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The Puzzling US Submission to the Assembly of States Parties

by Kevin Jon Heller

The US submission to the ASP has finally appeared. It is not very long — about 1.5 pages — but manages to pack in a good number of false claims and bizarre interpretations of the Rome Statute.

In terms of falsity, the US repeats its longstanding claim that the Court has no jurisdiction over the nationals of non-state parties, even when those nationals are responsible for an international crime committed on the territory of a state party (p. 1):

As an initial matter, and as we have consistently emphasized, the United States is not a party to the Rome Statute and has not consented to any assertion of ICC jurisdiction, nor has the Security Council taken action under Chapter VII of the UN Charter to establish jurisdiction over U.S. personnel. It is a fundamental principle of international law that a treaty is binding only on its parties and that it does not create obligations for non-parties without their consent. The Rome Statute cannot be interpreted as disposing of rights of the United States as a non-Party without U.S. consent.

This is wrong, for reasons Dapo Akande has patiently explained. It’s also completely hypocritical, because the US had no objection to the Special Court for Sierra Leone (SCSL) prosecuting Charles Taylor, a Liberian national, even though the SCSL was created by an international agreement — between the UN and Sierra Leone — to which Liberia was not a party. Indeed, the current US submission emphasises that it was “one of the most vocal supporters for the creation of tribunals to try those most responsible for atrocities committed in Rwanda and Sierra Leone.”

The most bizarre argument in the submission has to do with the principle of complementarity (p. 1):

Additionally, we are concerned about any ICC determination — as required by the Rome Statute’s core principle of complementarity — on, for example, the genuineness of U.S. legal proceedings without United States consent. The principle of complementarity fundamentally limits the ICC’s exercise of jurisdiction to those cases in which a State is genuinely unwilling or unable to comply with its duties, such as those under the Geneva Conventions, to investigate and prosecute war crimes, genocide, and crimes against humanity. Just as we have not consented to jurisdiction over our personnel, we have not consented to the ICC’s evaluation of our own accountability efforts.

This is literally nonsense. The ICC would only formally assess complementarity in the context of a specific prosecution of an American national — and would only do so (practically, if not because of a legal limitation) if the US decided to challenge the admissibility of a case. So the US would have to “consent” to the Court examining the genuineness of American proceedings if it wanted to head off a prosecution. Beyond that, consent has nothing to do with complementarity.

I will avoid making snarky comments about the US’s claim (p. 2) that it “has undertaken numerous, vigorous efforts to determine whether its personnel have violated the law and, where there have been violations, has taken appropriate actions to hold its personnel accountable.” But I can’t let the following claim (p. 2) go unremarked:

Indeed, we note the irony that in seeking permission to investigate the actions of U.S. personnel, the Prosecutor appears to have relied heavily upon information from investigations that the United States Government itself decided to make public. We question whether pursuing this investigation will make other countries less willing or able to engage in similar examinations of their own actions and to be transparent about the results.

This is, well… ironic. The OTP’s request to open an investigation into Afghanistan notes multiple times (see para. 27 for an example) that the US refused to cooperate with the preliminary examination. And the request relies very heavily on the executive summary of the Senate Intelligence Committee’s “Study of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Detention and Interrogation Program” — which the White House and CIA tried desperately to keep from ever seeing the light of day.

All that said, I am delighted by the following statement in the US submission (p. 1; emphasis mine):

The principle of complementarity fundamentally limits the ICC’s exercise of jurisdiction to those cases in which a State is genuinely unwilling or unable to comply with its duties, such as those under the Geneva Conventions, to investigate and prosecute war crimes, genocide, and crimes against humanity.

The US has now formally acknowledged that it has a duty under international law “to investigate and prosecute war crimes, genocide, and crimes against humanity”! That is a bold and progressive claim, especially with regard to crimes against humanity, for which there is no treaty that demands either investigation or prosecution. I imagine that position will come as something of a surprise to the parts of the US government that were not involved in drafting the submission…

The US’s ASP submission: wrong, bizarre, but surprisingly — and probably inadvertently — progressive.

