America

Being an international lawyer can sometimes feel like being a librarian in the middle of a riot. You are deeply invested in the idea that there are rules – impeccable legal rules – that, if followed, would make the world a better, more orderly, place. You clutch well-thumbed and thoroughly annotated copies of the Nicaragua case, the Rome Statute and Oppenheim’s International Law, that explain exactly how everything should work, if only people would stop upturning chairs and setting things on fire long enough to listen. Undeterred by flying books to the head, you release sternly-worded statements, quote precedents, consult tribunals, ask councils to issue resolutions, even engage in targeted shushing (‘comply or I’ll publicly release your browser history’). But the rioters persist in throwing around treaty texts like Molotov cocktails. Eventually the library itself is on fire. With a theatrical flourish, the doors fly open and in walks Donald Trump. He surveys the room, nods approvingly at the chaos and declares ‘This librarian is biased! She’s trying to enforce rules that don’t benefit me! She is the problem!’. He then buys the entire building and turns it into a private club, selling memberships for $49.99 (payable in crypto-currency). Sensing an opportunity, you apply for entry – after all, you have considerable expertise in regulatory compliance. Security blocks your path, giving you a look usually reserved for tele-marketers and people who still cite the Kellogg-Briand Pact with a straight face: ‘We don’t accept librarians’. You learn you are on a watchlist for those showing ‘excessive commitment to the rule of law’. It’s enough to make you swap your legal principles for a business card and rebrand as a corporate lawyer.

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