This chapter draws on empirical research that demonstrates that utility model protection can address differential capture or appropriability needs for a firm’s portfolio of inventions in terms of time and cost. We propose that a “zone of appropriability preference” exists when utility models and standard patents overlap, and this zone provides important opportunities to firms with global intellectual property portfolios. Using the European Patent Office’s PATSTAT patent data and a novel experimental construct that tracks inventions that are pursued as a utility model instead of a standard patent, we demonstrate that firms appear to seek utility model protection when their overall appropriability needs differ by region. We make the case that a firm may choose standard patent protection in one region and utility model protection in another, even though standard patent protection is available in both settings

While national rules regarding the scope, availability and issuance of utility models vary from country to country, most utility model regimes offer protection for tangible products, with many, but not all, jurisdictions excluding processes, biological materials and computer software from the scope of protection. The duration of utility model protection ranges from five to fifteen years, with most countries offering ten years of protection. In most countries, utility model applications are not formally examined and must simply disclose the product in question. Given the lack of examination, obtaining utility models is generally viewed as faster and cheaper than obtaining patents. This combination of speed and cost, in theory, makes utility models potentially attractive to small and medium enterprises (SMEs) that cannot afford to obtain full patent protection. Similar considerations have also been raised as advantageous to innovators in low-income countries.

Construction Grammar and typology share many assumptions and each approach can fruitfully inform the other. Both fields start from a pairing of form and function and treat lexicon, morphology, and syntax as a continuum of varying strategies to express function. Cross-linguistic comparison leads to a distinction between language-particular categories and structures, determined by distributional analysis, and comparative concepts that are cross-linguistically valid. Strategies are morphosyntactic formal structures that are defined language-independently and constructions are comparative concepts; as such, constructions and their components can be aligned across languages, and strategies allow the alignment of morphosyntactic structures used for constructions across languages. Typologists have also developed representations of the conceptual relations between the functions of different constructions in terms of conceptual spaces. Typological diversity also suggests that the only universal syntactic structure is the part–whole relation between a construction and its constituents. Both Construction Grammar and typology give a prominent role to diachrony, seeing constructions as lineages.

Warfare did not evolve in a linear fashion. This is most obvious on the physical level: the weapons and armies of polities across time and space have fluctuated in sophistication, so that early European medieval armies had more in common with ancient Israelite or Greek contingents than with the Roman war machinery, and, up to the nineteenth century or even the twentieth, raiding warfare in some parts of Africa or the islands of south-east Asia was akin to patterns of pre-Columbian warfare in the Americas, prehistoric warfare in Europe and ghazis and booty expeditions in Europe and around the Mediterranean. Where warfare’s aims went beyond mere raiding, for much of world history, the paucity or even absence of relevant sources has made it difficult to reconstruct political–strategic aims. We also encounter vast varieties conditioned in part by hard factors such as climate, geography and resources. We have encountered and possibly not always avoided the danger of squeezing cultural differences into a Procrustean bed of Western concepts and languages. Yet some striking patterns have emerged. Not only Indo-European cultures, but also Mongols and Chinese, came up with a strategic aim of establishing a universal monarchy, or defending against the imposition of such an overlordship. The forming of alliances for common strategic purposes and the defence of allies or clients is another widespread pattern, strategic co-operation counterbalancing long-term hostilities. The distinction between client states and allies was often blurred. Non-kinetic tools of strategy were also employed widely, from giving gifts, to tribute payments (again a distinction often difficult to make), to marriages to confirm peace treaties or cement alliances. And most cultures seem to have had some rules or code of honour with regard to the conduct of war which in many contexts imposed limits on the pursuit of strategic aims.

Chapter 9 studies the U.S.-China rivalry, which has strengthened since the early 2010s. From an evolutionary perspective, strategy is defined as a phenotype or playbook and strategic rivalry as a contest of different phenotypes in the larger ecological environment. International relations are thus fundamentally defined by competition and selection. Competition may lead to divergence among units, and the mechanism of selection indeed requires different types. The United States and China represent two different types of political systems, although there has also been mutual learning. The U.S.-China rivalry is consequential for East Asia and the world because they are currently the two greatest powers, with the sources of their power constructed and adapted over years. The chapter demonstrates how the United States and China have been in different stages since the founding of the United States in 1776, experiencing ups and downs in their bilateral interactions since 1784.

From a strategic standpoint, the final years of the American war in Vietnam highlighted a persistent uncertainty over how the conflict would end. Both civil and military leaders wrestled with confusing estimates on the war’s progress. These uncertainties mattered because they influenced the timing of and ways in which US forces withdrew from a war that would not end once the Americans had departed. Despite arguments that General Creighton Abrams had fought a “better war” in Vietnam leading to a military victory, a sense of strategic stalemate hung over these final years. Problems remained in assessing the political aspects of pacification, the staying power of the South Vietnamese armed forces once American troops departed, and the longterm viability of the Saigon regime. By early 1969, Abrams also had to confront political decisions leading to the first withdrawal of US troops, decisions that would pit him against the Nixon administration and bring to the surface grave civil–military tensions. Despite years of effort, a key question remained unanswered as these withdrawals began – how stable would South Vietnam be once Americans departed? Ultimately, these final years left the Americans no closer to answering the question of whether they would achieve “victory” in Vietnam.