Against (False) Consensus — the ASP and the Aggression Amendments

by Kevin Jon Heller

Although many important issues will be discussed this week at the Assembly of States Parties (ASP), none will be quite so momentous as the decision to activate the ICC’s jurisdiction over the crime of aggression. Whatever one thinks of the merits of the definition of aggression, there is no question that the activation of jurisdiction will represent the culmination of seventy years of efforts to deem aggression an international crime.

When the ASP finally makes a decision concerning the aggression amendments, the Rome Statute will encourage it to do so by consensus. The relevant provision is Art. 112(7):

Each State Party shall have one vote. Every effort shall be made to reach decisions by consensus in the Assembly and in the Bureau. If consensus cannot be reached, except as otherwise provided in the Statute:

(a)     Decisions on matters of substance must be approved by a two-thirds majority of those present and voting provided that an absolute majority of States Parties constitutes the quorum for voting;

(b)     Decisions on matters of procedure shall be taken by a simple majority of States Parties present and voting.

With regard to amendments, the Rome Statute does “otherwise provide.” According to Art. 121(3), “[t]he adoption of an amendment at a meeting of the Assembly of States Parties or at a Review Conference on which consensus cannot be reached shall require a two-thirds majority of States Parties.” Similarly, Art. 123(3) says that “[t]he provisions of article 121, paragraphs 3 to 7, shall apply to the adoption and entry into force of any amendment to the Statute considered at a Review Conference.”

The aggression amendments were adopted by consensus at the 2010 Review Conference held in Kampala. That was a mistake, because there was no genuine consensus at Kampala concerning one particularly critical issue: whether the Court will have jurisdiction over an act of aggression committed on the territory of a state party that has ratified the aggression amendments by a national of a state party that has not ratified them. States have taken diametrically opposed positions on that issue. Most — led by Liechtenstein — believe that the Court will have jurisdiction in that situation unless the non-ratifying state formally opts-out of the crime of aggression. But some — led by Japan, Canada, and the United Kingdom — insist that the Court will have no jurisdiction because non-ratification is enough.

I don’t want to re-litigate the merits of the debate. Regular readers know I agree with the Japan/Canada/UK group. My point is more modest: to call attention to the danger that false consensus poses to the legitimacy of the crime of aggression. By adopting the aggression amendments by consensus, instead of through a formal vote, the ASP made possible the kind of bitter disagreement that has characterized the state-party opt-out/opt-in debate. Just consider the following paragraphs from the ASP’s most recent report concerning the facilitation of aggression’s activation (emphasis mine):

19. Some delegations suggested that a declaration lodged with the Registrar, indicating that a State Party did not accept the jurisdiction of the Court over the crime of aggression, would bring the desired clarity. These delegations stressed that the negotiating history of the amendments during the Special Working Group on the Crime of Aggression as well as during the Review Conference offered clear evidence of the correct legal interpretation of the agreement reached in Kampala… By enabling States Parties to declare that they do not accept the jurisdiction of the Court in respect of crimes of aggression committed by their nationals (“opt-out”), the compromise agreed in Kampala had chosen the middle-ground between two opposing positions. It was explained that the Review Conference had considered the opposing position papers concerning the second sentence of article 121, paragraph 5, (the so-called “positive” and “negative” understandings), which both were ultimately deleted in favor of including the opt-out regime. As a result, in their view the compromise reached at the Review Conference was clear, and jurisdiction of the Court could extend to nationals of those States Parties which had not ratified the amendments, unless they opted out.

20. Other delegations took the view that too much emphasis was being placed on the negotiating history of the amendments and on concessions or compromises, rather than on legal principles and the plain meaning of the texts. These delegations explained that they had left the Review Conference with a different understanding, namely that the amendments would not apply to those States Parties which would not ratify them. In their view, open legal questions as to the implications of activation remained. These had not been solved during the seven years since the Review Conference, in spite of ratifications by 34 States Parties. It was pointed out that negotiations at the Review Conference could not have the effect of changing treaty rights and obligations. Accordingly, it was important to focus on the ordinary language of the text as there were differing understandings of the negotiating history, since it was also possible to explain the opt-out as something that was available to ratifying States Parties. These delegations questioned how they could be required to take action to opt out of the Court’s jurisdiction if they had not chosen to opt in by ratifying the amendments in the first place.

