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Edited by Giancarlo Frosio
Oxford Handbook of Online Intermediary Liability
Print Publication Date: May 2020 Subject: Law Online Publication Date: May 2020
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Editor’s Note: A Dialogue on the Role of Online Intermediaries
Editor’s Note: A Dialogue on the Role of Online Inter

mediaries
Editor’s Note: A Dialogue on the Role of On

(p. ix)
line Intermediaries
IN pursuit of an answer to the online intermediary liability conundrum, The Oxford Hand
book of Online Intermediary Liability has gathered together multiple voices that have con
tributed greatly to this emerging debate in the last few years. I have encountered or
came to know about most of my co-authors a few years ago at the time of my residence at
the Stanford Center for Internet and Society where I served as the first Intermediary Lia
bility Fellow. The idea for this Handbook was the result of other projects that we have run
together, including the World Intermediary Liability Map, and the need to crystallize an
emerging field of research. This field of research has grown exponentially since this
Handbook was first envisioned. Online intermediary liability has now become a pervasive
issue on the agenda of governments, courts, civil society, and academia and in the last
few years legislation, case law, and initiatives dealing with the liability of online interme
diaries have followed at an astounding pace.
The role of online service providers (OSPs) is unprecedented in relation to their capacity
to influence users’ interactions in the infosphere.1 Online intermediaries mediate human
life in a virtual brave new world that reflects and augments our physical realm. ‘Internet
intermediaries are crucial for how most people use the Internet,’ Dan Jerker Svantesson
noted.2 Ubiquitous platforms dictate our daily routine: searching for information on
Google, getting a taxi on Uber, shopping on Amazon Fresh, making payments via PayPal,
collaborating on Google Docs, storing documents on Dropbox, taking up employment
through Upwork, discussing trendy topics on Twitter, sharing videos on YouTube, or post
ing pictures on Instagram. In particular, most creative expression today takes place over
communications networks owned by private companies. The decentralized, global nature
of the internet means that almost anyone can present an (p. x) idea, make an assertion,
post a photograph, or push to the world numerous other types of content. Billions of peo
ple possess multiple connected portable devices. People communicate their experiences
on the go through multimedia social networking services (e.g. Facebook, Instagram), on
Page 1 of 6

line file repositories (e.g. Flickr, Dropbox, Google Photos), and various kinds of video-
sharing platforms (e.g. YouTube, Vimeo, Dailymotion). According to Danny Friedmann, ‘in
China, en route to become the biggest economy in the world, at the end of 2017, it was
estimated that more than half of the population (772 million people) had access to the in
ternet. Goods are traded between businesses and consumers, between consumers, and
between businesses, at enormous online market platforms, such as those of the Alibaba
Group’.
The ‘information society’ with its 2.5 quintillion bytes of data created each day3 has slow
ly morphed into the ‘platform society’. But there is more to it. Perhaps unnoticed, our so
ciety has transformed into an ‘intermediated society’. Platforms and OSPs filter our net
worked life, shape our experiences, define our memories—and even remind us of a (se
lected) few of them. ‘They contribute to inform the space of opportunities in which indi
viduals and societies can flourish and evolve,’ Mariarosaria Taddeo stresses, ‘and eventu
ally impact how we understand reality and how we interact with each other and with the
environment’. The decisions made by these platforms increasingly shape contemporary
life. ‘As leading designers of online environments, OSPs make decisions that impact pri
vate and public lives, social welfare and individual wellbeing.’
For Christina Angelopoulos, ‘the prevalence of intermediation in modern electronic com

munications makes [intermediary liability] an increasingly significant aspect of an in
creasing wide array of different areas of information law’. Eleonora Rosati adds that ‘in
this sense Recital 59 of the Information Society Directive, which stresses how, in a con
text of this kind, intermediaries may be indeed best placed to bring infringements to an
end, helps understand the need for intermediaries’ involvement in the enforcement
process’. Also Richard Arnold develops this point by noting that ‘online exploitation
makes infringement of IPRs easy, but makes enforcement of IPRs against the sources of
such infringements difficult (eg because of jurisdictional issues)’, therefore ‘IPR owners
increasingly find that it is more practical and effective to target online intermediaries
both with claims for direct and accessory liability and with claims for intermediary liabili
ty’. Frederick Mostert recognizes that ‘intermediary liability for online service providers
has become relevant because of an attempt … to deal with the volume and velocity of ille
gal online activities by Bad Actors’. But, Mostert adds, this strategy is suboptimal: ‘culpa
is rarely present at the platform end-point and intermediaries are virtually in all cases not
the source of the problem’. However, ‘dealing with the source of the problem is exacer
bated by the anonymity issue in the online world, making it very difficult to track and
trace the identity of the Bad Actors themselves’. Hence, ‘the last resort efforts to try and
stop the illegal activities at the end-point—the platform level’.
Therefore, whether and when access providers and communications platforms like
(p. xi)
Google, Twitter, and Facebook are liable for their users’ online activities is a key factor
that affects innovation and fundamental rights. Transaction costs deriving from their lia
bility shape platforms’ decisions and policies, algorithms’ development, and, finally, the
architecture of the infosphere. Kylie Pappalardo and Nicolas Suzor clarify that ‘intermedi
ary liability matters because the rules of intermediary liability structure the internet.
Page 2 of 6

What internet users can and cannot see and do is largely dictated by the laws that apply
to the online service providers that mediate their experience’. According to Miquel
Peguera, ‘the way business models are conceived and developed closely hinges on the le
gal framework that governs their duties and that determines the conditions under which
they may or may not be sheltered from liability’, so that ‘intermediary liability ends up
shaping the availability of new digital services and affects citizens’ daily lives in multiple
ways’. Jaani Riordan reminds of the tension that lies in setting up liability against online
intermediaries:
If intermediary liability rules are too strict, they risk stifling new and useful ser
vices and restricting market participation to the largest platforms—those best able
to afford lawyers, compliance costs, and political lobbying. At the other extreme,
rules which immunise intermediaries against any need to act could make it impos
sible or impracticable for claimants to enforce their rights, encouraging the
spread of disinformation and other harmful material.
On one side, as Marco Ricolfi suggests, ‘the adoption of intermediary liability exacerbates
the difficulties in preserving freedom of innovation [and], in terms of competition policy, it
risks creating barriers to newcomers’. On the other side, Eduardo Bertoni stresses that
‘depending on the regulation that could be enacted, the impact on fundamental rights
might be positive or negative’. For Peguera, the way in which we arrange liability has ‘an
immediate effect on the exercise of fundamental rights on the Internet, particularly in
terms of freedom to access and impart information and in terms of privacy and data pro
tection’. According to Kristofer Erickson and Martin Kretschmer, ‘the legal regime of no
tice-and-takedown which has been in place for 20 years was conceived as a means of bal
ancing legitimate interests of media rightholders, platform innovators and online users’.
However, Christophe Geiger and Elena Izyumenko add that:
once intermediaries are asked to do more in their new role of active … enforcers,
impartial enforcement can be at risk, raising the questions with regards to compli
ance, among others, with the fundamental rights of both Internet users and inter
mediaries themselves. This situation entails a serious risk of intermediary being
‘overzealous’ in order to avoid liability and to block access to content that is made
available in a perfectly legal manner.
OSPs are subjected to increasing pressure by governments and interest groups which are
seeking to control online content by making use of their technical capacities. In this
(p. xii) regard, Niva Elkin-Koren and Maayan Perel highlight that ‘they offer a natural
point of control for monitoring, filtering, blocking, and disabling access to content, which
makes them ideal partners for performing civil and criminal enforcement’. As Emily Laid
law develops:
Intermediaries occupy a critical regulatory role, because they have the capacity to
control the flow of information online in a way that others, including states, can
not. Thus, significant energy is devoted by lawmakers to strategizing how to cre
Page 3 of 6

ate laws that capitalize on intermediaries’ capacity to regulate to solve many prob
lems posed by internet use.
However, ‘intermediary obligations should not be confused with those of states’. This is
hardly the case nowadays. For example, as Nicolo Zingales notes, ‘intermediary liability
of OSPs is particularly relevant in the African continent because of the increasing pres
sure on intermediaries to fulfil broad and open-ended public policy mandates, and poten
tially affecting both technological progress and the creation of local content’. Multiple ju
risdictions follow the same path. As Bertrand de La Chapelle and Paul Fehlinger argue,
the intermediary liability debates are exacerbated by a looming risk of ‘a legal arms race,
in which states resort to an extensive interpretation of territoriality criteria over cross-
border data flows and services’.
In an ‘invisible handshake’ between public and private parties, faced with semiotic regu
lation on an unprecedented scale, enforcement looks once again for an ‘answer to the ma
chine in the machine’.4 Sophisticated algorithms and company policies enable and con
strain our actions. These algorithms take decisions reflecting policy’s assumptions and in
terests that have very significant consequences for society at large, yet there is limited
understanding of these processes. This is critical, Ben Wagner notes, as ‘understanding
the mechanism of implementation is key to understanding the nature of speech that is en
abled by it’. Sergei Hovyadinov notes how ‘the framework of intermediary liability estab
lished in the EU and the US 15–20 years ago is not sufficient anymore to fight illegal con
tent, especially terrorist, which because of the volume and the speed of its dissemination
calls for a more proactive approach, with elements of automation and proactive monitor
ing’. ‘Intermediary liability’, Hovyadinov continues, ‘is thus shifting from a reactive “no
tice-and-take down” regime to “intermediary accountability” [as Martin Husovec termed
it] based on new expectations from governments and civil society as to the role online
platforms should proactively perform’. Christophe Geiger and Elena Izyumenko highlight
the ‘danger that intermediaries have recourse to automated systems, leading to a situa
tion where machines and algorithms would become the decision-makers of what is avail
able or not on the Internet’. Of course, ‘this privatisation of justice is highly problematic
in a democratic society, in particular with regard to the constitutional legal framework’.
Therefore, Niva Elkin-Koren and Maayan Perel conclude that (p. xiii) ‘with the rise of algo
rithmic enforcement, data driven economy, centralized architecture and market concen
tration, the new regulatory powers of online platforms are challenging the rule of law’.
To continue this dialogue on the role of online intermediaries in modern society, this
Handbook will present multiple scholarly perspectives on the major themes in intermedi
ary liability and platform governance.
The Handbook discusses fundamental legal issues in online intermediary liability, while
also describing advances in intermediary liability theory and identifying recent policy
trends. Part I features an introductory chapter that will serve as a blueprint for the con
sistent development of other chapters as it sets out in advance the most relevant trends
according to which the structure of the book has been generated. Part II provides a taxon
Page 4 of 6

omy of internet platforms, a general discussion of a possible basis for liability, and a re
view of remedies. In addition, Part II introduces the discussion of the fundamental rights
implications of intermediary liability and considers the ethical ramifications of the role of
online intermediaries. Part III presents a jurisdictional overview of intermediary liability
safe harbours and highlights systemic fragmentation. In this respect, Part III will also fo
cus on enhanced responsibilities that multiple jurisdictions incresingly impose on online
intermediaries. Part IV provides an overview of domain-specific solutions, including inter
mediate liability for copyright, trade mark, unfair competition, and privacy infringement,
together with internet platforms’ speech-related obligations and liabilities. Part V reviews
intermediary liability enforcement strategies by focusing on emerging trends, including
proactive monitoring obligations, blocking orders, and the emergence of administrative
enforcement of online infringement. Part VI discusses an additional core emerging trend
in intermediary liability enforcement: voluntary measures and private enforcement of al
legedly illegal content online are shifting the discourse from intermediary liability to in
termediary responsibility or accountability. International private law issues are addressed
in Part VII with special emphasis on extraterritorial enforcement of intermediaries’ oblig
ations.
Finally, I would like to express my gratitude to my co-authors for completing this truly
‘monumental’ study that contributes fundamentally to research in the field. Special
thanks also go to the team at Oxford University Press for giving us the opportunity to
publish this volume, helping to define the trajectory that it has finally taken, and for all
the editorial support. I would also like to thank my wife, Hong, and my parents, Nuccia
and Clemente, for their continuous support. Nothing would be possible without the happi
ness that my family gives to me.
June 2019
Notes:
(1) See Luciano Floridi, The Fourth Revolution—How the Infosphere is Reshaping Human
Reality (OUP 2014) (arguing that after the Copernican, Darwinian, and Freudian revolu
tions, humans are once again forced to rethink their role as they must now interact with
virtual entities and agent in a wholly new medium, the infosphere).
(2) The following considerations are the result of reflections collected via email exchange
with my co-authors in the last few months. The quoted passages are taken from this ex
change, which is on file with the author.
(3) See Domo, ‘Data Never Sleeps 5.0’ <https://www.domo.com/learn/data-never-

sleeps-5>. Note that all hyperlinks in the Handbook were last accessed on 10 June 2019.
(4) Charles Clark, ‘The Answer to the Machine is in the Machine’ in Bernt Hugenholtz
(ed.), The Future of Copyright in a Digital Environment (Kluwer Law Int’l 1999) 139 (dis
Page 5 of 6

cussing the application of digital right management systems to enforce copyright in
fringement online).
Page 6 of 6

Notes on Contributors
(p. xiv) (p. xv) Notes on Contributors
Christina Angelopoulos
is a Lecturer in Intellectual Property Law at the University of Cambridge and a mem

ber of the Centre for Intellectual Property and Information Law (CIPIL). Email:
cja58@cam.ac.uk.
Richard Arnold
is a Judge of the Court of Appeal of England and Wales.
Eduardo Bertoni
is the Director of the Access to Public Information Agency in Argentina, Director of

the Post-graduated Program on Data Protection at Buenos Aires University School of
Law, Argentina, and Global Clinical Professor at New York University School of Law,
New York. Email: eduardo.bertoni@nyu.edu and eduardobertoni@derecho.uba.ar.
Annemarie Bridy
Page 1 of 10

is the Allan G. Shepard Professor of Law at the University of Idaho College of Law, an
Affiliate Scholar at the Stanford Law School Center for Internet and Society (CIS),
and an Affiliated Fellow at the Yale Law School Information Society Project (ISP).
Email: annemarie.bridy@gmail.com.
Bertrand de La Chapelle
is the Executive Director and Co-founder of the global multistakeholder organization

Internet & Jurisdiction Policy Network. Email:
bdelachapelle@internetjurisdiction.net.
Alessandro Cogo
is Associate Professor at the University of Turin Law School and Director of the Mas
ter of Laws in Intellectual Property jointly organized by the World Intellectual Proper
ty Organization and the Turin University. Email: alessandroenrico.cogo@unito.it.
Graeme Dinwoodie
is the Global Professor of Intellectual Property Law at Chicago-Kent College of Law.

