it is in
their interests to do so, not because they (should) follow a public morality
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Like all ‘isms’, realism can mean many things. What the realisms of
Bentham and IR have in common is that, taking a realistic look at the
world, they reject the idea that human rights could somehow exist ‘above’
or ‘aside from’ the state. For them, human rights belong (p. 46) to the
imagination of utopian dreamers. In Bentham’s case, this is because the
French Declaration did not provide a positive legal framework which
made the declared rights real. In the case of today’s realists, it is because
they do not believe that states wish to submit to either the spirit or the
letter of the human rights declarations and conventions that are
supposedly now guiding the international community.
The trade-offs that utilitarianism never rules out have led its detractors to
intimate that it allows the individual to be sacrificed to the collective
interest. One healthy person, so the argument goes, could be killed under
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utilitarianism for the benefit of a number of people who depend for their
survival on the transplant of various organs. In a similar vein, an innocent
could be found guilty in order to defuse a riotous situation when his
condemnation would appear to facilitate a return to peace and order.
These kinds of scenarios, however, are more often than not put forward
by thinkers who oppose utilitarianism. Self-declared utilitarians observe
that they are unlikely to present themselves in the clear-cut form
imagined by their detractors.21 Utilitarians are quick to note that
repeated sacrifices of individuals would immediately generate a
substantial decrease in general happiness because of the sense of
insecurity it would foster across the population.
Many utilitarians are thus wary of the concept of individual sacrifice for
the collective good which utilitarianism supposedly supports.
Nonetheless, it remains that utilitarianism does not accept the idea that
some rights are absolute and inalienable. By contrast, this idea is at the
core of (the old) human rights orthodoxy. To understand the crucial
difference between these two positions, one must understand what makes
a right absolute.
once and for all, the possibility that one day utility will require a right to
be set aside in order to further the collective good. This is true in
particular of the right to be free from torture, even though it is difficult to
imagine sound utilitarian reasoning justifying it easily. It is worth
stressing in this respect that the would-be convincing scenario of the
ticking bomb is not very convincing at all: the police would know
everything, including who has the vital information, except for the single
element of where the bomb is—how likely is this? Even if this unlikely
scenario were to happen in practice, there would still be strong utilitarian
arguments against the use of torture, including the corrupting effect of
having to train officials to inflict it.23 Having said this, it remains that the
consequential logic of utilitarianism makes it ill-fitted to defend human
rights in all cases. Does this mean that there is an unbridgeable divide
between utilitarianism and human rights orthodoxy?
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For Karl Marx, far from being nonsense, the French Declaration was
problematic because it made too much sense in the political order of the
so-called ‘free state’ which had followed the French Revolution but had
not succeeded in emancipating man. (Marx did not think much about
women.)
Marx’s essay ‘On the Jewish Question’, written at the tender age of 23,
was implacable in its critique of the French Declaration of the Rights of
Man and the Citizen of 1791. The essay denounced the rights of man as
being ‘nothing but the rights of the member of civil society, i.e. egoistic
man, man separated from other men and the community’.29 The right to
liberty, the young Marx argued, was the right to do anything which does
not harm others, that is, the liberty of man ‘as an isolated monad …
withdrawn into himself’; the right to private property was the right to
enjoy and dispose of one’s possessions ‘arbitrarily, without regard for
other men, independently from society, the right of selfishness’. The right
to equality represented nothing else but access to liberty as described
already; the right to security provided the guarantee of egoism.30 Marx
concluded:
Thus none of the so-called rights of man goes beyond egoistic man,
man as he is in civil society, namely an individual withdrawn behind
his private interests and whims and separated from the community.
Far from the rights of man conceiving of man as a species-being,
species-life itself, society, appears as a framework exterior to
individuals.31
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‘On the Jewish Question’ can also be read in the light of the concept of
ideology which Marx developed fully in his later work. As an ideology, the
rights declared in France announce and guarantee man’s liberty.