This is false consensus, not genuine consensus. State have been debating the opt-out/opt-in point for seven years as a result of the “consensus” at Kampala — debate that has overshadowed the importance of the aggression amendments themselves and has cost the ASP significant time that could have been better spent debating other issues.

Both camps deserve blame for this situation. The “opt-out” camp deserves blame for continuing to insist that genuine consensus existed at Kampala even though it’s quite clear it did not. And the “opt-in” camp deserves blame for permitting the aggression amendments to be adopted by consensus even though they knew disagreement existed about such a fundamental issue.

It will be interesting to see what happens this week at the ASP. There are rumblings — according to my well-connected friend Don Ferencz — that the opt-in group might put up a fight:

The member states of the Court will meet at UN headquarters in New York from December 4th to 14th to address making good on the pledge which they made in Kampala. Although 34 nations have already ratified their acceptance of the Court’s aggression jurisdiction – including over half of the members of NATO – Britain and France have not. Instead, they have joined with a handful of states, including Japan, Canada, Norway, and Colombia, in tacitly threatening to defeat activation of the Court’s aggression jurisdiction by their insistence that the Court must first clarify that the aggression amendments will not apply to leaders of any state that does not independently ratify them…

It is significant that the upcoming decision on aggression is expected to be undertaken pursuant to a consensus resolution. This means that the activation resolution must either be adopted by unanimous approval or not adopted at all. In such circumstances, each member state of the Court has the power to thwart the will of even an overwhelming majority simply by not consenting to the adoption resolution, regardless of the express terms of what was unanimously agreed to in Kampala. The non-ratifying countries which are demanding clarity that their leaders will remain beyond the Court’s reach on the crime of aggression, therefore, each have a potentially game-ending card to play in opposition of the final approval. The question is, with the whole world watching, do they dare play it?

My personal hope is that the opt-out camp will give in and accept the opt-in camp’s position that the Court will have no jurisdiction over a state party that does not ratify the aggression amendments — thereby creating genuine, if forced, consensus. Not only do I think that opt-in is the correct legal position, I am very skeptical that the opt-out camp would have enough votes to adopt the aggression amendments over the objections of the opt-in camp. According to paragraph 28 of the ASP’s facilitation report, they would need 82 in the absence of consensus. And that seems unlikely, given what I’ve heard about the number of states that are either opt-in or plan to abstain on any vote to activate the Court’s jurisdiction over aggression.

UPDATE: I have updated the post to mention Arts. 121(3) and 123(3) of the Rome Statute, as well as my understanding of the state of play concerning the vote to activate jurisdiction.

Reminder: Seventh Annual Junior Faculty Forum for International Law

by Kevin Jon Heller

Reminder: Deadline for Applications for Seventh Annual Junior Faculty Forum for International Law—May 28, 29 and 30, 2018

This is a brief reminder that applications for the Seventh Annual Junior Faculty Forum for International Law are due on Dec. 15, 2017. The Forum will be convened by Anne Orford (Law – Melbourne), Dino Kritsiotis (Law – Nottingham) and J.H.H. Weiler (Law – NYU) and will be held at the University of Melbourne in May next year. Full details of the application process are available on the Forum website (http://annualjuniorfacultyforumil.org/). Applications are welcome!

Cyber Operations and GCII Article 18’s “End of Engagements” Clause

by Jeffrey Biller

[Jeffrey Biller, Lt Col, USAF, is the Associate Director for the Law of Air, Space and Cyber Operations at the Stockton Center for the Study of International Law, US Naval War College.]

On 27 May 1941, the British battleships King George V and Rodney engaged the German battleship Bismarck, which had been previously disabled by a torpedo attack from aircraft belonging to the British carrier Ark Royal. After almost two hours of fighting, the Bismarck and her 2200 man crew were sunk. As the Bismarck’s escort ship, the Prinz Eugen, had previously detached, the shipwrecked crew was entirely dependent on the Royal Navy for rescue. The British ships Dorsetshire and Maori, acting in accordance with Article 16 of the Convention (X) for the Adaptation to Maritime Warfare of the Principles of the Geneva Convention, began rescue of the German crew. However, after 110 sailors were rescued a U-boat alarm was sounded, forcing the Royal Navy to break off the rescue. All but five of the remaining German crew were lost at sea.