Email: gdinwoodie@kentlaw.iit.edu.
Niva Elkin-Koren
is a Professor of Law at the University of Haifa, Faculty of Law and a Faculty Asso
ciate at the Berkman Klein Center at Harvard University. She is the Founding Direc
tor of the Haifa Center for Law & Technology (HCLT), and a Co-director of the Center
for Cyber, Law and Policy. Email: elkiniva@law.haifa.ac.il.
Page 2 of 10

Kristofer Erickson
is Associate Professor in Media and Communication at the University of Leeds. Email:

K.Erickson@leeds.ac.uk.
Paul Fehlinger
is the Deputy Executive Director and Co-founder of the multistakeholder organization

Internet & Jurisdiction Policy Network. Email: fehlinger@internetjurisdiction.net.
(p. xvi) Danny Friedmann
is Visiting Assistant Professor of Law, Peking University School of Transnational Law

in Shenzhen. Email: ipdragon@gmail.com.
Giancarlo Frosio
is an Associate Professor at the Center for International Intellectual Property Studies

at Strasbourg University, a Fellow at Stanford Law School Center for Internet and So
ciety, and Faculty Associate of the NEXA Center in Turin. Email: gcfrosio@ceipi.edu.
Christophe Geiger
is Professor of Law and Director of the Research Department of the Centre for Inter
national Intellectual Property Studies (CEIPI) at Strasbourg University. Email:
christophe.geiger@ceipi.edu.
Michael Geist
Page 3 of 10

is a Professor of Law at the University of Ottawa where he holds the Canada Re
search Chair in Internet and E-commerce Law and is a member of the Centre for
Law, Technology and Society. Email: mgeist@pobox.com.
Eric Goldman
is a Professor of Law at Santa Clara University School of Law, where he is also Direc
tor of the school’s High Tech Law Institute. Email: egoldman@gmail.com.
Reto M. Hilty
is Managing Director at the Max Planck Institute for Innovation and Competition in
Munich and Full Professor (ad personam) at the University of Zurich. Email:
hilty@ip.mpg.de.
Sergei Hovyadinov
is a JSD candidate at Stanford Law School. Email: sergeih@stanford.edu.
Martin Husovec
is Assistant Professor at the University of Tilburg (Tilburg Institute for Law, Technolo
gy and Society & Tilburg Law and Economics Center) and Affiliate Scholar at Stan
ford Law School Center for Internet and Society. Email: martin@husovec.eu.
Elena Izyumenko
Page 4 of 10

is a Researcher and a PhD Candidate at the Center for International Intellectual

Property Studies (CEIPI), University of Strasbourg. Email:
elena.izyumenko@ceipi.edu.
Martin Kretschmer
is Professor of Intellectual Property Law at the School of Law, University of Glasgow

and Director of CREATe, the UK Copyright and Creative Economy Centre. Email:
Martin.Kretschmer@glasgow.ac.uk.
Aleksandra Kuczerawy
is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Katholieke Universiteit (KU) Leuven’s Centre for

IT & IP Law. Email: aleksandra.kuczerawy@kuleuven.be.
Emily Laidlaw
is Associate Professor, Faculty of Law, University of Calgary. Email:

emily.laidlaw@ucalgary.ca.
Juan Carlos Lara Gálvez
is the Research and Public Policy Director at Derechos Digitales—América Latina,

based in Santiago de Chile. Email: juancarlos@derechosdigitales.org.
(p. xvii) Jack Lerner
Page 5 of 10

is a Clinical Professor of Law at the University of California, Irvine School of Law and
Director of the UCI Intellectual Property, Arts, and Technology Clinic. Email:
jlerner@law.uci.edu.
Tarlach McGonagle
is a Senior Lecturer/Researcher at IViR, University of Amsterdam and Professor of

Media Law & Information Society at Leiden Law School. Email: T.McGonagle@uva.nl.
Luiz Fernando Marrey Moncau
is a Non-Residential Fellow at the Stanford Center for Internet and Society and a PhD
from Pontifícia Universidade Católica of Rio de Janeiro. Email:
mailto:luizfmmoncau@gmail.com.
Sunimal Mendis
is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Center for International Intellectual Property

Studies (CEIPI) at Strasbourg University. Email: mendis@ceipi.edu
Maria Lillà Montagnani
is an Associate Professor of Commercial Law at Bocconi University in Milan. Email:

lilla.montagnani@unibocconi.it.
Valentina Moscon
is Senior Research Fellow in Intellectual Property and Competition Law at the Max
Planck Institute for Innovation and Competition. Email: valentina.moscon@ip.mpg.de.
Page 6 of 10

Frederick Mostert
is Professor of Intellectual Property at the Dickson Poon School of Law, King’s Col
lege and Research Fellow at the Oxford Intellectual Property Research Centre. Email:
frederick.mostert@kcl.ac.uk.
Kylie Pappalardo
is a Lecturer in the Law School at the Queensland University of Technology (QUT) in

Brisbane. Email: k.pappalardo@qut.edu.au.
Kyung-Sin Park
is a Professor at Korea University Law School. Email: kyungsinpark@korea.ac.kr.
Miquel Peguera
is an Associate Professor of Law at the Universitat Oberta de Catalunya (UOC) in

Barcelona and Affiliate Scholar, Stanford Center for Internet and Society. Email:
mpeguera@uoc.edu.
Maayan Perel
is an Assistant Professor in Intellectual Property Law at the Netanya Academic Col

lege in Israel and a Senior Research Fellow at the Cyber Center for Law & Policy,
University of Haifa. Email: maayanfilmar@gmail.com.
Page 7 of 10

Marco Ricolfi
is Professor of Intellectual Property at the Turin Law School, Partner at the law firm
Tosetto, Weigmann e Associati, and Co-director of the Nexa Center on Internet and
Society of the Turin Polytechnic. Email: marco.ricolfi@studiotosetto.it.
Jaani Riordan
is a barrister at 8 New Square, London. Email: jr@8newsquare.co.uk.
Eleonora Rosati
is an Associate Professor in Intellectual Property Law at Stockholm University and an

Of Counsel at Bird & Bird. Email: eleonora@e-lawnora.com.
(p. xviii) Alan M. Sears
is a Researcher and Lecturer at Leiden University’s eLaw Centre for Law and Digital
Technologies. Email: a.m.sears@law.leidenuniv.nl.
Martin Senftleben
is a Professor of Intellectual Property Law, Institute for Information Law, University

of Amsterdam and a Visiting Professor, Intellectual Property Research Institute, Uni
versity of Xiamen. Email: m.r.f.senftleben@uva.nl.
Nicolas Suzor
Page 8 of 10

is a Professor in the Law School at Queensland University of Technology in Brisbane.

Email: n.suzor@qut.edu.au.
Dan Jerker B. Svantesson
is a Professor at the Faculty of Law at Bond University, a Visiting Professor at the

Faculty of Law, Masaryk University, and a Researcher at the Swedish Law & Infor
matics Research Institute, Stockholm University. Email: dasvante@bond.edu.au.
Mariarosaria Taddeo
is a Researcher Fellow at the Oxford Internet Institute and Deputy Director of the
Digital Ethics Lab. Email: mariarosaria.taddeo@oii.ox.ac.uk.
Ben Wagner
is an Assistant Professor and Director of the Privacy & Sustainable Computing Lab at
Vienna University of Economics and Business and a Senior Researcher of the Centre
of Internet & Human Rights (CIHR). Email: ben@benwagner.org.
Diego Werneck Arguelhes
is an Associate Professor of Law at Insper Institute for Education and Research, São
Paulo, Brazil. E-mail: DiegoWA@insper.edu.br.
Nicolo Zingales
is an Associate Professor of Law at the University of Leeds, an Affiliate Scholar at

Stanford Center for Internet and Society, and a Research Associate at the Tilburg In
Page 9 of 10

stitute for Law, Technology and Society and the Tilburg Law and Economics Centre.
Email: nicolozingales@gmail.com.
Page 10 of 10

Mapping Online Intermediary Liability

Giancarlo Frosio
Print Publication Date: May 2020 Subject: Law, IT and Communications Law
Online Publication Date: May 2020 DOI: 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780198837138.013.1
Abstract and Keywords
Mapping intermediary liability online is a high call impelled by the fragmentation of inter
mediary liability legislation, regulation, and case law that, nonetheless, apply to global
ized online service providers operating across the world in an interdependent digital envi
ronment. The Oxford Handbook of Online Intermediary Liability endeavours to substan
tially contribute to this mapping exercise, both from a subject-specific and jurisdictional
perspective, while highlighting emerging trends in a field of research that has been fast-
evolving and is today in a constant, quite unpredictable, flux. This chapter contextualizes
the mapping exercise undertaken by the contributors to the Handbook. It introduces the
findings of subsequent chapters and sews them together in an organic discourse to pro
vide a blueprint for the consistent development of those chapters as it sets out in advance
the most relevant trends according to which the structure of the Handbook has been gen
erated.
Keywords: intermediary liability, online, mapping, trends, international, subject-specific, enforcement, private or
dering, internet jurisdiction
INTERMEDIARY liability has emerged as a defining governance issue of our time. Howev
er, modern legal theory and policy struggle to define an adequate framework for the lia
bility and responsibility of online service providers (OSPs). In addition, market conditions,
against which the initial regulation was developed, have changed considerably since the
first appearance of online intermediaries almost two decades ago. These changes started
to be reflected in new policy approaches. Tinkering with this matter which is in constant
flux brought The Oxford Handbook of Online Intermediary Liability into being. The Hand
book will crystallize the present theoretical understanding of the intermediary liability co
nundrum, map emerging regulatory trends, and qualify political and economic factors
that might explain them. In doing so, the Handbook will provide a comprehensive, author
itative, and ‘state-of-the-art’ discussion of intermediary liability by bringing together mul
tiple scholarly perspectives and promoting a global discourse through cross-jurisdictional
parallels. The Handbook thus serves as a privileged venue for observing emerging trends
in internet jurisdiction and innovation regulation, with special emphasis on enforcement
Page 1 of 34

strategies dealing with intermediate liability for copyright, trade mark, and privacy in
fringement, and the role of online platforms in moderating the speech they carry for
users, including obligations and liabilities for defamation, hate, and dangerous speech.
With globalized OSPs operating across the world in an interdependent digital environ
ment, inconsistencies across different regimes generate legal uncertainties that under
mine both users’ rights and business opportunities. To better understand the heterogene
ity of the international online intermediary liability regime and contribute to this impor
tant policy debate, the Handbook enlisted leading authorities with the goal of mapping
the field of online intermediary liability studies. This effort builds on the work of a prede
cessor, the World Intermediary Liability Map (WILMap), a repository for information
(p. 4) on international intermediary liability regimes hosted at the Stanford Center for In
ternet and Society (CIS), that I developed and launched with contributions from many of
the co-authors of this Handbook.1
The Handbook’s attempt to study intermediary liability and come to terms with a frag
mented legal framework builds on a vast array of other efforts. Besides the WILMap men
tioned earlier, mapping and comparative analysis exercises have been undertaken by the
Network of Centers,2 the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO),3 and other
academic initiatives.4 Institutional efforts at the international level are on the rise. The
Global Multistakeholder Meeting on the Future of Internet Governance (NETmundial)
worked towards the establishment of global provisions on intermediary liability within a
charter of internet governance principles.5 The final text of the NETmundial Statement
included the principle that ‘[i]ntermediary liability limitations should be implemented in a
way that respects and promotes economic growth, innovation, creativity, and free flow of
information’.6 The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) is
sued recommendations on Principles for Internet Policy Making stating that, in develop
ing or revising their policies for the internet economy, the state members should consider
the limitation of intermediary liability as a high level principle.7 Also, the 2011 Joint Dec
laration of the three Special Rapporteurs for Freedom of Expression contains statements
suggesting an ongoing search for a global regime for intermediary liability.8 The Repre
sentative on Freedom of the Media of the (p. 5) OSCE issued a Communiqué on Open
Journalism recognizing that ‘intermediaries have become one of the main platforms facili
tating access to media content as well as enhancing the interactive and participatory na
ture of Open Journalism’.9 Efforts to produce guidelines and general principles for inter
mediaries also emerged in civil society. In particular, the Manila Principles on Intermedi
ary Liability set out safeguards for content restriction on the internet with the goal of pro
tecting users’ rights, including ‘freedom of expression, freedom of association and the
right to privacy’.10 Other projects developed best practices that can be implemented by
intermediaries in their conditions of service with special emphasis on protecting funda
mental rights.11 For example, under the aegis of the Internet Governance Forum, the Dy
namic Coalition for Platform Responsibility aims to delineate a set of model contractual
provisions.12 The provisions should be compliant with the UN ‘Protect, Respect and Rem
edy’ Framework as endorsed by the UN Human Rights Council together with the UN
Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights.13 Ranking Digital Rights is an addi
Page 2 of 34

tional initiative that promotes best practice and transparency among online intermedi
aries.14 The project ranks internet and telecommunications companies according to their
moral behaviour in respecting users’ rights, including privacy and freedom of speech.
Several initiatives have looked into notice-and-takedown procedures in order to highlight
possible chilling effects and propose solutions. Lumen—formerly Chilling Effects—
archives takedown notices to promote transparency and facilitate research into the take
down ecology.15 The Takedown Project is a collaborative effort housed at the University of
California, Berkeley School of Law and the American Assembly to study notice-and-take
down procedures.16 Again, the Internet and Jurisdiction project has been developing a
due process framework to deal more efficiently with transnational notice-and-takedown
requests, seizures, mutual legal assistance treaties (MLATs), and law enforcement coop
eration requests.17
(p. 6) 1. Mapping Fundamental Notions

Following this chapter, Part II of the Handbook maps out fundamental notions and issues
in online intermediary liability and platforms’ regulation that will serve as a basis for fur
ther analysis in later Parts. It provides a taxonomy of internet platforms, an analysis of ev
idence-based research in the field, and a general discussion of a possible basis for liabili
ty and remedies. In addition, it puts into context intermediary liability regulation with
fundamental rights—a theme that will resurface many times throughout the Handbook—
and considers the ethical implications of the online intermediaries’ role.
Graeme Dinwoodie sets the stage by defining a taxonomy of online intermediaries in

Chapter 2. Dinwoodie ask the question Who are Internet Intermediaries? or, as multiple
alternatives go, ‘online service providers’ or ‘internet service providers’. The first find
ings, disappointing as they may be, are that there is little consensus, a condition that is
common to all things related to online intermediary liability. Fragmentation and multiple
approaches abound. Reconstruction of the notion comes from scattered references in
statues and case law, obviously a suboptimal approach for promoting consistency and le
gal certainty. However, Dinwoodie does a stellar job of finding patterns within the confu
sion and bringing together the systematization of other contributors to the Handbook,
such as Jaani Riordan and Martin Husovec.18 Within the broad view of online intermedi
aries endorsed by Dinwoodie, we are left with the option of pursuing an essentialist ap
proach that responds to technology or going beyond it in search of a more dynamic ap
proach unbounded by ephemeral technological references. The present debate on the
overhaul of the online intermediary liability regime exposes the limitations of the former
approach as it is striking how in just twenty years—when the first intermediary liability
regulations were enacted—the online market and its technological solutions have
changed. A well-known definition from the OECD bears out this point: ‘Internet interme
diaries bring together or facilitate transactions between third parties on the Internet.
They give access to, host, transmit and index content, products and services originated by
third parties on the Internet or provide Internet-based services to third parties.’19
Traditional distinctions in access, hosting, caching providers, and search engines has in
Page 3 of 34

creasingly become obsolete. More granularity is needed and account should be taken of
actors performing multiple functions and services.
Jaani Riordan follows up on Dinwoodie’s taxonomy by describing the typology of liability

that may attach to online intermediaries’ conduct. Liability rules give rise to two main
classes of obligation: monetary and non-monetary. Monetary liability may be further divid
ed along a spectrum comprising four main standards: strict liability; negligence or fault-
based liability; knowledge-based liability; and partial or total immunity. Non-monetary lia
bility may be further divided into prohibitory and mandatory (p. 7) obligations. As Rior
dan explains, these rules can be then situated within concepts of primary and secondary
liability. The review of the types of liability and intermediary obligations also leads to
identifying the main justifications given for imposing liability on intermediaries. On one
side, liability rules may attribute blame to secondary actors who have assumed responsi
bility for primary wrongdoers and intermediary liability rules reflect the secondary
actor’s own culpability. Alternatively, secondary liability rules can be justified by reducing
enforcement costs by secondary actors who are likely to be least-cost avoiders. Finally,
Chapter 3 provides an overview of the types of wrongdoing which may be relevant to in
termediaries’ liability, including copyright infringement, trade mark infringement,
defamation, hate speech, breach of regulatory obligations, and disclosure obligations.
Further chapters will pick up several of these wrongdoings for more detailed discussion.
In Chapter 4, Martin Husovec completes this preliminary mapping exercise with an