However, what they really do is to mask and sustain the inequality and
oppression characteristic of capitalist society. Applying this reading to the
contemporary era, the anthropologist Talal Asad urges us to ‘examine
critically the assumption that … human rights always lead in an
emancipatory direction, that they enable subjects to move beyond
controlling power into the realm of freedom’.34 In Asad’s view, the
language of human rights ‘articulates inequalities in social life’.35 It is
therefore doubtful that the human rights project could bring about
‘practical equality and an end to all suffering’.36
The universal versus cultural relativist debate can be said to have been
spurred by discussions generated by the UDHR. In 1947, the year before
the UDHR was adopted, the American Anthropological Association (AAA)
addressed a ‘Statement on Human Rights’ to the UN Commission on
Human Rights, which was drafting the Universal Declaration.45 The
Statement asked: ‘How can the proposed Declaration be applicable to all
human beings, and not be a statement of rights conceived only in terms of
the values prevalent in the countries of Western Europe and America?’46
It argued for the need to seek respect for the individual both as individual
and as member of ‘his’ society (at a time when feminist concerns were
still very much out of public consciousness). Bearing in mind the cultural
destruction heralded by colonialism, imperialism, and the very
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The AAA Statement was right in arguing that the formulation of human
rights cannot but derive from a particular culture. The UDHR is replete
with concepts, such (p. 51) as legal personality (Article 6), nationality
(Article 15), and protection against unemployment (Article 23), which are
simply not known to most human societies. The concept of human rights
itself is not incontrovertible in humankind’s repertoire. If the Statement
rightly cautioned that no declaration could ever manage to identify
universal human rights valid for all humankind across time and space, it
was nonetheless problematic in other respects. It treated culture as a
static and homogeneous ‘thing’ rather than the dynamic and contested
process that anthropologists have now demonstrated culture always is.47
Moreover, it lent itself to be taken to call for the respect of any cultural
trait, simply because of its cultural nature; which is ethically
unacceptable. In other words, the Statement bore the mark of cultural
relativism, the core tenet of US anthropology in the 1920s and 1930s
which, with time, increasingly came to appear untenable.
Wishing the controversy away will not do. It arises every time common
standards are predicated, whatever the limits of the constituency—the
whole world, a regional system, a nation, a village. Establishing common
standards is never completely unproblematic because minimal common
standards are never entirely common. However small the relevant
constituency, it always stands in the way of more peculiar, or particular,
norms.
Universalism Relativism
obviously pertinent under the old orthodoxy where human rights were
conceived as a given, it remains relevant under the new orthodoxy. The
reason why the debate cannot be put to rest once and for all is that we do
not have a choice between being either universalists or particularists: we
must be both at the same time. Similarly, human rights law must
accommodate both positions—whether it does so explicitly or not. (This
contributes to an explanation of, for example, the development of the
doctrine of the margin of appreciation in the European Convention
system whereby the European Court of Human Rights often asserts that
local authorities are in principle in a better position than an international
court to assess local requirements.) Properly understood, the particularist
critique is less a critique than a corrective to the ever-possible excesses
of universalism. These excesses remain a danger under the new human
rights orthodoxy, for the human rights values supposedly agreed upon at
any given level (international, regional, or national) rarely derive from a
consensus as broad as believed by those who unreservedly declare their
commitment to them.
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In 1789, the first article of the French Declaration proudly stated: ‘Men
are born and remain free and equal in rights.’ One year later, Olympe de
Gouges asserted in a ‘Declaration of the Rights of Woman’, of her own
making: ‘Women are born free and remain equal to men in rights.’55 This
stance did not go down well. On 3 November 1793, de Gouges was
guillotined—like a man—for having forgotten the virtues of her sex and
inappropriately sought to become a statesman. A feminist critique of
human rights was then largely silenced, but it has now become vigorous.
Can the argument that human rights remain predominantly male in their
conception and implementation be dismissed in an age when women,
especially in the West, have successfully fought for the rights to vote, be
educated, manage their property, open a bank account, exercise a
profession, keep their nationality upon marriage with a foreign man,
claim equal pay for equal work, and so on? The answer is a resounding
no. The affirmation in law of women’s entitlement to equal rights is
assuredly a momentous achievement. While it must be celebrated, it
should not lead to complacency. Feminist analyses demonstrate human
rights law to have been and continue to be male-oriented.
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At the core of the liberal feminist strand is the assumption that women
are equal to men, with the consequence that women must not in principle
be excluded from the rights enjoyed by men—and vice versa. In other
words, liberal feminism asks for liberalism to be true to its fundamental
intuition that everyone must have their rights guaranteed. Laws that
explicitly guarantee, or implicitly endorse, the principle of sex and gender
equality constitute its great achievement. Today, this principle is for the
most part accepted. However, assessing what it requires in the practice of
actual rights is riddled with difficulties. The implementation of a feminist
liberal agenda is far from a straightforward matter, the more so since
liberal feminism is concerned not simply with the formal allocation of
rights but also with the under-representation of women in politically and
socially significant positions, as well as their over-representation among
the poor.
‘But why should a woman want to be treated like a man?’, asks a second
strand of feminism. In 1982, the book In a Different Voice contrasted the
logical, abstract, deductive reasoning favoured by boys to the emotional,
concrete, and contextual reasoning favoured by girls.58 Its author, the
social psychologist Carol Gilligan, concluded that the masculine model of
an ‘ethic of rights’ is not universal and called for the feminine model of an
‘ethic of care’ to be valued. Her book established the feminist strand
generally known as cultural feminism, in recognition of the fact that men
and women develop different patterns of thinking and acting (p. 55) due
to being educated into different social roles which are culturally evolved.