The obligation under which the British acted to rescue the crew of the Bismarck was expanded in Article 18 the Second Geneva Convention (GCII). In an earlier post, Lt Cdr Peter Barker, RN, analyzed the extent of the obligation placed upon warship commanders to search for and collect the shipwrecked, sick, and wounded following a naval engagement. He correctly identified that the law, contained primarily in Article 18 of GCII, is ambiguous and in need of clarification. This post, the third in a series (see here and here) examining the impact of cyber on the law of naval warfare through the lens of the updated commentary to GCII, examines how the advent of cyber operations introduces an additional element of ambiguity.

Article 18 requires “[a]fter each engagement, Parties to the conflict shall, without delay, take all possible measures to search for and collect the shipwrecked, wounded and sick, to protect them against pillage and ill-treatment, to ensure their adequate care, and to search for the dead and prevent their being despoiled.” Para 1617 of the updated commentary to GCII rightly recognizes that “Article 18(1) is among the most important provisions in the Second Convention,” and that it sets out the obligations flowing from the protections accorded in Article 12. Therefore, a detailed understanding of each element in this article is key to a proper understanding of the entire convention. Here, we look solely at the first element in the light of cyber operations.

The first element makes plain that, unlike land operations, the requirement to tend to the sick and wounded does not arise until following the engagement. This is understandable in the naval context given the increased risk of harm a commander would endure by breaking off an engagement to collect the shipwrecked, wounded and sick. Keep in mind this obligation applies “without discriminating between their own and enemy personnel.” (Para 1618) Furthermore, at the time of GCII’s drafting, naval engagements tended to be very violent, but short-lived affairs. In the case of the Bismarck, the engagement was clearly ended when the ship, her ensign never struck, went under the sea after two hours of fighting. However, for modern navies equipped with advanced long-range weapon systems, including cyber capabilities, the end of the engagement may be more difficult to discern.

In the updated commentary, para 1648 discusses the article’s post-engagement limitation, stating that “unlike in land warfare, there is no requirement to undertake search and rescue activities during an engagement.” The commentary then argues that whereas this element may limit the obligation temporally, it may expand the obligation’s material scope. It reasons that “since the particular engagement will have ceased, this may limit the extent to which a Party to the conflict may invoke security or military considerations as a justification for not undertaking search and rescue activities.” Thus, determining the exact scope of the temporal requirement is vital.

Fortunately, the updated commentary provides guidance on interpreting the temporal clause of Article 18. Para 1655 provides that “the term ‘engagement’ is ‘a battle between armed forces’, i.e. involving the use of methods and means of warfare between military units of the Parties to the conflict.” Pre-empting the question of whether the methods and means are limited to the naval forces, the commentary suggests it “covers any kind of engagement, including from the air or from land but inflicting casualties at sea.” Cyber operations are not explicitly mentioned here, so it is worth discussing whether the cessation of cyber operations, in addition to the conclusion of more traditional kinetic operations, is required to “end the engagement” and initiate potential Article 18 obligations.

First, the commentary’s suggestion that “inflicting casualties at sea” is required for an engagement is most likely poorly worded. It is easy to imagine that ships may be engaged prior to actually inflicting casualties. Prior to her own sinking, the Bismarck sunk the HMS Hood in large part by achieving the “weather gage,” gaining an advantageous position in relation to the enemy prior to opening fire. Therefore, simply because a cyber-operation does not inflict casualties, this should not signal that operations is not part of the overall engagement.

Although the commentary to Article 18 does not refer to cyber operations, they are discussed in relation to the scope of application provisions of Article 2. Specifically, the question asked is whether cyber operations alone can constitute “armed force,” making the Geneva Conventions applicable. Para 277 states that “[i]t is generally accepted that cyber operations having similar effects to classic kinetic operations” would suffice. However, para 278 recognizes the current reality that cyber operations falling beneath this threshold are legally unsettled. It is safe to say that cyber operations achieving a kinetic effect, therefore, would continue the engagement. But what of those cyber operations that effect network systems without achieving kinetic effects?