overview of remedies for intermediary liability. Husovec describes damages and injunc
tions, their scope and goals, while also analysing the costs of those remedies. In
Husovec’s view, there are three legal pillars of liability that lead to remedies: primary lia
bility, secondary liability, and injunctions against innocent third parties or intermediaries,
which are a more recent development. Applying any of these pillars to intermediaries has
consequences by changing the scope of damages, their aggregation, scope, and goal of in
junctions, and their associated costs. This, according to Husovec, launches forms of ‘re
medial competition’, where plaintiffs may have an incentive to bring lawsuits against par
ties that never acted wrongfully themselves, rather than against known tortfeasors that
might better redress the wrongdoing. In this respect, distinguishing the cost structure be
tween intermediaries as infringers and innocent third parties—therefore exempting inno
cent third parties from the full or partial burden of compliance and procedural costs—
would limit incentives to act against innocent third parties as well as negative externali
ties for technological innovation. As Husovec discusses, some jurisdictions address this is
sue by putting in place the necessary balancing, while others do not come up with similar
distinctions. More generally, mapping remedies for intermediary liability leads to the con
clusion that much still needs to be done to bring about consistency between different ju
risdictions. In search of consistency, legal systems should look for a common vocabulary
and a common set of consequences associated with regulatory modalities.
Chapter 5 wraps up the legal framework that has been in place for almost two decades by
looking at it through the lens of empirical evidence. Kristofer Erickson and Martin
Kretschmer provide a thoughtful study on the implication of empirical evidence for inter
Page 4 of 34

mediary liability policy, which builds on previous empirical projects such as the Copyright
Evidence Wiki, an open-access repository of findings relating to the effects of copyright.20
As ‘we appear to be in the midst of a paradigm shift in intermediary (p. 8) liability, moving
from an obligation to act once knowledge is obtained to an obligation to prevent harmful
content appearing’—Erickson and Kretschmer note—changes in the legal framework
should be based on hard empirical evidence that attaches those changes to positive exter
nalities for society, while addressing negative externalities that emerged under the previ
ous regimes. Empirical data—which Erickson and Kretschmer identify and discuss—such
as the volume of takedown requests, the accuracy of notices, the potential for over-en
forcement or abuse, transparency of the takedown process, and the costs of enforcement
borne by different parties, should be assessed in advance of policymaking. Legislative and
regulatory changes should then follow from an empirically-based policymaking process.
All in all, according to Erickson and Kretschmer, evidence suggests that the notice-and-
takedown regime works and its shortcomings should be ‘addressed through tweaking,
rather than overhauling, the safe harbour regime’. In addition, data gathering and trans
parency of algorithmic decision-making becomes a critical call for the platform society,
which increasingly becomes a ‘black box society’ where users’ lives are daily affected by
unaccountable privately-run algorithms.21 Algorithmic accountability will be further dis
cussed by Ben Wagner in Chapter 35.
After mapping fundamental categorizations in the field, Part II also highlights tensions
within the system, especially concerning the ethical implications of intermediary liability
regulation and frictions with fundamental rights. In Chapter 6, Mariarosaria Taddeo in
vestigates the ethical implications of intermediary liability by describing moral responsi
bilities of OSPs with respect to managing access to information and human rights. As de
signers of online environments, OSPs play a civic role in mature information societies.
This role brings about a responsibility for designing OSPs’ services according to what is
acceptable and socially preferable from a global perspective that can reconcile different
ethical views and stakeholders’ interests. In applying Floridi’s soft ethics to consider what
responsibilities the civic role of OSPs entails, Taddeo concludes that OSPs need to devel
op ethical foresight analyses to consider the impact of their practices and technologies
step-by-step and, if necessary, identify alternatives and risk-mitigating strategies. In
Chapter 7, Christophe Geiger, Elena Izyumenko, and I consider the tension between inter
mediary liability and fundamental rights with special emphasis on the European legal
framework. Competing fundamental rights, such as freedom of expression, privacy, free
dom of business, and the right to property are entangled in the intermediary liability co
nundrum. Policymakers are still in search of a balanced and proportional fine-tuning of
online intermediaries’ regulation that can address the miscellaneous interests of all stake
holders involved, with special emphasis on users’ rights. In this context, the increasing
reliance on automated enforcement technologies, which will be the topic of further re
view in several chapters of the Handbook, might set in motion dystopian scenarios where
users’ fundamental rights are heavily undermined.
Page 5 of 34

2. Mapping International Fragmentation:

(p. 9)
From Safe Harbours to Liability

Part III sets out to establish the fragmented field of online intermediary liability by map
ping international actions which have oscillated from safe harbours to liability. This Part
presents a jurisdictional overview discussing intermediary liability safe harbour arrange
ments and highlighting systemic fragmentation and miscellaneous inconsistent approach
es. Each chapter in this Part focuses on regional trends, then cherry-picks an important
topic to be discussed in detail. In this respect, Part III exposes an increasing number of
cracks that appear in safe harbour arrangements—where they are in place—and the en
hanced responsibilities that multiple jurisdictions cast on online intermediaries and plat
forms. Since the enactment of the first safe harbours and liability exemptions for online
intermediaries, market conditions have radically changed. Originally, intermediary liabili
ty exemptions were introduced to promote an emerging internet market. Do safe har
bours for online intermediaries still serve innovation? Should they be limited or expand
ed? These critical questions—often tainted by protectionist concerns—define the present
intermediary liability conundrum.
In the mid-1990s, after an initial brief hesitation,22 legislators decided that online inter
mediaries, both access and hosting providers, should enjoy exemptions from liability for
wrongful activities committed by users through their services. The United States first in
troduced these safe harbours. In 1996, the Communications Decency Act exempted inter
mediaries from liability for the speech they carry.23 In 1998, the Digital Millennium Copy
right Act introduced specific intermediary liability safe harbours for copyright infringe
ment under more stringent requirements.24 Shortly after, the e-Commerce Directive im
posed on EU Member States the obligation to enact similar legal arrangements to protect
a range of online intermediaries from liability.25 Other jurisdictions have more recently
followed suit.26 In most cases, safe harbour legislation provides mere (p. 10) conduit,
caching, and hosting exemptions for intermediaries, together with the exclusion of a gen
eral obligation on online providers to monitor the information which they transmit or
store or actively seek facts or circumstances indicating illegal activity.27
According to Eric Goldman, who provides an overview of the state of intermediaries’ im
munities in the United States in Chapter 8, even the traditionally strong enforcement of
online intermediaries’ safe harbours in section 230 of the Communication Decency Act
(CDA) shows signs of decay with critics claiming that the functional life of section 230 is
nearing its end and more regulation is necessary.28 Similarly, safe harbours for copyright
infringement provided for by the US DMCA have also been questioned.29 However, on the
other hand, trade agreements like the United States–Mexico–Canada Agreement (USM
CA) or NAFTA 2.0 have exported the section 230 arrangement to other countries—Cana
da and Mexico—both making it a North American standard and limiting the power of Con
gress to undermine significantly section 230. In Chapter 9, Juan Carlos Lara Gálvez and
Alan Sears follow up by discussing the impact of free trade agreements (FTAs) on inter
net intermediary liability in Latin America. They note that even where FTAs have been
Page 6 of 34

adopted between the United States and Latin American countries, the implementation of
related intermediary liability provisions lags behind. So far, only Chile and Costa Rica
have implemented these provisions in their national laws. Notably, after the withdrawal of
the Unites States from the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), the remaining parties reached
an agreement on an amended version of the TPP, which actually suspended the provisions
pertaining to online intermediaries’ safe harbours. In sum, Lara and Sears question
whether adopting the DMCA model is ideal for Latin American countries. In any event,
they note, there is no consensus in Latin America on whether this would be the best mod
el for balancing the rights of copyright holders and the general public, which explains the
resistance in implementing this regime nationally.
Similar resistance to providing immunities for intellectual property infringement is also

shown in the Brazilian Marco Civil da Internet (MCI)—or Internet Bill of Rights—introduc
ing a civil liability exemption for internet access providers and other internet providers.30
This broad civil—and not criminal—liability exemption, however, does not apply to copy
right infringement.31 Luiz Moncau and Diego Arguelhes describe the process leading to
enactment of the MCI and its main achievements in Chapter 10. (p. 11) Although the MCI
is simply an ordinary federal statute, it arguably stands out as a manifestation of digital
constitutionalism, as Moncau and Arguelhes argue. Following in the footsteps of an
emerging global move,32 the MCI updates and translates the traditional concerns of con
stitutionalism—protecting rights and limiting power—into a realm where the enjoyment of
powers is very much threatened by private companies that hold the resources and tools
to shape our online experience.
African countries have been discussing the introduction of a safe harbour regime for on
line intermediaries for quite some time. In Chapter 11, Nicolo Zingales reviews a global
attempt in several African jurisdictions to adjust the legal framework to the challenges
posed by the platform economy. In Intermediary Liability in Africa: Looking Back, Moving
Forward?, Zingales highlights how the African Union (AU) has attempted to drive harmo
nization on the basis of the South African Electronic Communications Act—the first and
most sophisticated intermediary liability legislation in the area.33 Ghana, Zambia, and
Uganda have enacted legislation heavily inspired by the South African model. Meanwhile,
AU-led interstate cooperation has raised awareness of human rights protection online, cy
bersecurity, and personal data protection, in particular with a dedicated AU
Convention.34 However, very limited intermediary liability legislation has been adopted in
the region. In this fragmented legal framework, cyber-policing obligations become entan
gled with immunities and the self- and co-regulation schemes that characterize the South
African Electronic Transactions Act, posing challenges to due process and other funda
mental rights, such as freedom of expression. According to Zingales, only the AU could
promote a shared notion of intermediary liability exemptions in the region.
An inconsistent approach that brings about legal uncertainty also characterizes the Aus
tralian law governing the liability of online intermediaries, according to Kylie Pappalardo
and Nicolas Suzor, who provide a comprehensive review of the current state of Australian
online intermediary liability law across different doctrines, such as laws of defamation,
Page 7 of 34

racial vilification, misleading and deceptive conduct, contempt of court, and copyright. In
Chapter 12, Pappalardo and Suzor show that the basis on which third parties are liable
for the actions of individuals online is confusing and, viewed as a whole, largely incoher
ent. Australian law lacks articulation of a clear distinction for circumstances in which in
termediaries will not be held liable, which results in a great deal of uncertainty. These
conflicts in flux within Australian doctrines that have been applied to online intermediary
liability have led to a push for greater online enforcement and intermediary regulation
based on the capacity of doing something to prevent harm rather than responsibility. Pap
palardo and Suzor posit that confusion between capacity and responsibility has a role in
much of the uncertainty in Australia intermediary liability regulation. One solution would
be for Australian courts to more strictly apply responsibility (p. 12) theory in tort law and
ascribe liability only after examining the intermediaries’ causal role in committing the
wrong, therefore establishing fault first and liability later.
In Chapter 13, Kyung-Sin Park compares the intermediary liability rules of six major Asian
countries including China, India, Japan, Korea, Indonesia, and Malaysia to demonstrate
that under the label of safe harbours lies, in fact, a liability trap.35 China and South Korea
adopted a rule that an intermediary is required to remove known unlawful content on the
penalty of liability and thereby set out to specify when the intermediaries will be held li
able, instead of when they will not be held liable, inadvertently creating a liability-impos
ing rule instead of a liability-exempting rule. India’s regulation, namely the 2011 Interme
diary Guidelines, generated a raft of obligations on intermediaries that threatened to con
vert the whole system into one imposing, rather than exempting from, liability. However,
such a threat may have had an impact on the jurisprudence that, by way of the 2013
Shreya Singhal decision,36 made the Indian system an extremely ‘safe harbour’ by requir
ing judicial review for taking down infringing content. Further, Indonesia’s draft safe har
bour regulation which was announced in December 2016 seems to move towards the
model of China and South Korea, while Malaysia’s copyright notice and takedown seems
to follow the US model closely but has a structure that allows the same misunderstanding
made by the Korean regulators. All in all, Park shows how all over Asia online intermedi
ary liability is on the rise, while safe harbours’ scope narrows proportionally.
In Chapter 14, Danny Friedmann expands on China and explains how the interplay of
multiple laws, regulations, and judicial interpretations have produced a system where
weak safe harbours for online intermediaries oscillate heavily towards enhanced liability,
given a very broad notion of ‘knowledge’ and the fact that an OSP without the ability to
control copyright or trade mark infringement can still be found liable. This liability-impos
ing rule ends up putting pressure on intermediaries to take down unlawful—and lawful—
content. This seems to imply that filtering standards for OSPs in China will be continuous
ly on the rise as well as their obligations to sanitize their networks against allegedly in
fringing content. This regulatory approach will be increasingly coupled with predictive ar
tificial intelligence (AI) analytics and deep learning that will allow massive data proces
sors, like Alibaba and Baidu, to become an omniscient tool against alleged infringement,
both intellectual property (IP) and speech related. However, in a move that is surprisingly
similar to that of other jurisdictions, especially the European Union, the Chinese regulato
Page 8 of 34

ry framework seems to push forward self-regulation and pressure for OSPs to take on
more responsibility, rather than a legislatively mandated duty of care.
In Europe, Asia, South America, Africa, and Australia, the recent international policy de
bate has focused on the recalibration of safe harbours towards more liability for online in
termediaries. As part of its Digital Single Market (DSM) Strategy, the European (p. 13)
Commission has narrowed the e-Commerce Directive’s horizontal liability limitations for
internet intermediaries and put in place a ‘fit for purpose’—or vertical—regulatory envi
ronment for platforms and online intermediaries.37 In Chapter 15, Maria Lillà Montagnani
discusses this development by looking into the emergence of A New Liability Regime for
Illegal Content in the Digital Single Market Strategy. The DSM Strategy deploys en
hanced obligations that websites and other internet intermediaries should have for deal
ing with unlawful third party content.38 Legislative developments, including the Copy
right in the DSM Directive,39 the amendments to the Audiovisual Media Service
Directive,40 and the Guidance on Unfair Commercial Practices,41 have vertically ‘en
hanced responsibility’42 among online platforms in Europe. These developments both aim
to achieve a fairer allocation of value generated by the distribution of copyright-protected
content by online platforms—to close the so-called value gap43—and lower transaction
costs of online enforcement by shifting the burden of sanitization of allegedly illegal
speech on online intermediaries rather than law enforcement agencies. In this context,
Montagnani highlights obvious inconsistencies between the new vertical regimes and the
horizontal safeguards for intermediary liability provided by the e-Commerce Directive.44
Fragmentation, enhanced responsibility, and statutory liability then emerge in tight con
nection with the expansion of private ordering and voluntary measures in Europe as
much as in other jurisdictions as earlier noted.
Perhaps, within a fragmented international framework, a common design in recent devel

opments of intermediary liability regulation can be identified as consistently emerging in
multiple jurisdictions. Standards for liability are lowered, safe harbours constricted, and
incentives for responsible behaviour, that should mainly be carried out (p. 14) through au
tomated algorithmic monitoring and filtering, increased. Horizontally, online intermedi
aries have been increasingly involved with semiotic regulation online, which is perceived
as a major threat to global stability due to the ubiquity of allegedly infringing behaviours
and the enormous transaction costs that enforcement entails. However, standards differ
greatly from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, with the strongest protection given to online in
termediaries in the United States, while the rest of the world is slowly drifting away from
the US approach. The legal uncertainty deriving from miscellaneous approaches in con
stant flux obviously affects online businesses. This is further exacerbated by a steady in
crease in vertical regulation often launched without pondering potential inconsistencies
with horizontal regulation that has now been in place for a few decades.
Page 9 of 34

