Restrictive legislation prohibiting the cross examination of sexual offence complainants about their previous sexual behaviour is a common feature of most Common Law jurisdictions. The current mechanism by which this line of questioning is restricted in England and Wales is section 41 of the Youth Justice and Criminal Evidence Act 1999, which prima facie prohibits such questioning save for four limited exceptions. Yet the sustainability of s.41 has been called into question, Harriet Harman MP has proposed an amendment to the Domestic Violence and Abuse Bill currently before Parliament that would see the prohibition of questions about sexual behaviour with third parties. A number of academic commentators go further and suggest the similarity clause within s.41(3)c(i), which allows evidence of the complainant’s sexual behaviour to be included should it be “so similar” to their behaviour at the time of the alleged offence, should also be removed. It will be argued, however, that legislative reform relating to both third party evidence and the similarity gateway is unnecessary, instead there is much more to be gained by focusing on the broader application of s.41, addressing both procedural inconsistencies and “rape myths” that have potential to operate notwithstanding legislative protections.

Since the birth of theories linking genetics to crime and delinquency, the theology of crime has inadvertently become associated with neurological deficits. Accordingly, these theories have developed into the introduction of the study of criminology and in the recent years, neurocriminology. Both disciplines and more specifically the latter, aims to study and better understand the reasons why criminal actions are made and how the actor arrived at the decision to offend the criminal law. Put simply, one point of central focus in neurocriminology is to examine the extent of freewill to which decisions to act are made, and the burden of hindrance that social environment and genetics, amongst many other facts, plays in influencing those decisions. As such, it has been contended by some criminologists that due to the incapability of a person to necessarily control the external factors influencing their actions, neurochemical intervention should be introduced as a solution in crime policy both for pre-emptive and present purposes. This paper evaluates and rejects the introduction of neurochemical intervention in crime policy through examination of the moral and ethical considerations.

In December 2017, it was decided that the International Criminal Court would activate its jurisdiction over the crime of aggression on 17 July 2018. The crime is directed towards the leadership of a State that plans or initiates an aggressive war. Lower-level military commanders on the ground cannot be tried for the crime. Further, the principle of the ‘equality of belligerents’ protects soldiers on the battlefield from decisions made by their leaders, meaning that lower-level military commanders cannot be held accountable merely for taking part in an illegal war. This preserves the distinction between *jus ad bellum* (the justifications for going to war) and *jus in bello* (the law regulating conduct during war). However, preserving this distinction while bringing the crime of aggression within the ICC’s jurisdiction means that the ICC can now rule that the same civilian deaths are lawful and unlawful at the same time and in the same place. This article addresses this concern by arguing that, through the proportionality rules contained in Article 8(2)(b)(iv) of the Rome Statute, the ICC has the ability to prosecute military commanders who participate in an aggressive war. It will show that the rules of proportionality have developed to a point where an overlap exists between *jus ad bellum* and *jus in bello*, with the former now defining the perimeter of the latter. When examined in this new light, the ICC can prosecute a lower-level military commander who takes part in an aggressive war.

Caddy and Cobb define forensic science as “…science used for the purpose of law. ” This definition implies strongly that a foundation in law is one of the requisites for any branch of the forensic sciences. The Scientific Working Group on Digital Evidence (SWGDE) defines digital evidence as “…Information of probative value stored or transmitted in digital form. ” Taken as a pair, these two definitions connect the law and science solidly. Generally, we see science and the law as tied together by Caddy and Cobb being a typical fragment of almost all definitions of forensic science. As well, SWGDE talks about “probative value” of digital evidence, harking to Black’s definition of evidence: “Something that tends to prove or disprove the existence of an alleged fact.” If this strong connection between law and science in forensics is axiomatic, why, then, are digital (or “cyber” in today’s vernacular) forensic students taught almost nothing of the law and why is cyber forensics often taught in the criminal justice departments (typically part of the social sciences curriculum) rather than in computer science departments in most American universities? At no time in the history of jurisprudence has there been a greater need for real cyber forensic scientists than today in the age of pervasive, and sometimes massive, cybercrimes. The author takes the position that there are two critical paths to remedy the lack of the clear application of justice in cyber events: a development of a cyber jurisprudence and significant refining of education in the science of cyber forensics. This paper addresses the latter. In the early days of digital forensics, the term was debated among forensic scientists and technologists. There was an early consensus that digital forensics was not a science at all, in fact, barely a technology. At that time, it was largely a tool of law enforcement for discovery of those few computer-based crimes, such as child pornography, that managed to catch hold when the criminal justice community was more focused upon “hard” crimes such as rape, robbery and murder. Vendors of digital forensic tools drove improvements to the technology and eventually the consensus shifted to an acceptance of digital forensics as a technology. This also was in part due to advancements in computer technology, lower costs for computers and the increased use of computers in various types of crimes. In the early 2000s The American Academy of Forensic Sciences, after extensive long-term lobbying by forensics practitioners, created a section that covered digital forensics. It would seem that digital forensics had finally received its due as a legitimate forensic science. However, practitioners still were “trained” rather than “educated” and the early digital forensics programs in universities were at the Master’s level and addressed, predominantly, management rather than scientific issues, and virtually no law. When undergraduate programs began to appear, the focus was on criminal justice and a bit of technology. Still, there was very little law taught leaving newly minted practitioners with little more legal understanding than how to testify and a vague idea of what a Daubert Hearing was. Moreover, it was not, and is not necessary for a digital forensic practitioner to have a university education (although that is improving rapidly as a younger group of practitioners enters the field and older ones retire). When (ISC)2, the primary certification organization for computer security practitioners created a certification for cyber forensic scientists, it became the first certifying organization to require a university degree. The requirements were so unacceptable to the cyber forensic community that the certification was abandoned after a few years. This paper takes the position that facing the challenges under discussion at this symposium relative to cyber forensic science requires a far stronger academic footing that it now enjoys – especially in the law and its relationship to cyber science and forensics - and greater attention to clear definitions of what cyber forensic science is and how it relates to science, technology and the law.