Until such time as the jus in bello develops more fully in this area, it may be necessary to leave the legal reasoning to a good faith assessment by the ship’s commander. Although this seems initially unsatisfying, it is consistent with the new commentary’s understanding of Article 18. Para 1655 states that “[w]hat constitutes an engagement in any given case will remain context-specific,” and that “those acting on behalf of the Party to the conflict, each at his or her own level of decision-making, will need to make a good-faith assessment as to the moment it becomes possible to take one or more of the measures referred to in Article 18.” Such “good faith assessments” are a common and necessary part of IHL, even if open to occasional abuse.

Given the potential for abuse, what are nations employing cyber operations as part of naval conflicts to do? Parties to a conflict still have a vested interest in ensuring that the shipwrecked, sick, and wounded are recovered and cared for as quickly as possible. The commentary once again provides a potential solution. Para 1651 suggests that opposing commanders reach a “special agreement” on the rescue of those shipwrecked in the sense of Article 6, allowing parties to fulfill Article 18 obligations without fear of attack, adding that “such an agreement may be concluded orally, between commanders on the spot.” Alert commanders will be sure to add prohibitions on cyber-attacks as part of any such agreement.

A Potentially Serious Problem with the Final Decision Concerning Comoros

by Kevin Jon Heller

A couple of days ago, the OTP finally announced what we all expected: that it would not reconsider its refusal to open a formal investigation into Israel’s attack on the MV Mavi Marmara. Dov Jacobs has already offered some thoughts on the lengthy document the OTP has filed with the Court explaining its reasoning — what the OTP nicely calls the Final Decision. I fully concur with Dov’s thoughts (except with his position on retroactive acceptance of jurisdiction), and I write here simply to add one of my own.

To begin with, I think this is the most impressive OTP brief I have ever read — especially given the complexity of the procedural issues that it addresses. It is exceptionally well written and argued. I don’t know who the author is, but she would have made an excellent analytic philosopher. Fatou Bensouda should promote her immediately.

That said, I strongly believe that the Final Decision’s understanding of when the OTP is required to investigate a situation is fundamentally flawed — and will almost certainly come back to haunt the OTP in future preliminary examinations. I have argued, as have most scholars, that situational gravity is a function of all the potential cases in a situation that would be admissible before the Court: the greater the number of prosecutable crimes and the greater their individual gravity, the more situationally grave the situation. To be sure, it is not an easy task to compare the situational gravity of different situations. But I don’t think there a practical alternative, given that the OTP can only investigate a very small percentage of the situations in which admissible crimes have been committed.

The Final Decision, however, appears to take a very different approach. Instead of deciding whether to open an investigation based on the gravity of all the potentially admissible cases in a situation, the OTP seems to believe that it is required to open an investigation as long as even one potential case within a situation would be sufficiently grave to prosecute. Consider the following paragraphs (emphasis mine):

11. Although the Prosecution maintains its view that no potential case arising from this situation would be admissible before this Court—which is the only issue in dispute with the Comoros—this does not excuse any crimes which may have been perpetrated.

332. Consistent with article 53(3)(a) of the Statute and rule 108(3), and based on the above reasoning and the information available on 6 November 2014, the Prosecution hereby decides to uphold the disposition of the Report. There remains no reasonable basis to proceed with an investigation, since there is no reasonable basis to conclude that any potential case arising from the situation would be of sufficient gravity to be admissible before the Court.

This approach, it is worth noting, appears to represent a retreat from the position the OTP took in its initial explanation of why it would not investigate the Comoros situation. Here is paragraph 24 of that document (emphasis mine):

Having carefully assessed the relevant considerations, the Office has concluded that the potential case(s) that would likely arise from an investigation of the flotilla incident would not be of sufficient gravity to justify further action by the Court, in light of the criteria for admissibility 8 provided in article 17(1)(d) and the guidance outlined in article 8(1) of the Statute.