3. Mapping Subject-Specific Regulation

Mapping online intermediary liability worldwide entails a review of a wide-ranging topic,
stretching into many different areas of law and domain-specific solutions. The purpose of
Part IV is to consider online intermediary liability for subject matter-specific infringe
ments. This Part provides an overview of intermediate liability for copyright, trade mark,
unfair competition, and privacy infringement, together with internet platforms’ obliga
tions and liabilities for defamation, hate, and dangerous speech.
Secondary liability for copyright infringement has increasingly moved centre stage and is
the driving issue on the agenda of recent reform proposals. In particular, recent EU copy
right reform has struggled to find consensus on new obligations for OSPs.45 The Euro
pean debate has revolved around the harmonization of national traditions of secondary li
ability and the alternative of construing online intermediaries as primarily liable for the
violation of the right of communication to the public. The latter option has finally been en
dorsed by the European Parliament,46 setting Europe apart from the dominant approach
in other jurisdictions. In Chapter 16, Christina Angelopoulos builds on her long-standing
research in this domain and reviews the lessons of European tort law for intermediary lia
bility in copyright in order to plot a path for Harmonizing Intermediary Copyright Liabili
ty in the EU: A Summary. Traditionally, Member States have relied on home-grown solu
tions in the absence of a complete EU framework for intermediary accessory copyright li
ability. Angelopoulos examines the approaches taken in three of the major tort law tradi
tions of Europe: the UK, France, and Germany. This examination shows the emergence of
three cross-jurisdictional approaches to intermediary liability, including intra-copyright
solutions, tort-based solutions, and (p. 15) injunction-based solutions. Existing projects on
the harmonization of European tort law, such as the Principles of European Tort Law
(PETL),47 may serve as a basis for building a framework for European intermediary liabili
ty in copyright. Angelopoulos proposes a negligence-based approach, which is informed
by existing EU and national copyright law and tort law according to the emerging doc
trine of the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) of fair balance among funda
mental rights.48
However, harmonization in this field is also taking place through an expansive notion of
communication to the public. Both CJEU case law49 and EU legislation50 have construed
some online intermediaries as directly liable for communicating infringing content to the
public. In Chapter 17, Eleonora Rosati looks into the Direct Liability of Intermediaries for
copyright infringement and disentangles the complexities of the recent CJEU case law
concerning the matter. In the light of recent legislation,51 direct liability reaches beyond
platforms that induce infringement by users—where the core business is piracy—as con
cluded by the CJEU in The Pirate Bay case.52 More broadly, it reaches user-generated con
tent platforms that organize and promote user-uploaded content for profit.53 In addition,
no safe harbours will be available to platforms that communicate to the public. Both these
points settled, Rosati wonders whether a distinction between primary harmonized liabili
ty and secondary unharmonized liability still makes sense. In sum, this expansive con
struction of the notion of direct liability for communication to the public of online plat
Page 10 of 34

forms reflects an ongoing move towards their enhanced accountability and liability, espe
cially in the EU.
In a highly volatile policy environment like that of the United States where market forces
constantly lobby the legislative power in order to obtain better conditions, the recent Eu
ropean developments might lead to reconsideration of the traditional balance of interests
and power embedded in section 512 of the DMCA in favour of stricter regulations for on
line intermediaries. Presently, although reform activity and ligation has slowed down in
the United States, Jack Lerner notes that there are considerable challenges that new en
trants to the user-generated content (UGC) market must face to comply with the require
ments of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.54 In discussing Secondary Copyright In
fringement Liability and User-Generated Content in the United States, Lerner highlights
that online intermediaries and UGC platforms are exposed to uncertainty by the construc
tion of the notion of inducement and wilful blindness, which leaves room for litigation
even if they respond to takedown notices expeditiously and actively seek to remove in
fringing content.
Next to rampant global copyright infringement, the internet—and the emergence

(p. 16)
of the platform economy within it—has seen the widespread availability of counterfeit
goods that can be purchased and easily delivered anywhere in the world. More than copy
right, trade mark infringement can become a sensitive public order concern, especially
when it involves drugs or food the commercialization of which might put public health at
risk. According to Frederick Mostert, even though ‘the lack of uniform international
guidelines has made tackling counterfeits in a borderless digital environment even more
challenging’, there are common approaches emerging towards intermediary liability at
the international level for online trade mark infringement. In Chapter 19, Mostert out
lines three common tenets that can be distilled into a transnational principle of intermedi
ary liability: ‘[1] upon notice of a specific infringement, [2] an ISP is required to take all
proportionate and reasonable measures which a reasonable ISP would take in the same
circumstances [3] to address the specific instance of infringement brought to their atten
tion’. This emerging common international principle is then coupled with a ius gentium of
voluntary measures that results from voluntary cooperation between online intermedi
aries and rightholders to curb infringement. In this context, Mostert highlights the consis
tent deployment of voluntary removals, monitoring, algorithmic filtering, follow the mon
ey approaches, registry systems, advertising codes of practice preventing advertisements
on counterfeit websites, and educational campaigns.
As Friedmann also explained earlier in Chapter 14, with special regard to Chinese online
conglomerates such as Alibaba, the development of this ius gentium of voluntary mea
sures is tightly connected to advancement in technological innovation such as AI and ma
chine learning. However, current technology can barely cope with trade mark infringe
ment, which is potentially even more challenging than copyright infringement. The issue
here is twofold. On one side, technology can be easily circumvented by sophisticated in
fringers. On the other side, ‘fair balance’ between trade mark protections and other fun
damental rights, such as freedom of competition, freedom of expression and information,
Page 11 of 34

and the right to privacy, can be hard to achieve through automated enforcement. Actually,
Chapter 20 magnifies the issue of balancing trade mark protection and social and cultural
values from a civil law perspective. Martin Senftleben reviews the CJEU case law on point
as well as European national jurisprudence concluding that there is a growing recogni
tion of necessary limitations in trade mark protection for providing breathing space for
commercial, artistic, and political freedom of expression. However, Senftleben also warns
against a Proliferation of Filter Obligations in Civil Law Jurisdictions, reinforcing the con
cerns already expressed in other chapters. Overblocking through filtering technologies
might easily defy all safeguards of free expression that recent jurisprudential develop
ments have carved into trade mark law. Although copyright filtering has recently been un
der the spotlight, over-enforcement of trade marks online should not be underplayed—
Senftleben noted—especially in the light of the heavily context-specific nature of trade
mark exclusive rights, which make file-matching technologies inefficient in trade mark
enforcement online.55 In this regard, at least in (p. 17) European civil law jurisdictions,
there are fragmented responses. Senftleben uses the example of Dutch courts imposing a
far-reaching filtering obligation only if the intermediary systematically and structurally
facilitates the infringing activities. In contrast, German jurisprudence has been less cau
tious in this domain by using the open-ended Störerhaftung doctrine to develop quite sub
stantial specific monitoring and filtering duties for online intermediaries, such as in the
eBay and Rapidshare cases.56 This jurisprudence will be also reassessed in Chapter 28 by
Sunimal Mendis and me when considering global emergence of judicially-imposed filter
ing and monitoring obligations.
The peculiarities of the common law perspective of intermediary liability and trade mark
infringement are discussed by Richard Arnold in Chapter 21. Arnold crystallizes the
teachings of UK case law in this domain, while situating this common law perspective
within EU trade mark law,57 the e-Commerce Directive,58 and the Enforcement
Directive.59 Arnold, as well as other contributors in this Handbook earlier,60 makes a fun
damental distinction between liability stemming from legal principles which are not par
ticular to intermediaries, including primary and accessory liability, and liability depend
ing on the application of principles which are specific to intermediaries, intermediary lia
bility proper. This second type of liability includes injunctions against intermediaries
whose services are used to infringe trade marks made available in national jurisdictions
by the implementation of Article 11 of the Enforcement Directive. Although other types of
injunctions against intermediaries are available, Arnold focuses on the increasing popu
larity of website-blocking injunctions, which have recently been ported from the copy
right domain, where they have more traditionally been deployed, to the trade mark do
main. The Cartier case was the first—and so far the only—European case applying a web
site-blocking injunction to trade mark infringement.61
Online intermediary liability can also arise as a consequence of infringements of rights

and legal interests other than IP rights. In Chapter 22, Valentina Moscon and Reto Hilty
explore intermediary liability for unfair commercial practices (UCPs) and trade secret in
fringement under European law.62 Moscon and Hilty investigate whether and (p. 18) un
der which conditions online intermediaries are liable under rules of conduct governing
Page 12 of 34

the functioning of the market, and the upcoming DSM in particular. Platforms like TripAd
visor might be considered traders as well as hosting providers with the potential cumula
tive applicability of the e-Commerce Directive safe harbours and the obligations govern
ing traders under the UPC Directive. Most likely, Moscon and Hilty conclude, the e-Com
merce Directive as a lex specialis will prevail on competing legal instruments and provide
exemption from liability. However, there is uncertainty regarding the standard of knowl
edge required for triggering takedown obligations or the obligation of preventing future
infringements or, again, whether injunctive relief similar to that of Article 11 of the En
forcement Directive can apply to UCPs. Obviously, then, liability, if exemptions do not ap
ply, is a matter of fragmented and unharmonized national tort laws that implement very
differently the general prohibition against UCPs contained in EU law. Given the global
ized nature of digital markets and their steady growth, multiplying potential violations by
online intermediaries, Moscon and Hilty conclude that the status quo is unsatisfactory
and specific alternatives for UCPs and trade secret violations in digital markets must be
developed.
Sanitization of allegedly infringing speech is yet another area where online intermedi
aries have a primary role. The ‘datafication’ and ‘platformization’ of society has reached
every sphere of life with platforms controlling the flow of a more abundant but fragment
ed information offer than the traditional mass media.63 Therefore, their long-lasting liabil
ity exemptions have been challenged almost everywhere, even in the United States,
where section 230 of the CDA, however, still holds as a comprehensive protection for on
line intermediaries for speech-related infringements. Elsewhere, the messenger can now
be more freely shot unless it acts responsibly enough and supports wronged parties and
law enforcement agencies in fighting illegal speech online. In Chapter 23, Emily Laidlaw
tackles this side of the intermediary liability conundrum, providing a common law per
spective on intermediary liability for defamation and dangerous and hate speech. Laidlaw
focuses on the Canadian system and other common law jurisdictions. After an introduc
tion to the common law and statutory legal context, Laidlaw puts forward a reform pro
posal for online defamation that goes under the name of Notice-and-Notice-Plus (NN+).
The discussion of this rather subject-specific proposal becomes an opportunity for explor
ing optimal intermediary liability models for the regulation of other kinds of harmful
speech, including fake news, terrorist content, and hate speech.
In Free Expression and Internet Intermediaries: The Changing Geometry of European

Regulation, Tarlach McGonagle stresses how the geometry of European regulation has
moved towards online intermediaries’ increased liability and enhanced responsibility for
illegal third party speech. This change seems to sideline the well-established understand
ing that freedom of the media must be safeguarded and regulation should not curb the
development of information and communication technologies. McGonagle reviews (p. 19)
the case law of the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR), such as Delphi,64 EU Com
munications, Recommendations, and Codes of Conduct and concludes that the greater
the seriousness of the perceived harms of certain categories of expression, such as hate
speech, the more responsibly online intermediaries are supposed to act. In particular, as
noted elsewhere, there is an emergent preference for self-regulatory codes of conduct as
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a regulatory technique in Europe. As McGonagle notes, however, all the relevant Euro
pean codes of conduct are less voluntary than they seem, as rather than trusting the mar
ket with appropriate self-regulatory choices, they put forward a rather coercive approach.
In the information society, the role of private sector entities in gathering information for
and about users has long been a most critical issue. Therefore, intermediaries have be
come a main focus of privacy regulation, especially in jurisdictions with a strong tradition
of privacy protection such as Europe.65 In Chapter 25, Miquel Peguera discusses The
Right to be Forgotten in the European Union. As Peguera recounts, in a landmark case
the CJEU ruled that an internet search engine operator is responsible for processing per
sonal data which appear on web pages published by third parties.66 The Google Spain
ruling once again expands the obligations of online intermediaries, of which search en
gines are a subset. It brings about enhanced responsibility—and transaction costs—for
online intermediaries, while entrusting them with an adjudication role that entails a deli
cate balance between fundamental rights. That balance has been addressed quite satis
factorily by European institutions and national courts, setting precise guidance that pre
serves freedom of expression and public interest.67 However, also in this field, there still
remain concerns about whether any adjudication role should be entrusted to online inter
mediaries, although the scale of semiotic governance online leaves room for very few sus
tainable alternatives. At the same time, additional obligations of uncertain applicability,
such as the prohibition of processing of sensitive data that should theoretically apply to
all data controllers including those online intermediaries that qualify as such, might be so
invasive as to disrupt the business of online intermediaries. Peguera also discusses the
hotly debated issue of the geographical scope of the right to be forgotten; that is, its pos
sible extraterritorial global application to .com domains rather than European domains
only. Extraterritorial application of intermediary liability obligations is a critical issue that
goes beyond enforcement of the right to be forgotten and will be further discussed in Part
VI.
Multiple jurisdictions are trying to cope with ‘right to be forgotten’ demands, fol
(p. 20)
lowing the Google Spain ruling.68 The emergence of the right to be forgotten—and its ex
traterritorial application—follows in the footsteps of a global move towards data protec
tionism against the de facto market dominance of US internet conglomerates.69 There are
plenty of recent examples, including the CJEU’s Schrems decision and Russian Federal
Law No. 242-FZ. In Schrems, the CJEU ruled that the transatlantic Safe Harbour agree
ment—which lets US companies use a single standard for consumer privacy and data
storage in both the United States and Europe—is invalid;70 whereas Russia introduced
legislation requiring that the processing of the personal data of Russian citizens be con
ducted with the use of servers located in Russia.71 Eduardo Bertoni tackles the global im
pact of enhanced privacy obligation for online intermediaries in Chapter 26, where he dis
cusses the Right to be … Forgotten? Trends in Latin America after the Belén Rodriguez
Case and the Impact of the New European Rules. Several Latin American countries, in
cluding Argentina, Chile, Columbia, Peru, and Uruguay, have been heavily debating oblig
ations of online intermediaries in connection with the protection of users’ data and per
sonal information. The debate has further involved delisting obligations and proactive fil
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tering generally. In the aftermath of the CJEU Google Spain decision, freedom of expres
sion and privacy advocates have been in confrontation in Latin America with proposals to
introduce the right to be forgotten or other delisting obligations often met with strong
civil society opposition. The Belén Rodriguez case in Argentina, for example, endorsed the
quite extreme view that no delisting obligation should be imposed on OSPs unless or
dered by a court or in a few specific cases of obviously infringing content.72 Bertoni, in
particular, warns about de-indexing obligations against search engines that would amount
to prior restraint to speech and not be compliant with the American Convention on Hu
man Rights.73 Again, as Bertoni reports, the Special Rapporteur for Freedom of Expres
sion of the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights has been quite straightforward
in rejecting delisting obligations à la Google Spain.74 Tensions between fundamental
rights and intermediary liability obligations define the essence of the intermediary liabili
ty conundrum online. In this context, fragmentation and inconsistencies abound. They are
actually steadily growing rather than receding. Obviously, fragmentation (p. 21) is multi
plied vertically across different subject matter and if common solutions are not rapidly
agreed, inconsistencies may soon become so irreconcilable that they will drive a process
of Balkanization that will break down the internet, as discussed in more detail in Part VI
of the Handbook.
4. Mapping Intermediary Liability Enforcement