Standard narratives of the American war in Vietnam contend that the US Army squandered its chances of victory because of misguided strategy. Such works claim that once President Lyndon B. Johnson deployed American ground combat troops to South Vietnam, General William C. Westmoreland, the US military commander in Vietnam, pursued an ill-advised strategy of attrition. Worse, these narratives continue, the general implemented this strategy despite being presented with a clearly better alternative from US Marine Corps commanders operating in the northern provinces of South Vietnam. Such conventional wisdom, however, presents a flawed understanding of American strategy under Westmoreland, who never subscribed to an “either–or” approach to confronting the political-military threat inside South Vietnam. At no point did Westmoreland concentrate solely on conventional battle at the expense of counterinsurgency. Likewise, the general never believed local civic action or pacification programs to be a panacea. In reality, American strategy from 1964 to 1968 rested on a belief that South Vietnam was facing a dual threat – both conventional and unconventional – that required a similarly comprehensive response. By reexamining American strategy under Westmoreland, one finds no “missed opportunity,” a conclusion that raises important questions about the limits of American military power abroad in the mid-1960s.

Chapter 4 opens up the black box of the firm to assess the effects of leadership on reform outcomes in China Infrastructure (CI) (pseudonym), a central SOE in the construction industry. The chapter features paired comparisons of the consecutive tenures of chairmen in CI and process tracing of original data gathered during fifteen months of fieldwork inside the company, primarily in its Beijing headquarters, between January 2014 and June 2016, with follow-up visits in June 2018, December 2019, and December 2023. It presents evidence that the chairman’s leadership generated variation in the degree to which market expansion was decentralized and in the balance of influence among intra-firm actors. The chapter also evaluates and rules out alternative explanations: guanxi with and intervention by higher-level officials, shifts in policy by administrative superiors, and changes in industry competition in domestic and international markets.

Chapter 5 examines the effects of leadership on reform outcomes in four other central SOEs: State Grid, China General Nuclear Power Group, Sinochem, and China Railway Engineering Corporation. These companies are selected to capture full variation along two key dimensions: industry strategic importance and firm type. For each of these four central SOEs, the chapter compares the consecutive tenures of their chairmen to assess the effects of leadership on reform at the firm level. This survey provides additional evidence that successive leaders’ decisions about organizational strategy and structure are an important driver of variation in reform outcomes. Cross-firm analysis further suggests that the effects of leadership on reform are a matter of degree and are conditioned by existing institutions, policies, and economic factors.

The Introduction lays out the contextual background to the themes and elements that are brought together to shape the monograph’s arguments. It positions the monograph within the existing literature on the Seven Years’ War and the history of neutrality in order to establish how it builds upon these bodies of work to incorporate law as a necessary element of strategic analysis. The core hypotheses and arguments of the book are also established. First, that neutrality was a dynamic role for maritime nations such as Spain and the Dutch Republic which had as much of an influencing effect on British strategic thinking as did affairs with belligerent nations. Second, that the Court of Prize Appeal played a critical role within the three-pronged maritime strategy of maintaining foreign confidence in British maritime law and its court system; balancing the interests of British privateers and neutral carriers of commerce in the prize court system; and destroying French seaborne trade through commerce predation. Third, that British maritime strategic concerns shaped and created new legal rules, norms, and precedents within the prize court system that would then serve to clarify and cement British, Spanish, and Dutch understandings of neutral rights and international maritime law.

The opening chapter provides the necessary context for both the development of British prize law and how law has, or has not, been treated in maritime strategic thinking. It provides a conceptual analysis of how and why law should be incorporated into maritime strategic thought. The conceptual part of the chapter argues that law and sea power cannot be divorced for two principal reasons. First, sea power is the vehicle through which a state is able to transform domestic maritime law into international maritime law. Second, the maritime strategic considerations of a nation drive negotiations over international maritime law in an attempt to either constrain, or expand, the rights of a sea power. The extent to which maritime nations are able to influence those negotiations depends on the relative qualities of their sea power.

This chapter provides a contextual overview of the development and operation of the British prize court system. It then introduces the specific legal rules and precedents, specifically the Rule of the War of 1756, that were developed by Britain during the Seven Years’ War in the pursuit of negotiating neutral rights to Britain’s strategic advantage. The chapter critiques the historiography on the Rule of the War of 1756 and makes the argument that the development of the rule and its influence in subsequent wars can only be understood if its strategic drivers are taken into account. The Rule, in other words, was as much a creation of strategic thinking as it was of legal thinking.

Chapter 12 concludes the book and ties its different strands together. It explains why, and when, lawfare came to be seen by leading RPF cadres as a functional equivalent to warfare. The chapter further explains why Rwanda’s present resembles its past to a remarkable degree. More specifically, the analysis demonstrates that the government of threat and care in the twenty-first century was informed by a raison d’état that has driven the imposition of grand institutional designs ever since the precolony. What this concluding chapter offers is a path-dependent argument about the rise of lawfare in post-genocide Rwanda. As such, it illustrate the analytic payoff of taking the study of the country’s gacaca courts out of the context of transitional justice.