This article considers the ways in which the role of humanitarian intervention, which currently does not have any clear legal status, can be defended through international law. Using both realist and liberal cosmopolitan theoretical approaches, it considers three notions of legitimacy to argue that humanitarian intervention can be justified: legitimacy through humanitarian crises; humanitarian intervention supported through a creative interpretation and application of general principles of international law; and humanitarian intervention justified by morality and “natural law.” It considers the use of force that has taken place in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya as case studies and examples. A broader sense of legality is argued to reconcile the notion that humanitarian intervention could be legalized; however, a restrictive factor remains in the horizontal rather than vertical nature of international law, which requires the will of States. Thus, the next best alternative is considered. Humanitarian intervention both before and after the adoption of the UN Charter has not gained the status of established international law sufficient to justify the use of force. From a purely legalist perspective, it is not permitted. Nevertheless, there is support for the concept. In the present day, one might assume that the use of force for humanitarian purposes remains subject to each State’s understanding of a particular situation. Therefore, it is important to consider the legitimacy of “non-legal” action. To consider any use of force legitimate, it must be perceived by other States as legitimate; therefore, it must be widely accepted as appropriate conduct. Usually, a State embarking upon the use of armed force will search widely for a legal justification, even if the argument is weak, in order to obtain support for the action. In Iraq (2003), the coalition sought to base its action on the ‘legality’ of UNSC-adopted Resolutions. In Afghanistan (2001), the USA based its argument on the ‘legality’ of self-defence. Council inaction has also been suggested as an argument for “non-legal” intervention. If the institution responsible for maintaining peace and security fails to fulfil its function, then a State may be justified, from a realist and practical point of view, in taking unilateral steps. Nevertheless, such action would still not be strictly ‘legal’ and could therefore be considered potentially ‘illegal’ under international law. It could be argued that the failure of the UNSC to condemn what is, from a strictly positivist standpoint, ‘illegal’ action, such as that in Kosovo (1998–99), gives it some legal status with possible precedential value. If this is so, then the UNSC could potentially authorize the use of force retroactively, including armed force, provided that it remains within the spirit of the relevant Resolution. However, this view is problematic because it undermines the rule of law. In order to follow the law, one must know what the applicable rule is at the time the transgression takes place. Otherwise, it would be impossible to know what the law was at any particular point in time and, therefore, impossible to determine whether a transgression had occurred. Moreover, failing to condemn a use of force is not necessarily equivalent to condoning it or rendering it legal. Perhaps a more suitable characterization is that such use of force is ‘tolerated.’ Legalists would not recognize any retroactive legality and would not consider legitimacy a viable alternative. It would require a form of law to set aside the UN Charter. However, from a realist and, even more so, a cosmopolitan perspective, there may be broader justifications or legitimate reasons for engaging in uses of force that are strictly illegal. Nevertheless, these arguments concern legality in a broader sense. They do not always conform to a strict understanding of legality or legalist theory. Kohen even suggests that US policies were not concerned with strict legality. If this were so, then even legitimacy would constitute a weak argument if the reasons for intervention were purely nationalistic interests. Nevertheless, the USA, and any State engaging in the use of force, should be required to justify its decision to the international community of States, including the UN. Therefore, whether legal or not, there must be a reason for each specific use of force. The following section considers various conceptions and models of legitimacy that could potentially provide a justification for humanitarian intervention that has not yet gained the status of international law *per se*.