As should now be quite obvious, the intense debate concerning OSPs’ intermediary liabili
ty primarily concerns the involvement of OSPs in online enforcement to aid law enforce
ment agencies and wronged parties to curb widespread illegal behaviours online. Given
the scale of the phenomenon, intermediaries have been increasingly identified as the
most suitable option for minimizing transaction costs and enhancing efficacy of enforce
ment. Part V reviews intermediary liability enforcement strategies by focusing on emerg
ing trends, including notice and action, proactive monitoring obligations across the entire
spectrum of intermediary liability subject matter, blocking orders against innocent third
parties, and the emergence of administrative enforcement of online infringement. Later,
Part VI discusses private ordering and voluntary measures, an additional emerging trend
in intermediary liability enforcement. The focus of the review in Part V inevitably magni
fies the tensions between enforcement strategies and miscellaneous fundamental rights,
including freedom of expression, privacy, and freedom of business.
In Chapter 27, Aleksandra Kuczerawy discusses From ‘Notice and Takedown’ to ‘Notice
and Stay Down’: Risks and Safeguards for Freedom of Expression. Kuczerawy describes
enforcement mechanisms that are provided to allegedly wronged parties in multiple juris
dictions to seek a remedy directly from an OSP for an infringement that may have oc
curred through its networks. These are generally known as ‘notice-and-action’ (N&A)
mechanisms and—Kuczerawy explains—take many nuanced forms, including most com
monly ‘notice-and-take-down’, ‘notice-and-notice’, and ‘notice-and-stay-down’. By provid
ing for the removal or blocking of content, all these mechanism can interfere with the
right to freedom of expression. Therefore, Kuczerawy examines ‘how different types of
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N&A mechanisms amplify the risks to free expression and what safeguards they include
to prevent such risks from manifesting themselves’. From notice-and-take-down to notice-
and-notice and notice-and-stay-down, fundamental rights find themselves increasingly un
der pressure. The recent move away from the e-Commerce notice-and-stay-down model to
endorse notice-and-stay down and other filtering obligations in the new Directive on
Copyright in the DSM witnesses this intensification of the tension between online inter
mediary regulation and fundamental rights.75
In Monitoring and Filtering: European Reform or Global Trend?, Sunimal Mendis

(p. 22)
and I develop this very point and take up from Kuczerawy’s more general discussion by
focusing on the widespread deployment of monitoring and filtering obligations through
voluntary, judicial, and legislative means. The recent EU copyright reform would de facto
force hosting providers to develop and deploy filtering systems, therefore monitoring
their networks.76 As we argue, the solution adopted by the new Directive follows in the
footsteps of a well-established path in recent intermediary liability policy: the demise of
the principle of ‘no monitoring obligations’. In the same vein, recent case law has im
posed proactive monitoring obligations on intermediaries for copyright infringement—
such as Allostreaming in France, Dafra in Brazil, RapidShare in Germany, or Baidu in Chi
na.77 Actually, the emerging enforcement of proactive filtering and monitoring obligations
has spanned the entire spectrum of intermediary liability subject matter, including other
IP rights,78 privacy,79 defamation, and hate/dangerous speech.80 In that context, notable
exceptions—such as the landmark Belén Rodriguez case that is discussed in detail in
Chapter 26—highlight again the fragmented international response to intermediary liabil
ity.81
Next, blocking orders against innocent third parties are an additional relevant trend in in
termediary liability. Blocking orders have become increasingly popular in Europe, espe
cially to contrast online copyright—and recently also trade mark—infringement.82 Their
validity under EU law was recently confirmed by the CJEU in the Telekabel decision.83
Outside the EU, website blocking of copyright-infringing sites has been authorized in
countries including Argentina, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, Mexico, South Korea, and
Turkey.84 In December 2014, Singapore effected an amendment to its Copyright Act to
enable rightholders to obtain website-blocking orders,85 and in 2015 Australia introduced
‘website blocking’ provisions to the Copyright Act.86 These (p. 23) measures have been en
acted with the aim of curbing IP infringement online, although negative effects on human
rights have been widely highlighted. In Chapter 29, Christophe Geiger and Elena Izyu
menko discuss Blocking Orders: Assessing Tensions with Human Rights and consider the
standards developed by the jurisprudence of the CJEU and the ECtHR to sustain the diffi
cult coexistence between blocking orders and fundamental rights, including freedom of
expression and freedom to conduct a business. Although CJEU case law has recognized
users’ rights as enforceable against injunctions that might curb users’ freedom of expres
sion online,87 according to Geiger and Izyumenko, it also ‘shifted a considerable part of
the human-rights-sensitive enforcement choices on the intermediaries’. This is a subopti
mal solution from a human right perspective. It is forced on international courts, such as
the CJEU, by the need to find a proportional equilibrium between competing rights—giv
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en the scale of the transaction costs of online enforcement—according to the doctrine of

‘fair balance’ among fundamental rights, which is also discussed in Chapters 16 and 17.
In reviewing the proper balance between freedom to conduct business and blocking or
ders, Geiger and Izyumenko discuss the allocation of costs of enforcement; that is,
whether the rightholders or the online intermediaries should sustain the costs of block
ing. The issue is also discussed in Chapter 20. The UK Supreme Court in Cartier,88 a trade
mark infringement case, allocated the costs of blocking and delisting to rightholders, tak
ing the opposite view to the French Cour de cassation in the Allostreaming case,89 a copy
right infringement case. Both the UK and French Courts of Appeal had instead decided
that the costs of enforcement had to be equally divided between the two parties.90 Other
courts in Europe, such as the Irish Court of Appeal in the Sony Music case,91 although de
ciding on costs for setting up a graduate response scheme rather than website blocking,
came to a different ratio, imposing 80 per cent of the costs to the online intermediaries
and 20 per cent to the rightholders. EU law and CJEU jurisprudence say little in this re
gard and leave the decision to the national courts on the basis of their (p. 24) national
law.92 Of course, this is telling of considerable fragmentation in approaches to intermedi
ary liability. This is especially relevant as it occurs in matters as sensitive as the alloca
tion of costs of enforcement. Fragmentation in this context brings about legal uncertainty
and higher transaction costs that reflect on the sustainability of the business models of
online intermediaries in Europe.
However, blocking orders have also been widely used in many jurisdictions—in particular
by administrative authorities—in connection with amorphous notions of public order,
defamation, and morality. In this respect, the emergence of administrative enforcement of
online intermediary liability appears to be another well-marked trend in recent internet
governance. Multiple administrative bodies have been put in charge of enforcing a mis
cellaneous array of online infringements—primarily against intermediaries and often ab
sent any judicial supervision. Some administrative bodies—such as the Italian Communi
cation Authority (AGCOM), the Second Section of the Copyright Commission (CPI), and
the Greek Committee on Internet Violations of Intellectual Property (CIPIV)—have been
given powers to police copyright infringement online and issue blocking orders and other
decisions to selectively remove infringing digital works.93 In Chapter 30, Alessandro Cogo
and Marco Ricolfi dig deep into the legal and regulatory framework empowering these
administrative bodies by studying the Administrative Enforcement of Copyright Infringe
ment Online in Europe. Although administrative procedures are available both under in
ternational and EU law for the protection and enforcement of IP rights,94 they must con
form to the same principles and safeguards as those for judicial review. Cogo and Ricolfi
find—especially by analysing data resulting from the practical implementation of the Ital
ian administrative enforcement system—that transparency and due process rank very low
in these administrative enforcement systems.
Worldwide many other administrative agencies enjoy broader powers of sanitization of

the internet. The Russian Roskomnadzor is an administrative body competent to request
telecoms operators to block access to websites featuring content that violates miscella
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neous pieces of legislation and competent to keep a special registry or ‘blacklist’ of web
sites that violate the law.95 Chapter 33 provides more insight on the functioning of this
Russian agency. In South Korea, the Korea Communications Commission (p. 25) imple
ments deletion or blocking orders according to the request and standards of the Korea
Communications Standards Commission ‘as necessary for nurturing sound communica
tions ethics’.96 In Turkey, the law empowers the Presidency of Telecommunications (TIB)
to block a website or web page within four hours without any judicial decision for the vio
lation of a new category of crimes labelled as ‘violation of private life’ or privacy.97 In In
dia, section 69(A)(1) of the IT Act provides the government with the ‘power to issue direc
tions for blocking for public access of any information through any computer resource’,98
which is dealt by a special committee examining within seven days all requests received
for blocking access to online information.99 Many other national administrative authori
ties—such as the Supreme Council of Cyberspace in Iran or CONATEL in Venezuela—do
issue orders against ISPs regarding the legality, blocking, and removal of online content,
which do not involve—or involve very limited—judicial review.100 Concerned views have
been voiced against administratively issued blocking orders, which could undermine ba
sic due process guarantees.101
5. Mapping Private Ordering and Intermediary

Responsibility
As anticipated, private ordering has been emerging powerfully as a privileged tool for on
line enforcement. Part VI considers whether policymakers—and interested third parties
such as IP rightholders—try to coerce online intermediaries into implementing enforce
ment strategies through voluntary measures and self-regulation, in addition to legally
mandated obligations. As Martin Husovec argued, EU law, for example, increasingly
forces internet intermediaries to work for the rightholders by making them accountable
even if they are not tortiously liable for the actions of their users.102 Bringing pressure on
innocent third parties that may enable or encourage violations by others is a (p. 26) well-
established strategy to curb infringement. As also discussed by Riordan in Chapter 3, in
termediaries’ secondary liability has been based on different theories ranging from moral
to utilitarian approaches. A moral approach would argue that encouraging infringement
is widely seen as immoral.103 The second approach is associated with utilitarian and wel
fare theories.104 Welfare theory approaches have been dominant in intermediary liability
policy until recently. They have been based on the notion that liability should be imposed
only as a result of a cost–benefit analysis. However, there is an ongoing revival of moral
approaches to intermediary liability with justification for policy intervention based on re
sponsibility for the actions of users as opposed to efficiency or balance innovation vs
harm.
The discourse is increasingly shifting from liability to ‘enhanced responsibility’105 of on

line intermediaries under the assumption that OSPs’ role is unprecedented for their ca
pacity to influence the informational environment and users’ interactions within it. The
Page 18 of 34

European Commission stressed that ‘the responsibility of online platforms is a key and
cross-cutting issue’.106 This policy development puts special focus on intermediaries’ cor
porate social responsibilities and their role in implementing and fostering human
rights.107 However, emphasis on a responsible role for intermediaries in fostering human
rights has a flip side when multiple competing rights are at stake. Online intermediaries
are unequipped—and lack constitutional standing—for making decisions involving a pro
portional balancing of rights. As Calabresi–Coase’s ‘least-cost avoiders’,108 online inter
mediaries will inherently try to lower the transaction costs of adjudication and liability
and, in order to do so, might functionally err on the side of overblocking, in particular by
deploying automated algorithmic enforcement tools. Again, this policy trend leads to in
cremental fragmentation as enforcement is handled directly by miscellaneous private en
tities from multiple jurisdictions through proprietary automated means applying corpo
rate visions and disparate terms of service. Of course, there are also (p. 27) counter-pos
ing forces at work in the present internet governance struggle. As seen in Chapter 10, a
centripetal move towards digital constitutionalism for internet governance alleviates the
effects of the centrifugal platform responsibility discourse.109
This move from intermediary liability to platform responsibility has been occurring on
several levels—being apparent from the deployment of miscellaneous enforcement strate
gies that will be detailed in Part VI. Governments everywhere—and the European Com
mission in particular—push coordinated self-regulatory efforts by major online hosting
providers—including Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Microsoft, Instagram, Snapchat, and
Dailymotion—to promote codes of conduct endorsing commitments to combat the spread
of illegal hate speech online,110 fight incitement to terrorism,111 prevent cyber-
bullying,112 or curb IP infringement online.113 Martin Husovec and I introduce this discus
sion in Chapter 31, where we describe several emerging legal trends reflecting this
change in perspectives, such as obviously voluntary agreements and codes of conduct,
but also other legal arrangements, including three-strikes schemes, online search manip
ulation, follow-the-money strategies, voluntary filtering and website blocking, and private
Domain Name System (DNS) content regulation. Under these agreements, schemes, and
enforcement strategies, access and hosting providers would be called on actively and
swiftly removing illegal materials, instead of reacting to complaints. Of course, some of
these enforcement tools are also discussed in many other chapters of the Handbook as
stand-alone items and from a legal liability rule perspective. However, as Husovec and I
note, ‘legal rules are often only basic expectations which are further developed through
market transactions, business decisions, and political pressure’, therefore the practical
responsibility landscape is wide-spanning, ‘ranging from legal entitlements to request as
sistance in enforcement to entirely voluntary private-ordering schemes’.
Equally, the typology of OSPs enlisted in voluntary online enforcement strategies broad
ens steadily beyond the traditional access and hosting providers. On the IP enforcement
side, payment blockades—notice-and-termination agreements between major righthold
ers and online payment processors—and ‘voluntary best practices agreements’ have been
applied widely.114 Both the European Commission and the US government have endorsed
a ‘follow-the-money’ approach seeking to ‘deprive those engaging in commercial infringe
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ments of the revenue streams (for example from consumer payments and advertising) em
anating from their illegal activities, and therefore act as a (p. 28) deterrent’.115 Payment
processors like MasterCard and Visa have been pressured to act as IP enforcers as well
as enforcers of speech-related infringements. Law enforcement agencies have tried to co
erce payment providers to stop providing service to websites like Backpage, for the adult
section it runs,116 or Wikileaks.
Annemarie Bridy focuses on one additional emerging enforcement strategy involving non-
conventional intermediaries in Addressing Infringement: Developments in Content Regu
lation in the United States and the DNS. In Chapter 32, Bridy describes how the reach of
privately ordered online content regulation is deepening by migrating downwards from
the application layer into the network’s technical infrastructure, specifically the Domain
Name System (DNS). Private agreements between DNS intermediaries and IP righthold
ers are based on a ‘pass-along’ provision in the ICANN-Registry Agreement stating that a
domain name can be suspended if the registrant is found to have engaged copyright or
trade mark infringement. On the basis of this clause in the ICANN-Registry Agreement,
registry operators and rightholders have set up ‘trusted notifier’ agreements to fast-track
domain name suspensions—and hence site blocking—when a ‘trusted notifier’ sends a
complaint to the registry operator. Bridy highlights lack of transparency and due process
in this privately-ordered form of enforcement, which is also heavily biased in favour of
complainants. Bridy also notices how the notice-and-action procedures institutionalized
by these IP-focused agreements are readily adaptable for use in censoring all types of
content.
Increased intermediary accountability has become a globalized trend that has been
emerging in numerous jurisdictions. In this regard, online intermediaries are not only
held liable for IP, privacy, or defamation infringements, but are also held responsible for
state security. Several countries enlist private business in the enforcement of state con
trols over the internet. In Chapter 33, Sergei Hovyadinov looks exactly at this expanded
scope of online intermediaries’ responsibility by presenting Intermediary Liability in Rus
sia and the Role of Private Business in the Enforcement of State Controls over the Inter
net. According to Hovyadinov, since 2011–12, the Russian government drastically
changed its stance on internet regulation. The rapid expansion of the internet in Russia—
and its potential for triggering social unrest—has led to the adoption of significant regula
tory restrictions on online content and anonymity. Regulation increasingly restricted the
type of information available online and allowed the state to collect user data and online
activity. As part of this development, telecom operators, web-hosting providers, and social
media platforms have become an integral part of the state’s internet control apparatus.
Hovyadinov reports—also thanks to interviews of sector operators in Russia—that,
‘[f]aced with new technical challenges, the Kremlin has enlisted competent and technical
ly capable internet actors … to help implement these restrictions and control the flow of
information.’ Actually, at approximately the same time, similar developments (p. 29) oc
curred in many jurisdictions besides Russia. Chapters 13 and 14 describes similar dynam
ics occurring in China and other Asian countries. Chapter 11 stresses the enlisting of
OSPs as cyber-police in African countries. Several chapters also report similar trends in
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the European regulatory framework. Although Hovyadinov notes that transparency and
public accountability of private involvement in internet regulation in Russia is especially
low, numerous governments, including western governments, rely on OSPs as their ‘on
line proxy agents’ to assist with the enforcement of IP rights, data protection, speech-re
lated infringements, and state security.
Privately-ordered content moderation defines the contours of the infosphere where social
interaction occurs for billions of people daily.117 The impact of online content moderation
on modern society is tremendous. Governments, along the lines of what Hovyadinov has
described in Chapter 33, rightholders, and miscellaneous user groups would like to shape
the gatekeeping functions of OSPs according to their agendas. In Guarding the
Guardians: Content Moderation by Online Intermediaries and the Rule of Law, Niva Elkin-
Koren and Maayan Perel continue the discourse undertaken in this Part by highlighting
challenges posed by content moderation to the rule of law. Elkin-Koren and Perel rein
force the point that private ordering ‘circumvents the constitutional safeguard of the sep
aration of powers’ and blurs the distinction between private interest and public responsi
bility. Chapter 34, then, introduces a critical point in the current debate on intermediary
liability online: socially relevant choices are delegated to automated enforcement run
though opaque algorithms. Algorithms’ transparency and accountability remains an issue
challenging semiotic regulation online.118 In addition, Elkin-Koren and Perel stress that
machine learning and data analytics allow OSPs to proactively predict and prevent illicit
use of content, bringing to life the omniscient platforms that Friedmann recalled in Chap
ter 14. Omniscient platforms that give a not-so-invisible handshake119 to government for
cybersecurity, surveillance, censorship, and general law-enforcement tasks through
opaque algorithms evoke threatening dystopian scenarios. Elkin-Koren and Perel suggest
that the solution to black box content moderation can be found in grassroots oversight
through ‘tinkering’,120 which would allow people to ‘systematically test and record how
online intermediaries respond to representatives, like-real content’ submitted to the plat
forms.
Apparently, there is an emerging strategy for regulation of online platforms leaning to
wards a globalized, ongoing move in the direction of privatization of law enforcement
(p. 30) online through algorithmic tools. Algorithmic enforcement makes this shift even
more unpredictable in terms of fair balancing between private and public interests and
human rights. In Chapter 35, Ben Wagner tries to shed some light on this murky issue by
discussing Algorithmic Accountability: Towards Accountable Systems. Given the early
stage of human engagement with AI, the essential basics and the precise nature of the
notion itself of algorithmic accountability are still under review. Basically, according to
Wagner, there is still a high level of uncertainty regarding ‘to whom’ and ‘for what’ algo
rithms should be accountable. An initial basic finding, which fits within Elkin-Koren and
Perel’s conclusions, is that algorithms should be at least accountable to users. In this re
spect, access to the source code might provide some accountability but users should be
enabled to understand what the algorithm is actually doing. In order to do so, Wagner
lists a number of technical, organizational, and regulatory challenges to ensuring access
to data. Considering intermediary liability and algorithmic accountability more closely,
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Wagner believes that ‘a proposal in which adherence to algorithmic accountability would