It is possible, of course, that the Final Decision refers to the gravity of “any potential case” instead of “the potential case(s)” not because the OTP’s approach to situational gravity has changed, but because there is only one potential case in the Comoros situation: the attack on the MV Mavi Marmara. But the difference of language is striking — and given the legal and analytic precision of the Final Decision, I find it difficult to believe that its emphasis on whether any individual case would be admissible is simply a slip of the keyboard.

I assume, therefore, that the Final Decision means what it says: the OTP believes it has to investigate any situation in which there is at least one potential case that is grave enough to be admissible. But that is a very problematic position.

To begin with, it leads to precisely the kind of unhelpful dispute we have seen in Comoros situation, where the OTP believes a specific case is not sufficiently grave to be admissible and the Pre-Trial Chamber disagrees. Both the OTP and the PTC have spent a great deal of time during their “judicial dialogue” (Dov’s apt expression) comparing the Mavi Marmara case to the Abu Garda and Banda cases. Here, for example, is how the Final Decision critiques the PTC’s insistence that the Mavi Marmara case is sufficiently grave to be admissible:

77. However, the Request does not address the basis on which the Prosecution considered that “the total number of victims of the flotilla incident reached relatively limited proportions as compared, generally, to other cases investigated by the Office”—in particular, the circumstances of the Abu Garda and Banda cases (which are, in relevant part, identical). Although the majority likewise referred to these cases, it did not consider those particular characteristics.

78. As the Report expressly states, Abu Garda likewise concerned the allegation of “a single attack involving a relatively low number of victims”—but it was “distinguishable” because of “the nature and impact of the alleged crimes”, which were committed against international peacekeeping forces. Accordingly, the attack alleged in Abu Garda differed in nature from the identified crimes aboard the Mavi Marmara. Crimes against international peacekeepers strike at the heart of the international community’s mechanisms for collective security, and thus their direct and indirect victims include not only the peacekeepers and their families, but also the large number of civilians deprived of protection more widely because of the disruption to the peacekeepers’ operations. The Request does not address this distinction. [130]

n. 130 Likewise, the recent Al Mahdi case—solely concerning attacks on property protected under article 8(2)(e)(iv) of the Statute—was considered sufficiently grave to be admissible before the Court, resulting in a conviction. In the context of sentencing, the Trial Chamber stressed that the charged conduct was of “significant gravity”, among other reasons, because 1) the destroyed mausoleums were “among the most cherished buildings” in Timbuktu, an “emblematic city” which “played a crucial role in the expansion of Islam in the region” and which is “at the heart of Mali’s cultural heritage”; 2) the destroyed mausoleums were of proven significance to the inhabitants of Timbuktu not only as a matter of religious observance but also as a symbol and focus of community activity and unity; and 3) all the destroyed sites but one were designated UNESCO World Heritage sites, whose destruction also directly affects “people throughout Mali and the international community.” This same reasoning is applicable, mutatis mutandis, to the question of admissibility.

I don’t find the OTP’s efforts to distinguish the Mavi Marmara case from Abu Garda, Banda, and Al Mahdi particularly convincing. Its selection of factors to highlight strikes me as completely subjective and result-driven. Indeed, when faced with the PTC’s insistence that the message the Mavi Marmara attack sent to the international community — that Israel is willing to use force to maintain an illegal blockade that is causing a massive humanitarian crisis in Gaza — it simply retreats to “well, we disagree, and there is nothing you can do about it”:

80. Indeed, the majority appears simply to disagree with the Prosecution’s view of the weight to be given to… the significance of any ‘message’ sent by the interception of the flotilla itself. Given the Prosecution’s understanding of the proper standard of review under article 53(3)(a), and the absence of a reasoned conclusion that the Report was in these respects incorrect or unreasonable, the Prosecution does not consider it appropriate to depart from its original determination in the Report.