This strand of feminism has clear implications for human rights. As with
other areas of law, human rights law tends to look at individuals as
individuals, to decontextualize situations, and to be confrontational; it
accordingly has—so the cultural feminist argument goes—nothing or little
to offer to women who are ‘naturally’/‘culturally’ inclined to think their
problems through contextually, for example by assessing the implications
of any possible solution for the people for whom they care (including, but
not only, their children). Human rights law should either be rejected, or at
the very least transformed, in order to accommodate the female way of
thinking and acting.59
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With the post-modern turn of the late 1980s and early 1990s in the social
sciences, the failure by the feminist strands discussed above to
acknowledge that the situation of one woman was not that of another
became glaringly obvious: clearly, no woman could speak for all women.61
Post-modern feminists deconstructed the categories of ‘woman’ and
‘gender’. Listening to the ‘Other’, they explored rather than explained. As
meta-narratives were distrusted, myths debunked, basic concepts
questioned, post-modern feminism did not produce a definite political
agenda. Its resistance to claims of universal truths was critiqued for
being relativist. On the positive side, however, its insights generated new
awareness, including the obvious fact that various factors of marginality
intersect. Put in simple terms, the situation and experiences of a white
middle-class woman are hardly comparable to those of a black poor
woman; other factors, such as sexual orientation, nationality, disability,
and so on, come to play a role, too. In the wake of intersectionality,
current directions in feminist critiques of human rights—sometimes
called ‘black’ or ‘Third World’—are at the forefront of arguing for ‘the
transformative potential of a feminist human rights praxis’ that embraces
collective justice.62
It is often remarked that it was the atrocities of the Second World War
that brought into being the International Human Rights Bill. Some would
be ready to thank, admittedly not without irony, Hitler and Stalin for this
gift.63 Others bitterly note that it took the suffering of whites to force the
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The term ‘post-colonial’ has been used in many different ways. It emerged
first to denote the condition that succeeded the formal passing of colonial
rule, but soon came to denote a variety of theoretical perspectives. The
three towering figures of post-colonialism in its theoretical form are
commonly recognized to be the late Edward Said, Gayatri Spivak, and
Homi Bhabha, three scholars of southern origin who have pursued an
academic career in the West and grappled with the question of how the
post-colonial subject can understand and overcome the condition of
having been born into the abjection of colonialism. Said forever changed
the way we look at representation with the publication in 1978 of
Orientalism: after this book, the way we (academics, journalists, novelists,
film makers, and common people) represent (study, report, discuss,
portray, and talk about) the ‘Other’ could never again appear as a neutral
exercise.65 Spivak asked: ‘Can the Subaltern Speak?’, directly pointing at
the mutedness suffered by those who are not in a position to speak or be
heard.66 More optimistically, Bhabha’s development of the concept of
‘hybridity’ (meaning mixture) seems to promise the possibility of finding a
space where we shall be able to speak of Ourselves and Others.67
How does this relate to human rights? Listen to Makau Mutua, born ‘in a
part of colonial Africa that the British had named Kenya’.69 Mutua recalls
how colonialism stripped him of his identity, forcing him to take a
Christian name to enter the Church, and then argues:
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Contrary to its claims of being inclusive, the idea of human rights was
always an exclusionary concept—as Marx and feminists such as de
Gouges had perceived from the start. Post-colonial perspectives broaden
these early critiques by showing how the supposedly universal and all-
encompassing liberal tradition in which human rights were developed
nurtured stark differences between ‘us’ and ‘them’ on the basis of
arguments about civilization, cultural backwardness, and racial
superiority. The Enlightenment figure of ‘the individual’, bearer of human
rights, suddenly appears to be full of the arrogance of the West, rather
than neutral and innocent. Moreover, even if the presumed existence of
an essential difference between us and them is no longer referred to in
the explicit language used in the formal colonial era, this arrogance is not
something of the past but something which carries on, albeit in new
forms. The conduct of international relations in the post-Cold War era has
been characterized as follows:
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A post-colonial critique intimates that the human rights logic has all too
often led to the annihilation of the ‘Other’. This has occurred not only in
respect of their identity—for example, through ‘assimilation’ and the
imposition of a Christian name as in Mutua’s experience—but also in their
physicality—still holding true when, among other current atrocities taking
place in the world, wars conducted in the name of human rights entail
‘collateral damage’ which refer to the death of the ‘Other’. There is also a
whole spectrum of exclusionary discourse and practices, which the
treatment of the deemed illegal or (p. 58) suspected terrorist migrant—
barred from entry, detained, deported, subjected to extraordinary
rendition, tortured, or simply left to die—exemplifies today.
The crucial question for post-colonial critiques therefore is, ‘Can human
rights be redeemed?’ Most seem unwilling to reject human rights
outright. In the words of Ratna Kapur: ‘We “cannot not want” human
rights. Rights are radical tools for those who have never had them.