lower liability of intermediaries could contribute to more effectively ensuring compliance
with human rights’. Specific provisions for ensuring algorithmic accountability might in
clude transparency of automated decisions, external auditing of the algorithmic account
ability mechanism, an independent external body addressing complaints, ‘radical trans
parency’ of the system, irrevocable storage of the decisions, user-friendly explanation of
the automated decisions, and availability of human review of the decisions.
6. Mapping Internet Jurisdiction, Extraterrito

riality, and Intermediary Liability
Finally, international private law issues are addressed in Part VII. The purpose of this Part
is to examine the interface between intermediary liability online and internet jurisdiction,
with special emphasis on extraterritorial enforcement of intermediaries’ obligations,
which has been emerging as a consistent trend in intermediary liability policy.
The term ‘fragmentation’ has surfaced several times in the last few pages. Rules govern
ing online intermediaries are complex and diverging in numerous jurisdictions. As is ap
parent from the preliminary mapping in this chapter, divergence has recently been ex
panding rather than becoming normalized. This phenomenon is perhaps tightly attached
to the protectionist impulses that characterize present international relationships and in
ternet governance. In Chapter 36, Dan Jerker Svantesson rates this ‘as the most impor
tant, and perhaps most urgent, underlying issue facing the internet—there is a fundamen
tal clash between the global, largely borderless, internet on the one hand, and the prac
tice of lawmaking and jurisdiction anchored in a territorial thinking’. In discussing Inter
net Jurisdiction and Intermediary Liability, Svantesson points at several issues, including
the validity of OSPs’ terms of service and law enforcement requests to (p. 31) access data
stored abroad, but the key development that threatens the global internet relates to the
geographical scope of online intermediaries’ liability and obligations. In particular, recent
case law and policymaking is faced with answering the riddle of the extraterritorial appli
cation of such obligations.
Extraterritorial enforcement recently made the headlines for the worldwide enforcement
of the ‘right to be forgotten’. Some European institutions endorse the view that delisting
should have an extraterritorial reach. On the territorial effect of delisting decisions, the
WP29 Guidelines noted that limiting delisting to EU domains cannot be considered a suf
ficient means to satisfactorily guarantee the rights of data subjects according to the rul
ing. In practice, ‘this means that in any case de-listing should also be effective on all
relevant .com domains’.121 Recently—in accordance with the WP29 Guidelines—the Com
mission Nationale de l’informatique et des Libertés (CNiL), the French data protection
authority, ordered Google to apply the right to be forgotten on all domain names of
Google’s search engine, including the .com domain.122 The question raised by CNiL was
finally decided by two recent CJEU cases—with a second case dealing with global delist
ing of a defamatory post on Facebook. The CJEU concluded that EU law does not impose
Page 22 of 34

or preclude worldwide measures.123 Instead, it is up to national courts to decide whether

extraterritorial delisting should be imposed according to their own balancing of funda
mental rights and application of international norms.124 The final CJEU’s stance partially
departed from Advocate General Szpunar’s Opinion warning against the unqualified ap
plication of worldwide delisting and blocking orders.125 Svantesson shares similar critical
views against worldwide measures. However, in a time of ‘sovranism’, a stronger stance
on digital sovereignty is to be expected. Of course, this approach is set to create conflicts
between the law of the affected party and the law of the speaker. However, national
courts can hardly endorse a different approach—or EU law impose it on national courts. If
international law allows it, a national court finding that the fundamental rights of its na
tionals have been infringed must impose measures that provide global redress.
Meanwhile, decisions imposing extraterritorial effects on intermediaries have also ap

peared elsewhere. Svantesson discusses additional ones from Australia and the United
States, such as X v Twitter126 and Garcia v Google respectively.127 Notably, the (p. 32)
Supreme Court of Canada issued an order requiring Google to remove websites from its
worldwide index. The court order is unprecedented for Canada as it forces Google to re
move links anywhere in the world, rather than only from the search results available
through Google.ca.128 In Chapter 37, Michael Geist discusses The Equustek Effect: A
Canadian Perspective on Global Takedown Orders in the Age of the Internet. Equustek
stands as a quintessential example of the disruptive effect of extraterritorial enforcement
and the stalemate that it might bring about. After the Canadian Supreme Court issued its
final order for global delisting, a district court in San Jose, California issued a diametri
cally opposed decision stating that Google would be infringing US law if it enforced the
Canadian order. Twenty years later, the catch-22 scenario of Licra v Yahoo! resurfaces in
a far more distributed fashion and might potentially break the internet.129 The 2000 hate
speech and Nazi memorabilia case showed the world that internet jurisdiction could be
come an unsolvable puzzle. For a couple of decades, though, courts shied away from the
controversy so as not to awake the dormant kraken. The kraken that can destroy the in
ternet—or at least Balkanize it—has been reawakened. According to Geist, only two out
comes seem plausible as well as precarious: ‘local courts deciding what others can access
online or companies such as Google selectively deciding which rules they wish to follow’.
Bertrand de La Chapelle and Paul Fehlinger further develop this precarious state of inter
net affairs by noting that ‘[e]xtraterritorial extension of national jurisdiction is becoming
the realpolitik of internet regulation.’ In Jurisdiction on the Internet: From Legal Arms
Race to Transnational Cooperation, de La Chapelle and Fehlinger argue from a global in
ternet governance perspective that conflicts between jurisdictions online increase steadi
ly, challenging the Westphalian international system. Possibly, as the case law reviewed
by Svantesson and Geist has already shown, a legal arm race will escalate with countries
exerting digital sovereignty through an extensive interpretation of territoriality criteria
over cross-border data flows and services. For de La Chapelle and Fehlinger, the tradi
tional legal cooperation cannot cope with internet jurisdictional tensions, opening an un
certain path for the future of the global digital economy, human rights, cybersecurity, and
the technical internet infrastructure. The route to pursue would be that of an internation
Page 23 of 34

al agreement on the matter. Unfortunately, there is no consensus in sight and this is not
going to change any time soon. This institutional gap in internet governance—de La
Chapelle and Fehlinger stress—may be solved by launching innovative cooperation mech
anisms as transnational as the internet itself through the development of issue-based mul
tistakeholder policy networks for developing ‘scalable solutions for cross-border legal
challenges with regard to data flows, online content or domains’.
Given the role of online intermediaries in the digital interconnected society, their liability
for the speech and content they carry has become a primary policy concern. Much has
changed since the inception of the first online intermediaries—and their early regulation.
New challenges have renewed discussion of the scope of intermediaries’ (p. 33) duties
and obligations. The Oxford Handbook of Online Intermediary Liability seeks to under
stand a confused international legal framework. The uncertainty that this confusion
brings about can hurt users by potentially scaring companies away from providing innov
ative new services in certain markets. Additionally, companies may unnecessarily limit
what users can do online, or engage in censorship by proxy to avoid uncertain retribution
under unfamiliar laws. National courts and authorities, on the other hand, may seek ex
traterritorial enforcement to prevent any access to infringing materials in their jurisdic
tion. This is telling of a disconnection between physical and digital governance of infor
mation and content that will hardly go away, at least for some time. As a result, in an ap
parently confused legal and theoretical landscape, there is a growing tendency towards
internet fragmentation, which is made even more obvious by unconcealed national ten
dencies towards data protectionism.
Notes:
(1) World Intermediary Liability Map (WILMap) (a project designed and developed by Gi
ancarlo Frosio and hosted at Stanford CIS) <https://wilmap.law.stanford.edu> (WILMap).
(2) See Berkman Klein Center for Internet and Society, ‘Liability of Online Intermediaries:
New Study by the Global Network of Internet and Society Centers’ (18 February 2015)
<https://cyber.law.harvard.edu/node/98684>.
(3) See Daniel Sang, ‘Comparative Analysis of National Approaches of the Liability of the
Internet Intermediaries’ (WIPO Study); Ignacio Garrote Fernández-Díez, ‘Comparative
Analysis on National Approaches to the Liability of Internet Intermediaries for Infringe
ment of Copyright and Related Rights’ (WIPO study).
(4) See e.g. for other mapping and comparative exercises, Graeme Dinwoodie (ed.), Se
condary Liability of Internet Service Providers (Springer 2017); Martin Husovec, Injunc
tions Against Intermediaries in the European Union: Accountable But not Liable? (CUP
2017); Jaani Riordan, The Liability of Internet Intermediaries (OUP 2016); Christina An
gelopoulos, European Intermediary Liability in Copyright: A Tort-Based Analysis (Wolters
Kluwer 2016); Christopher Heath and Anselm Kamperman Sanders (eds), Intellectual
Property Liability of Consumers, Facilitators, and Intermediaries (Wolters Kluwer 2012).
Page 24 of 34

(5) See NETmundial Multistakeholder Statement (São Paulo, Brazil, 24 April 2014)
<http://netmundial.br/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/NETmundial-Multistakeholder-
Document.pdf>.
(6) ibid. 5.
(7) See OECD, ‘Recommendation of the Council on Principles for Internet Policy Making’
C(2011)154 <http://acts.oecd.org/Instruments/ShowInstrumentView.aspx?Instrumen
tID=270>. See also OECD, ‘The Economic and Social Role of Internet
Intermediaries’ (April 2010) <http://www.oecd.org/internet/ieconomy/44949023.pdf>.
(8) See Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE), ‘International
Mechanism for Promoting Freedom of Expression: Joint Declaration on Freedom of Ex
pression and the Internet by the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Opin
ion and Expression, the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE)
Representative on Freedom of the Media, the Organization of American States (OAS) Spe
cial Rapporteur on Freedom of Expression and the African Commission on Human and
Peoples’ Rights (ACHPR) Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Expression and Access to In
formation’ (2011) <http://www.osce.org/fom/78309?download =true>.
(9) ibid.
(10) See Manila Principles on Intermediary Liability, Intro <https://

www.manilaprinciples.org>.
(11) See e.g. Jamila Venturini and others, Terms of Service and Human Rights: Analysing
Contracts of Online Platforms (Editora Revan 2016).
(12) See Dynamic Coalition on Platform Responsibility: a Structural Element of the United
Nations Internet Governance Forum <http://platformresponsibility.info>.
(13) See United Nations, Human Rights, Office of the High Commissioner, ‘Guiding Princi
ples on Business Human Rights: Implementing the United Nations “Protect, Respect, and
Remedy” Framework’ (2011) A/HRC/RES/17/4.
(14) See Ranking Digital Rights <https://rankingdigitalrights.org>.
(15) See Lumen <www.lumendatabase.org>.
(16) See The Takedown Project <http://takedownproject.org>.
(17) See Bertrand de La Chapelle and Paul Fehlinger, ‘Towards a Multi-Stakeholder

Framework for Transnational Due Process’, Internet & Jurisdiction White Paper (2014)
<http://www.internetjurisdiction.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Internet-Jurisdiction-
Project-White-Paper-3.pdf>.
(18) See Husovec (n. 4) and Riordan (n. 4).
(19) See OECD, The Economic and Social Role of Internet Intermediaries (2010) 9.
Page 25 of 34

(20) See ‘The Copyright Evidence Wiki: Empirical Evidence for Copyright Policy’, CREATe
Centre, University of Glasgow <http://CopyrightEvidence.org>.
(21) See Frank Pasquale, The Black Box Society: The Secret Algorithms That Control Mon
ey and Information (HUP 2015).
(22) See Bruce Lehman, Intellectual Property and the National Information Infrastructure:
The Report of the Working Group on Intellectual Property Rights (DIANE Publishing
1995) 114–24 <https://www.uspto.gov/web/offices/com/doc/ipnii/ipnii.pdf> (noting ‘the
best policy is to hold the service provider liable … Service providers reap rewards for in
fringing activity. It is difficult to argue that they should not bear the responsibilities’).
(23) See Communications Decency Act of 1996, 47 USC § 230.
(24) See the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, 17 USC § 512 (DMCA).
(25) See Directive 2000/31/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 17 July
2000 on certain legal aspects of information society services, in particular electronic com
merce, in the Internal Market [2000] OJ L178/1.
(26) See e.g. Copyright Legislation Amendment Act 2004 (Cth) no. 154, Sch. 1 (Aus.);
Copyright Modernization Act, SC 2012, c.20, s. 31.1 (Can.); Judicial Interpretation no. 20
of 17 December 2012 of the Supreme People’s Court on Several Issues concerning the
Application of Law in Hearing Civil Dispute Cases Involving Infringement of the Right of
Dissemination on Information Networks (Ch.); Federal Law no. 149-FZ of 27 July 2006 on
Information, Information Technologies and Protection of Information (Rus.) and Federal
Law no. 187-FZ of 2 July 2013 amending Russian Civil Code, s. 1253.1. A repository in
cluding most of the safe harbour legislation enacted worldwide can be found at the
WILMap (n. 1).
(27) See e.g. Directive 2000/31/EC (n. 25) Arts 12–15; DMCA (n. 24) s. 512(c)(1)(A)–(C).
(28) See e.g. David Ardia, ‘Free Speech Savior or Shield for Scoundrels: An Empirical
Study of Intermediary Immunity Under Section 230 of the Communications Decency
Act’ (2010) 43 Loyola L. Rev. 373.
(29) The United States Copyright Office is undertaking a public study to evaluate the im
pact and effectiveness of the safe harbour provisions. In particular, notice-and-stay-down
arrangements—rather than takedown—are under review in the United States as well as
elsewhere. See United States Copyright Office, Section 512 Study <http://copyright.gov/
policy/section512>.
(30) See Marco Civil da Internet, Federal Law no. 12.965 (23 April 2014) Art. 18 (Bra.)
(‘the Internet connection [access] provider shall not be subject to civil liability for content
generated by third party’).
(31) ibid. Art. 19(2).
Page 26 of 34