My point is not that the PTC’s gravity analysis is right and the OTP’s is wrong. (Though I do think the PTC has the stronger argument.) My problem is with the OTP’s position that it must investigate any situation in which at least one case is grave enough to be admissible. Debates over case gravity are inevitable when that is the standard for opening an investigation. But they are easily avoided if the OTP takes a more holistic approach to situational gravity, comparing the gravity of different situations by examining all of the potentially admissible cases within them. Even if we assume (as I do) that the attack on the Mavi Marmara is sufficiently grave to be admissible, the overall situational gravity of the Comoros situation (which involves only one case) still pales in comparison not only to numerous other situations under preliminary examination, but even — and more importantly — to the situational gravity of the Palestine situation as a whole. As I have argued previously, the last thing the OTP should do is investigate one very small part of the much larger conflict between Israel and Palestine. If it ever takes the Palestine situation on, it needs to look at crimes committed by both sides throughout Palestinian territory.

There is, however, an even more significant problem with the Final Decision’s standard for opening an investigation: if taken seriously, it will simply overwhelm the OTP’s resources. There may not be even one admissible case in the Comoros situation (because there is only one case), but how likely is it that larger situations, which are the norm, will not contain even one case sufficiently grave to prosecute? Just think about the situations currently at Phase 2 or Phase 3 of the preliminary-examination process: Burundi, Gabon, Iraq, Palestine, Ukraine, Colombia, Guinea, and Nigeria. There may well be complementarity issues in some of those situations that counsel not opening an investigation, but it seems exceptionally likely that each contains at least one admissible case. The Final Decision’s standard would thus seem — barring complementarity concerns — to require the OTP to open a formal investigation in all eight situations. Which is, of course, practically impossible.

Nor is that all. If the existence of even one admissible case is enough to require the OTP to investigate a situation, states will have little problem using referrals (self or other) to achieve nakedly partisan ends. Palestine, for example, could simply refer a single day during Operation Protective Edge in which Israel flattened an entire neighbourhood in Gaza or destroyed a UN school sheltering displaced civilians. It would be difficult, if not impossible, for the OTP to plausibly maintain that those acts are not grave enough to prosecute. So it would have to open an investigation. That makes little sense. Far better for the OTP to simply say that, however grave those specific attacks might be, the overall gravity of the gerrymandered “situation” is not sufficient to investigate in light of the gravity of other situations.

I hope I am wrong about when the OTP believes it is required to open an investigation into a situation. If so, the OTP needs to clarify its position immediately. Because the standard articulated in the Final Decision — the existence of even one case sufficiently grave to be admissible — is simply unworkable.

A Vile and Shameless Attack on Golriz Ghahraman

by Kevin Jon Heller

I am proud of many of my former students, but the one I am most proud of is Golriz Ghahraman, who took my international criminal law course many years ago at the University of Auckland and is still a dear friend. In the years since my course, Golriz has worked on the Karadzic case, earned an MSt in human rights from Oxford, served as a prosecutor at the Cambodia tribunal, and developed a glittering legal practice representing the powerless and disenfranchised in New Zealand. Most impressive of all, though, just a few weeks ago Golriz became the first refugee MP in New Zealand history — she and her family fled Iran when she was a young girl — as a member of the Green Party.

Golriz’s success is a tribute to hard work and commitment, and I can only imagine how inspirational her story must be for refugees and women in New Zealand and elsewhere. Which is why I am furious — absolutely furious — about an attack on Golriz written by “a former Labour staffer in New Zealand and Australia” named Phil Quin that is as mendacious as it is shameless.

Golriz’s sin, in Quin’s eyes? Having the temerity to work as a defence attorney on the Nzirorera and Bikindi cases at the ICTR:

At the ICTR, a would-be New Zealand politician decided to use a year in Africa to volunteer as an intern for the defence team. Golriz Ghahraman was not one of the 200 lawyers appointed by the UN. Her presence was voluntary. The ICTR was famously cashed up — it cost more than US$2 billion to secure only 61 convictions. Since recent publicity of Ghahraman’s time in Rwanda, one argument waged at me  —  that defendants deserve a lawyer — is a shameless red herring. Nobody is disputing this, least of all me, but the notion Ghahraman’s skills were needed when there were more than three high-end, properly accredited, lawyers for each one of the accused is beyond a joke. It was work experience.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with work experience, and internships are a good way to broaden one’s horizons. But I am deeply troubled by how Ghahraman chose to spend her time dealing with the aftermath of the genocide. The entire ICTR defence was predicated on a revisionist account of what happened in 1994 — one that posits the victims as perpetrators — and it is incredible that someone as smart as Ghahraman didn’t know that going into the role.