Human rights seems a preferable, though a flawed ideal, to no rights at
all.’73 According to her, ‘the centering of excluded subjects, excluded
zones and excluded histories can bring the project back to a space of
greater optimism and lesser despair’.74 This, however, is easier said than
done. This is to say that the post-colonial critique hits at the new—not to
mention the old—human rights orthodoxy very hard. Those ready to see
that a colonial logic remains pertinent in understanding today’s world
would all agree that managing ‘to give the human rights body a soul’75 is
a challenge which, if at all successful, will need to be taken up over and
over again, rather than being met once and for all.
4 Conclusion
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by the idea of a social justice project more disempowered than if they had
been made aware of the critique.
Such silences are unfortunate because all the critiques reviewed in this
chapter (as well as others) are worth pondering. They each make
important points. Some critiques are more profound than others that can
be, and indeed have already been, absorbed in human rights theory.
Bentham’s objection to the rights of man as ‘imaginary’ falls in the face of
the new orthodoxy and the constant definition, re-definition, and
implementation of ‘real’ rights. The utilitarian perspective is capable of
being accommodated in the new orthodoxy—as has already started to
happen.77 In a different mode, this is also the case of the particularist
(cultural relativist) critique, which this chapter has argued is in need of
being constantly considered by human rights theory and practice, thus
hopefully making it possible to keep in check the possible excesses of
universalism.
The other human rights critiques that have been reviewed are less easily
absorbed. The Marxist critique remains as pertinent as ever, pointing as it
does to the exclusion that the human rights discourse continues to
encompass. This insight penetrates the critiques that (p. 59) have been
developed in the last decades. Radical feminists, some IR realists, and
some post-colonial theorists posit that human rights will never be able to
live up to the promises it makes, so that it is hardly a project worth
pursuing.78 Others, again found across a broad theoretical spectrum that
includes realism, feminism, and post-colonialism, are less extreme in their
critique and argue that human rights has contradictory effects, which
make it an inherently ambiguous project or discourse, sometimes worth
pursuing and sometimes not.79 Still others believe in the intrinsic value of
human rights but call for them to be, or to become, true to themselves,
which in their view means doing the protest work that brought them into
being in the first place.80 What is nonetheless clear is that recent
important grassroots protests such as the Occupy movement against neo-
liberalism have not relied much on human rights.
Further reading
BAXI, The Future of Human Rights (Oxford University Press, 2006).
BREMS,
‘Human Rights: Minimum and Maximum Perspectives’ (2009)
HRLR 349.
BROWN, ‘“The Most We Can Hope For …”: Human Rights and the Politics of
Fatalism’ (2004) 103 South Atlantic Quarterly 451.
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DOUZINAS,
Human Rights and Empire: The Political Philosophy of
Cosmopolitanism (Routledge, 2007).
KAPUR, ‘Human Rights in the 21st Century: Take a Walk on the Dark
Side’ (2006) 28 Sydney LR 665.
MERTUS, Bait and Switch: Human Rights and US Foreign Policy (Routledge,
2004).
NASH,
The Cultural Politics of Human Rights: Comparing the US and UK
(Cambridge University Press, 2009).
WALDRON (ed), ‘Nonsense upon Stilts’: Bentham, Burke and Marx on the
Rights of Man (Methuen, 1987). (p. 60)
Notes:
1Parts of this chapter draw upon Who Believes in Human Rights?:
Reflections on the European Convention © Marie-Bénédicte Dembour
(CUP, 2006) extracts reproduced with permission.
2 Moyn, The Last Utopia: Human Rights in History (Harvard UP, 2010).
10 Preambular para 5.
20eg Mertus, Bait and Switch: Human Rights and US Foreign Policy
(Routledge, 2004).
22 See Chapter 2.
24Gibbard, ‘Utilitarianism and Human Rights’ in Paul, Miller Jr, and Paul
(eds), Human Rights (Blackwell, 1984) 92.
25 See Chapter 5.
27 See Chapter 9.
29
‘On the Jewish Question’, reproduced in McLellan, Karl Marx: Selected
Writings (OUP, 2000) 46, 60.
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40Thompson, Whigs and Hunters: The Origins of the Black Act (Allen
Lane, 1975).
51
Pollis, ‘Cultural Relativism Revisited: Through a State Prism’ (1996) 18
HRQ 316.
69 Mutua (2002), x.
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73Kapur, ‘Human Rights in the 21st Century: Take a Walk on the Dark
Side’ (2006) 28 Sydney LR 665, 682.
77 eg Nickel (2007).
78See Brown, ‘“The Most We Can Hope For …”: Human Rights and the
Politics of Fatalism’ (2004) 103 South Atlantic Quarterly 451.
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