(32) See Dennis Redeker, Lex Gill, and Urs Gasser, ‘Towards digital constitutionalism?
Mapping attempts to craft an Internet Bill of Rights’ (2018) 80 Int’l Communication
Gazette 311.
(33) See Electronic Transactions and Communications Act (ECTA) (2001) XI.
(34) See African Union Convention on Cyber Security and Personal Data Protection
(2014).
(35) The Hong Kong government introduced a Copyright Bill establishing a statutory safe
harbour for OSPs for copyright infringement, provided that they meet certain prescribed
conditions, including taking reasonable steps to limit or stop copyright infringement after
being notified. See Copyright Amendment Bill 2014, C2957, cl. 50 (HK) <http://
www.gld.gov.hk/egazette/pdf/20141824/es32014182421.pdf>.
(36) See Shreya Singhal [2013] 12 SCC 73 (Ind.).
(37) See European Commission Communication, ‘A Digital Single Market Strategy for Eu
rope’ (2015) COM(2015) 192 final, s. 3.3 (DSM Strategy).
(38) ibid. s. 3.3.2 (noting that ‘[r]ecent events have added to the public debate on whether
to enhance the overall level of protection from illegal material on the Internet’).
(39) See Directive 2019/790/EU of the European Parliament and of the Council of 17 April
2019 on copyright and related rights in the Digital Single Market and amending Direc
tives 96/9/EC and 2001/29/EC [2019] OJ L130/92.
(40) See European Commission, ‘Proposal for a Directive amending Directive 2010/13/EU
on the coordination of certain provisions laid down by law, regulation or administrative
action in Member States concerning the provision of audio-visual media services in view
of changing market realities’ (25 May 2016) COM(2016) 287 final.
(41) See European Commission, ‘Commission Staff Working Document—Guidance on the

implementation/application of Directive 2005/29/EC on Unfair Commercial Practices’ (25
May 2016) SWD(2016) 163 final.
(42) European Commission Communication, ‘Tackling Illegal Content Online—Towards an

enhanced responsibility of online platforms’ COM(2017) 555 final.
(43) See European Commission Communication, ‘Online platforms and the Digital Single
Market—Opportunities and Challenges for Europe’ COM(2016) 288/2, 8.
(44) cf. Directive 2000/31/EC (n. 25) recital 48 (previously establishing that ‘[t]his Direc
tive does not affect the possibility for Member States of requiring service providers, who
host information provided by recipients of their service, to apply duties of care, which can
reasonably be expected from them and which are specified by national law, in order to de
tect and prevent certain types of illegal activities’) (emphasis added).
Page 27 of 34

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
interesting instances, and we shall deal with them presently. But
before we proceed to discuss them let us turn back for a moment to
Robert Fulton. After he had at length established the steamboat as a
thoroughly sound concern in America we find him not unnaturally
sighing for other countries to conquer. Accordingly he set his mind
on introducing the steamboat not merely on the chief rivers of North
America, but even on the Ganges and the Neva. The year in which
Bell’s Comet had come into service Fulton had actually entered into
a contract with one Thomas Lane to introduce steamboats into India,
and on April 12th of that year he wrote to a Russian gentleman, who
was then staying in London, with reference to obtaining an exclusive
contract for twenty years, for establishing a steamboat service
between St. Petersburg and Cronstadt within three years after
obtaining the grant. It is evident from Fulton’s correspondence that
Imperial permission for this was obtained. Fulton, however, died in
the year 1815, and at the time of his death the steamboat The
Emperor of Russia was in course of construction previous to being
transferred to Russian waters. This enterprise was postponed and
subsequently taken up by other contractors. But the same year
(1815) we find Charles Baird engaged in doing what Fulton would
have carried out had he lived. The upper illustration, then, which
faces page 84 represents a drawing of the steamboat Elizabeth.
Originally a barge, she was rebuilt and engined by Baird in 1815 at
St. Petersburg for service on the Neva. The steering arrangement is
not dissimilar to that of some of the Thames sailing barges of to-day,
with the use of the tackle leading from the rudder through the ship’s
quarter to the helm. The reader will doubtless be not a little amused
to notice the brick chimney which stands up in the boat as if rising
from a factory. The engine is hidden away underneath the deck, but
it was of the side-lever type, of which we have already spoken, with
a single cylinder and air-pump. The boiler will be seen placed aft.
The weight of the paddle-wheels was partly supported by the
rectangular frame-work which will be seen stretched across the hull.
The paddle-wheels had each four floats, which were kept level by
means of bevel gear. The other illustration facing page 84 shows
another steamer, which Baird built two years later for passenger
traffic between St. Petersburg and Cronstadt. It will be noticed that,
as in all these early steamboats, the paddle-wheels were placed far
forward towards the bows. In this ship both paddle-wheels were
fitted with six floats, which were driven at fifty revolutions per minute
by means of a side-lever engine that had a large fly-wheel. The
arrangement of this ship’s engines was similar rather to those of the
Comet than of the Clermont. Looking at the lower drawing in this
illustration we can easily see how she was propelled. Amidships is
the boiler, from which steam is conveyed to the cylinder, through
which appears the piston-rod, which in turn connects with the side-
lever, that is placed as low as it can be in the boat. The connecting
rod comes up from the forward end of the side-lever to the crank,
which is attached to the shaft, and the latter, revolving, of course
turns the paddle-wheels.
And here it may not be out of place to say something concerning
the survival of the beam engine. I have already referred on an earlier
page to its introduction and traced its development from
Newcomen’s atmospheric engine. When, in the early days of the
steam engine, its use had been limited to pumping out water from
mines, one connecting rod was employed in pumping and the other
was driven up by the steam in the cylinder. Then, when the engine
was made, not for pumping, but for giving rotatory motion, the
connecting rod which had been in use for pumping was used to give
a rotatory motion, by means of either the sun-and-planet movement
(as in Watt’s patent) or by means of a crank (as in the patent which
his workman stole from him). In America Watt’s beam engines were
imitated very closely, and to-day, as every visitor to New York is
aware, the curious sight is seen of enormous ferry-boats, towering
high above the water, with the beam and connecting rods showing
up through the top of the ship. Now this idea is all very well where
the steamer is concerned only with navigation on rivers and peaceful
waters, but for ocean steaming, where the deck needs to be covered
in from the attacks of the mighty seas, it is out of the question.
Therefore, since it was advisable to retain the beam in some form,
and it could not be allowed to protrude through the deck, the obvious
expedient was adopted of placing it below, but as far down in the
ship as possible. As a general statement we shall not get far wrong if
we state that thus placed, at the bottom, with the rods working
upwards instead of downwards, it was really a case of turning the
engine upside down. Thus arranged it became known as the side-
lever engine, and now, if the reader will look again at the bottom
illustration facing page 84, he will see our meaning. By turning the
illustration round, so that the beam or side-lever is at the top, this
resemblance to the old-fashioned beam engine becomes still more
apparent. Later on we shall be able to show a more complicated
form of the side-lever engine, but for the present this may suffice for
the interest of the non-technical reader. For many years the side-
lever was the recognised form of marine engine, and its advantages
included that of being remarkably steady in its working because its
parts were so nicely balanced. Moreover, it was easy to drive from
the beam the various auxiliary parts, such as the air-pump. It was
also very strong, though both heavy and costly, as it became in the
course of time more complicated.
Although it is true that in Fulton’s Clermont the beam was placed
below the piston-rod, yet that was entirely owing to English influence,
as represented in Boulton and Watt, who had manufactured this
engine, or at any rate a good many of its parts. It is now that the
dividing line comes between the two types, English and American.
“From this primitive form,” says Admiral Preble, in his volume already
quoted, “the two nations diverged in opposite directions—the
Americans navigating rivers, with speed the principal object, kept the
cylinder upon deck and lengthened the stroke of the piston: the
English, on the other hand, having the deep navigation of stormy
seas as their more important object, shortened the cylinder in order
that the piston-rod might work entirely under deck, while Fulton’s
working (walking) beam was retained.” From the engine, in fact,
which Boulton and Watt had constructed at Soho for Fulton, by far
the majority of the engines for the earliest steamboats took their
pattern. And if to the Americans belongs the credit of having so
thoroughly and so quickly developed the steamboat navigation of
large rivers, it is the British, as we shall see shortly, who have been
the pioneers of ocean navigation in steamships.
The upper illustration facing page 90, which has been taken from
a contemporary engraving, is worthy of notice as being the first
steamer actually built in Germany. She represents rather a
retrogression than an advance in the story of the steamship, for she
was following still on those lines which had been in mind when
Miller’s double-hulled ship and the Charlotte Dundas were launched.
This vessel, the Prinzessin Charlotte, was built by John Rubie at
Pichelsdorf in 1816, for service on the Elbe, Havel and Spree. As will
be seen from the illustration, her paddle-wheel was placed
amidships and covered in. She was driven by an engine possessing
14 horse-power and made by J. B. Humphreys. Her long, lanky
smoke-stack is supported by numerous stays, while her double-
rudders, though still preserving the helms as used in contemporary
sailing ships, are moved by means of a steering wheel. Clumsy and
beamy, she is inferior in design to the Comet, and would no doubt
have needed all the help of her twin-rudders to get her round some
of the narrow reaches of the river. In the adoption and employment
of the steering wheel neither the Prinzessin Charlotte nor the
Clermont was the pioneer of this more modern method, its evolution
having come about on this wise: as the tillers became heavier when
the size of ships increased and the pull on them became greater,
some sort of lanyard was first attached to them so as to get a
purchase and divide the strain; otherwise the steersman would not
have been able to control the ship. We see this as far back as the
times of the Egyptian sailing ships. In medieval times and even in the
seventeenth century the big, full-rigged ships were still steered by a
helm in the stern, the pilot shouting down his orders to the
steersmen placed under the poop. Then, in order to counteract the
wild capers which some of these vessels had a tendency to perform
in a breeze, it was an obvious expedient to fit up an arrangement of
blocks and tackles to the tiller. From this came the transition to the
employment of these in connection with a winch, such as had been
used for hoisting up the anchor. This winch was driven by means of
“hand-spikes,” a method that was not conducive to rapid alteration of
the ship’s course. But in the eighteenth century, when ships were
better designed, and many improvements were being introduced, the
handspikes were discarded and the spoked wheel was connected
with the barrel of the winch, placed not ’thwart-ship, but fore-and-aft,
so that not merely could the direction of the ship’s head be altered
more quickly, but a steadier helm could be kept, because it was less
difficult to meet the swervings of the vessel from her proper course.
As everyone knows, this steering-wheel has been improved by many
minor alterations, and ropes have given way to chains and steel
wire: but though steam-steering gear is now so prominent a feature
of the modern steamship, the wheel itself is not yet superseded.
THE “PRINZESSIN CHARLOTTE” (1816).

From a Contemporary Print.
THE “SAVANNAH” (1819).
Already, then, the steamboat had shown herself capable of doing

her work on inland waters, and even for short voyages across
Channel, as well as for coasting within sight of land. Independent of
calms, currents and tides, she was a being of a different kind as
compared with the sailing ship and was carving out for herself an
entirely novel career of usefulness. But the pessimists believed that
here her sphere ended; the long ocean voyages could never be
undertaken except in the sail-carrying ships. However, in the year
1819, the first attempt was made to conquer the North Atlantic by
means of a ship fitted with a steam engine. In the lower illustration
facing page 90 will be seen the Savannah, a full-rigged ship of 350
tons burthen which was built in New York in 1818 as a sailing vessel
pure and simple. That, it will be remembered, was eleven years after
the launching of the Clermont, and during these eventful years there
had been plenty of opportunity for those who wished to obtain proof
of what steam could do for a ship. Whilst the Savannah was still on
the stocks, one Moses Rogers, who had followed the efforts of both
Stevens and Fulton, and had even commanded some of the early
steamboats, suggested to Messrs. Scarborough and Isaacs, of
Savannah, that they should purchase this ship; which eventually they
did. Therefore, after being fitted with her engine, a steam trial trip
was made in March, 1819, round New York Harbour, and a few days
later she left for Savannah under sail. During this voyage of 207
hours she was practically nothing but a sailing ship, for her engine
was only running for four and a half hours. On the 22nd of May she
set forth from Charleston and steamed outside. It will be noticed on
referring to the illustration that there were no paddle-boxes to cover
her wheels, and a remarkable feature of the Savannah was her
ability suddenly to transform her character as a steamship to a
sailing vessel, and vice versa. Within twenty minutes she could take
off her paddle-wheels, and away she could go without any hindrance
to her speed.
So it was, then, after she had brought up outside Charleston.
Unshipping her wheels she got under weigh early in the morning of
May 24th, and arrived off the coast of Ireland at noon of June 17th,
and three days later was off the bar at Liverpool. But this voyage
proved little or nothing of the capabilities of the ocean steamship; for
of the twenty-one days during which she was at sea the Savannah
only used steam for eighty hours, and by the time she had arrived off
Cork she had used up all her fuel. However, having now taken on
board what she needed, she was able to steam up the Mersey with
the aid of her engines alone. From Liverpool she went to the Baltic,
using her engine for about a third of the passage. Thence she
returned to America, having unshipped her paddle-wheels off
Cronstadt, but, after crossing the Atlantic and arriving off the
Savannah river, she adjusted her wheels once more and steamed
home. Shortly afterwards her engines were taken out of her, and she
ended her days as a sailing packet. Although her voyages did
nothing to help forward the ocean steamer, yet she caused some
amazement to the revenue cruiser Kite, which espied her off the
coast of Ireland. Seeing volumes of smoke pouring out from this
“three-sticker,” the Kite’s commander took her for a ship on fire and
chased her for a whole day. The illustration gives a fairly accurate
idea of the ship, though the bow has not been quite correctly given,
and should show the old-fashioned and much modified beak which
survived as a relic of medieval times. It will be noticed that the
distance which separates the main and fore-mast was sufficiently
great to allow of plenty of room for the engine and boiler.
In the meantime the steamship was slowly but surely coming into
prominence and recognition, and the year 1821 was far from
unimportant as showing the practical results which had been
obtained. As proof of the faith which was now placed in steam, the
first steamship company that was ever formed had already been
inaugurated the year before, and in 1821 began running its trading
steamers. This was the now well-known General Steam Navigation
Company, Ltd., whose first steamer, the City of Edinburgh, was built
on the Thames by Messrs. Wigram and Green, whose names will
ever be associated with the fine clippers which in later years they
were destined to turn out from their Blackwall yard. The steamship
City of Edinburgh was launched in March, 1821, for the Edinburgh
trade, and created so much attention that the future William IV. and
Queen Adelaide paid her a visit, and expressed surprise at the
magnificence of the passenger accommodation. The machinery
(which was only of 100 horsepower) was described by the
contemporary press as “extremely powerful.” In June of that year
was also launched the James Watt, of which an illustration is given
from an old water-colour. This vessel was built by Messrs. Wood and
Co., of Port Glasgow, and was referred to by the newspapers of that
time as “the largest vessel ever seen in Great Britain propelled by
steam.” The James Watt, it will be seen, was rigged as a three-
masted schooner, with the typical bow and square stern of the
period. She was of 420 tons, and measured 141 feet 9 inches in
length, 25½ feet wide, and 16½ feet deep. She had a paddle-wheel,
18 feet in diameter, on either side of the hull. These were driven by
engines of the same horsepower as those of the City of Edinburgh,
which had been made by Boulton and Watt. It was in this year also
that the Lightning, a vessel of about 200 tons and 80 horse-power,
gained further confidence for the newer type of vessel, for she was
the first steamship ever used to carry mails.
Before the third decade of the nineteenth century was closed, a
little vessel named the Falcon, of 176 tons, had made a voyage to
India—of course, via the Cape—and the Enterprise, a somewhat
larger craft of 470 tons, had also done the passage from England to
Calcutta; but like the Savannah’s performance, these voyages were
made partly under steam and partly under sail, so that these vessels
may be regarded rather as auxiliary-engined than as steamships
proper. At the same time, the Enterprise was singularly loyal to her
name, for out of the 113 days which were taken on the voyage, she
steamed for 103.
THE “JAMES WATT” (1821).

From a Water-Colour Drawing in the Victoria and Albert Museum.
SIDE-LEVER ENGINES OF THE “RUBY” (1836).
From the Model in the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Let us now pause for a moment to witness some of the changes

which were going on in regard to the machinery for steamships. In
the engines which were installed in the Russian ship shown opposite
page 84 we saw how the beam had become the side-lever, and why
it had been placed in this position in the steamboat. This had
become the customary type for steamships which were still propelled
by paddle-wheels, and the perfected development had been due to
Boulton and Watt, dating from about 1820. Until about 1860 this type
was used most generally, until ocean-going steamers discarded the
paddle-wheel for the screw. It is, therefore, essential that before
proceeding farther we should get well-acquainted with it, and we
shall find that following the lead which had been given them,
especially by the famous Robert Napier, marine engineers began to
build these types, as well for deep-sea ships as for river-going craft.
The illustration here facing, which has been taken from a model in
the South Kensington Museum, represents the regular side-lever
type, the full-sized engines having been made by a Poplar firm in
1836 for the Ruby, which plied between London and Gravesend, a
vessel of 170 tons, and the fastest Thames steamer of that time. On
referring to our illustration, the side-lever will be immediately
recognised in the fore-ground at the bottom. To the left of this are the
two cylinders, side by side. The side-lever is seen to be pivoted at its
centre, whilst at the reader’s left hand the end of this is joined by a
connecting rod. Thus, as the piston-rod is moved upwards or
downwards, so the left-hand half of the side-lever will move. At the
opposite, right-hand, side of the latter the connecting rod will be
observed to be attached to the side-lever, whilst the other end of the
connecting rod drives the crank; the latter, in turn, driving the shaft
on either end of which will be placed a paddle-wheel. In this engine
before us there are two cranks, of which one is seen prominently at
the very top of the picture. Each connecting rod is attached to two
side-levers, one on either side of the cylinder, by means of a cross-
head. Similarly at the piston-rod there is also a cross-head, with a
connecting rod on either side, of which one only is visible. Later on a
modified form of this type of engine was introduced in order to
economise space, for one of the great drawbacks of the side-lever
engine was that it took up an enormous amount of room, which could
ill be spared from that to be devoted to the carrying of cargo or the
accommodation of the passengers. In this modification the cylinders,
instead of being placed side by side, or athwartships, were fore and
aft, the one behind the other.
In 1831, there was built in Quebec, to run between there and
Halifax, a steamer called the Royal William (not to be confused with
a vessel of the same name to which we shall refer presently). The
engines were made by Boulton and Watt, and dispatched across the
Atlantic to Montreal, where they were installed. In 1833, after taking
on board over three hundred tons of coal at Pictou, Nova Scotia, she
started on her journey to the South of England, and arrived off
Cowes, Isle of Wight, after seventeen days, having covered a
distance of 2,500 miles. There is some doubt as to whether she
steamed the whole way, or whether she used her sails for part of the
time. At any rate, she measured 176 feet long, 43 feet 10 inches
wide (including her paddle-boxes), and after calling at Portsmouth,
proceeded to Gravesend, and was afterwards sold to the Spanish
Government.
THE “SIRIUS” (1838).

From a Contemporary Drawing in the Victoria and Albert Museum.
THE “ROYAL WILLIAM” (1838).
By permission of the City of Dublin Steam Packet Co.
We now come to the year 1838, in which a handful of steamers

made history, and showed how uncalled-for had been the ridicule
which the pessimists had cast at the steamship. With this year we
reach the turning-point of the steamship, and from that date we may
trace all those wonderful achievements which are still being added to
year by year. Hitherto no vessel had crossed the Atlantic under
steam power solely. Because of the large amount of fuel
consumption which was a necessary failing of the early steamships,
in proportion to the amount of steam developed, it was denied that it
would ever be financially possible for steamers to run across oceans
as the sailing packets were doing, even if they were capable of
carrying sufficient fuel together with their passengers and cargo. But
deeds were more eloquent than the expounding of theories, and the
first surprise was quickly followed by another, far from inferior. The
first of these epoch-making steamers was the Sirius. She was rigged
as a brig, like many of the contemporary sailing ships which then
carried mails, passengers, and cargo between the Old World and the
New, whose unsavoury characters had earned for them the
nickname of “coffin-brigs.” This Sirius was a comparatively small ship
of 703 tons, and quite small enough to cross the Atlantic in the
weather which is to be found thereon. She measured only 178 feet
along the keel, was 25½ feet wide, her hold was 18¼ feet deep, and
her engines developed 320 horsepower. Built for the service
between London and Cork, she was specially chartered for this
transatlantic trip by the British Queen Steam Navigation Company,
whose own vessel, the British Queen (shown opposite page 102),
was not yet ready, owing to the fact that one of her contractors had
gone bankrupt. With ninety-four passengers on board, the Sirius
steamed away from London and called at Queenstown, where she
coaled. After clearing from the Irish port, she encountered head
winds, and it was only with difficulty that her commander, Lieut. R.
Roberts, R.N., was able to quell a mutiny among the crew, who had
made up their minds that to try and get across the North Atlantic in
such a craft was pure folly. Having been seventeen days out, the
Sirius arrived off New York on April 22nd, and before the end of her
journey had not merely consumed all her coal, at a daily average of
24 tons, but had even to burn some of her spars, so that she had got
across just by the skin of her teeth. But it was her engines which had
got her there and not her sails; the former were of the side-lever type
to which we have just referred.
The next day came in the Great Western, a much larger craft,
that had come out of Bristol three days after the Sirius had started;
and in her we see the prototype of those enormous liners which go
backwards and forwards across the Atlantic to-day with a regularity
that is remarkable. Unlike the little Sirius, the Great Western had
been specially designed for the Atlantic by that engineering genius,
Brunel, who, like his ships and his other works of wonder, was one of
the most remarkable products of the last century. She was built with
the intention of becoming practically an extension of the Great
Western Railway across the Atlantic, and in order to be able to
withstand the terrible battering of the seas, which she would have to
encounter, she was specially strengthened. Here was a vessel of
1,321 tons (gross), with a length of 236 feet over all, with about half
her space taken up with her boilers and engines. Now the strain of
so much dead-weight in so long a ship whose beam was only 35 feet
4 inches, or about one-seventh of her length, had to be thought out
and guarded against with the greatest care. And let us not forget that
at this time vessels were still built of wood, and that, except in a few
instances, iron had not yet been introduced. She was given strong
oak ribs, placed close together, while iron was also used to some
extent in fastening them. The advantage of making an ocean-going
vessel long is that she is less likely to pitch in a sea, and will not dip
twice in the same hollow; and if she is proportionately narrow in
comparison with her length, she will also roll less than a more beamy
craft. But the difficulty, so long as wood was employed, was to get
sufficient longitudinal strength to endure the strains of so long a
span. We shall be able to get some idea of this when we consider
the behaviour of a vessel in a sea. Waves consist, so to speak, of
mountains and valleys. If the waves are short and the vessel is long,
then she may stretch right over some of them; but if the contrary is
the condition, then, while her ’midship portion is supported by the
water, her fore and aft ends are inclined to droop, so that in a very
extreme case she would break in two. At any rate, the tendency is
for the centre of the ship to bend upwards and the unsupported ends
to droop. This is technically called “hogging.” In the reverse
circumstance, when the ends are supported on the tops of two
mountains of waves, whilst the centre of the ship spans,
unsupported, the intervening valley, the tendency is to “sag.” Now
this has to be allowed for in the construction of the ship, and, as
already pointed out in my “Sailing Ships and Their Story,” this was
understood as far back as the times of the Egyptians, who
counteracted such strains as these by means of a longitudinal cable
stretched tightly from one end of the ship to the other. But with the
coming of steamships there was another problem to be taken into
consideration. Engines, boilers, fresh water for the boilers, coal and
so on are serious weights to be placed in one part of the ship. (In the
case of the Great Western, the first three alone weighed 480 tons,
although the gross tonnage of the whole ship was only 1,321.)
Throughout the length of the ship, then, she is subjected not
merely to irregular strains by the peaks and valleys of the waves, but
by the distribution of weights. Her structure has to undergo the
severest possible stresses, and these are different when the ship is
loaded and when she is “light.” If you divide a ship into sections
transversely, as is actually done by the designer, you will find that
some parts are less buoyant than others, no matter whether your
ship is made of wood, iron, or steel. Those sections, for instance,
which contain a steamer’s machinery will have much inferior
buoyancy, and, indeed, were you to sever them from the ship and
seal them up so as to be perfectly water-tight, they would in many
cases sink. Therefore, this irregularity of buoyancy has to be met by
making the more-buoyant sections help to support the less-buoyant.
In actual shipbuilding practice it is customary to regard the greatest
stress to a ship as occurring when she is poised on the crest of a
wave, and it is usual to suppose, in order to safeguard her manner of
construction, that she is poised upon the crest of a wave whose
length from trough to trough is equal to the length of the ship, and
the height of the wave from trough to crest to be one-twentieth of its
length when 300 feet long and below, and one twenty-fifth when
exceeding that length.
We have digressed a little from our immediate subject in order to
put into the mind of the general reader some conception of the
difficulties which Brunel had to encounter when he set to work to
produce such a vessel as the Great Western. That she was built on
sound lines is proved by the service which she rendered to her
owners before she was finally broken up in 1847. On her first return
voyage from New York she took fifteen days, and the Sirius
seventeen. The Great Western had no such trouble with her “coal-
endurance” on her maiden voyage as the Sirius had suffered, for she
had reached New York with one quarter of her coals still
unconsumed, and the obvious conclusion which came to any
reasoning mind was that it certainly paid to build a vessel big enough
to carry plenty of fuel. But the Great Western “paid” in more senses
than this; and at the end of her first year, her directors were able to
announce a dividend of 9 per cent. Thirty-five guineas was the fare
in those days, and the largest number of passengers carried on any
one of her journeys was 152.
THE “GREAT WESTERN” (1838).
By permission of Messrs. Henry Castle & Sons.
PADDLE-WHEEL OF THE “GREAT
WESTERN.”
From the Model in the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Like her contemporaries, the Great Western was fitted with side-
lever engines, built by Maudslay. Steam was generated from four
boilers, and conducted into two cylinders, her daily consumption of
coal being about 33 tons. A model of one of her paddle-wheels,
which were 28 feet 9 inches in diameter, is here illustrated. This type
is known as the “cycloidal” wheel, in which each float, instead of
being made of one solid piece of material, is composed of several
horizontal widths arranged after the manner of steps in a cycloidal
curve, as will be seen by looking at the right-hand of the wheel. It will
be noticed that through the space left between each “step” the water
could penetrate when the wheel was in the sea, but when revolving
out of it, the resistance to the air was diminished because the latter
was allowed to get through. As the paddle came in contact with the
sea, the concussion was lessened, and thus there was not so much
strain on the engines. The Great Western employed the type
introduced by Joshua Field in 1833, but this form was brought in
again by Elijah Galloway two years later.
So far we have seen steamers running from London and from
Bristol to New York. Now we shall see the first steam-vessel crossing
from Liverpool to New York. Facing page 96 is the other Royal
William, which was built in 1838 for the Irish passenger trade
between Liverpool and Kingstown, and owned by the City of Dublin
Steam Packet Company, by whose courtesy this picture is now
reproduced. The Royal William was 3 feet shorter than the Sirius, but
2 feet wider, and with a hold just 6 inches shallower. In July of that
same memorable year, the Royal William made her maiden trip from
Liverpool to New York, having been built and engined at the former
port. In was no doubt a great temptation to emulate what the Sirius
had been the first to perform, especially as the two ships were so
similar in many respects. Outward bound, the Royal William did the
trip in about the same time as the Sirius, though her return journey
occupied about a day and a half less than that of the other vessel.
But these vessels were not big enough, nor seaworthy enough, for
the toil of the Atlantic, and both were soon taken off from this route.
The illustration reproduced is from an engraving after a sketch made
of the Royal William, as seen in the Atlantic on July 14th, 1838, when
in latitude 47.30 N., longitude 30.0 W., on her first voyage to New
York, and the landsman in looking at the waves which the artist has
depicted may find some assistance in reading our previous remarks
on “hogging” and “sagging” in this connection.
THE “BRITISH QUEEN” (1839).
By permission of James Napier, Esq.
THE “BRITANNIA,” THE FIRST ATLANTIC LINER

(1840).
From a Model. By permission of the Cunard Steamship Co.
Finally, we come to the British Queen, which was yet another

vessel to steam across the broad Atlantic, and to show once more
that it was neither good fortune nor the powers of any single vessel
that had conquered the ocean, but the building of the right kind of

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Editor’s Note: A Dialogue on the Role of Online Inter­

Editor’s Note: A Dialogue on the Role of On­

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

For Christina Angelopoulos, ‘the prevalence of intermediation in modern electronic com­

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

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(3) See Domo, ‘Data Never Sleeps 5.0’ <https://www.domo.com/learn/data-never-

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(p. xiv) (p. xv) Notes on Contributors

is a Lecturer in Intellectual Property Law at the University of Cambridge and a mem­

is a Judge of the Court of Appeal of England and Wales.

is the Director of the Access to Public Information Agency in Argentina, Director of

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

is the Executive Director and Co-founder of the global multistakeholder organization

is the Global Professor of Intellectual Property Law at Chicago-Kent College of Law.

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

is Associate Professor in Media and Communication at the University of Leeds. Email:

is the Deputy Executive Director and Co-founder of the multistakeholder organization

(p. xvi) Danny Friedmann

is Visiting Assistant Professor of Law, Peking University School of Transnational Law

is an Associate Professor at the Center for International Intellectual Property Studies

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

is a JSD candidate at Stanford Law School. Email: sergeih@stanford.edu.

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

is a Researcher and a PhD Candidate at the Center for International Intellectual

is Professor of Intellectual Property Law at the School of Law, University of Glasgow

is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Katholieke Universiteit (KU) Leuven’s Centre for

is Associate Professor, Faculty of Law, University of Calgary. Email:

Juan Carlos Lara Gálvez

is the Research and Public Policy Director at Derechos Digitales—América Latina,

(p. xvii) Jack Lerner

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

is a Senior Lecturer/Researcher at IViR, University of Amsterdam and Professor of

Luiz Fernando Marrey Moncau

is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Center for International Intellectual Property

Maria Lillà Montagnani

is an Associate Professor of Commercial Law at Bocconi University in Milan. Email:

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

is a Lecturer in the Law School at the Queensland University of Technology (QUT) in

is a Professor at Korea University Law School. Email: kyungsinpark@korea.ac.kr.

is an Associate Professor of Law at the Universitat Oberta de Catalunya (UOC) in

is an Assistant Professor in Intellectual Property Law at the Netanya Academic Col­

Subscriber: National Law University Orissa; date: 23 July 2021

is a barrister at 8 New Square, London. Email: jr@8newsquare.co.uk.

is an Associate Professor in Intellectual Property Law at Stockholm University and an

Editor’s Note: A Dialogue on the Role of Online Inter

Editor’s Note: A Dialogue on the Role of On

For Christina Angelopoulos, ‘the prevalence of intermediation in modern electronic com

is a Lecturer in Intellectual Property Law at the University of Cambridge and a mem

is an Assistant Professor in Intellectual Property Law at the Netanya Academic Col

Perhaps, within a fragmented international framework, a common design in recent devel

The discourse is increasingly shifting from liability to ‘enhanced responsibility’105 of on

6. Mapping Internet Jurisdiction, Extraterrito

Meanwhile, decisions imposing extraterritorial effects on intermediaries have also ap