It’s one thing for a UN defence lawyer to be assigned to defend ratbags. It’s quite another to seek them out in a voluntary capacity. (Apparently she went on the payroll three months in).

The ignorance of Quin’s argument — here and in the rest of the article — is breathtaking. Let’s start with his basic factual errors. First, there is no such thing as a “UN” defence attorney. As the ICTR’s own website notes, “Defence counsels at the ICTR are not part of the institutional structure but rather paid as independent contractors, traveling to Arusha as necessary for their case.”

Second, 200 lawyers were not “appointed” by the UN. That number refers to the ICTR list of qualified lawyers from which defendants could choose counsel.

Third, no lawyer was ever “assigned” to a case against his or her will. Each and every lawyer who worked on a case at the ICTR “sought [the case] out in a voluntary capacity.”

Fourth, there is no such thing as an “ICTR defence,” much less one that was “entirely” about blaming the Tutsi for bringing on the genocide themselves. Each defendant had his own argument for why he or she should be acquitted.

Bikindi’s argument, which Golriz helped develop as one of his lawyers, was that he did not conspire to commit genocide, that he did not commit genocide, that he was not complicit in genocide, that he did not incite genocide, that he did not kill as a crime against humanity, and that he did not persecute as a crime against humanity. And guess what? The Trial Chamber unanimously acquitted Bikindi on every charge other than incitement.

Quin conveniently fails to mention that the Trial Chamber agreed with Bikindi that the other charges had no merit. So when he says — with regard to the genocide deniers’ “twisted view of history” — that “[w]ittingly or not, Ghahraman jumped on that bandwagon. As a public figure, she ought to be judged by such choices,” he is indicting the Trial Chamber no less than Golriz.

Golriz is not a genocide denier, of course. Golriz is a lawyer who defended an individual accused of committing horrible crimes, a necessary role for anyone who takes due process and natural justice seriously. Quin might not care about whether ICTR defendants receive fair trials, but the Tribunal itself does. As it notes on its website, “[a]s with other tribunals and courts of law, the Defence has been playing a crucial role in ICTR proceedings, upholding the principle of equality of arms and ensuring the fairness of proceedings.”

Quin’s argument, therefore, is not simply factually challenged. It is offensive. Attacking a lawyer for being willing to take on an unpopular client is beneath contempt. I expect such lawyer-baiting from the right wing, which has repeatedly attacked lawyers who defend accused terrorists at Guantanamo Bay. I didn’t expect it from someone who has supposedly worked for the Labour Party in Australia and New Zealand.

And, of course, I didn’t expect the attack to target Golriz, one of literally dozens of defence lawyers who have worked at the ICTR — and one who also happened to prosecute genocide in Cambodia. (An inconvenient fact Quin also somehow failed to mention.) For some reason, of all those attorneys — which include more than a few Aussies and Kiwis — Quin finds only one worthy of attack: the female refugee MP from the Green Party. I wonder why that is?

I am furious. If you are too, let Newsroom know what you think of its decision to print Quin’s baseless attacks. Newsroom’s Facebook page is here, and its twitter handle is @NewsroomNZ.

UPDATE: Stuff.co.nz published another attack on Golriz written by Quin. It’s basically Quin plagiarizing himself, but you can read it if you have a tough stomach.

Reflections on the Mladić Verdict: A High-Point for the ICTY’s Legacy and Perhaps Hope for Victims of Other Conflicts

by Jennifer Trahan

[Jennifer Trahan is an Associate Clinical Professor at the Center for Global Affairs at New York University.]

As Jens Ohlin has written, a highly awaited verdict came out Wednesday, November 22, sentencing Ratko Mladic, former commander of the Main Staff of the Bosnian Serb Army (VRS), to life in prison for genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity committed from 1992-1995.

The verdict was not unexpected given Mladić’s lengthy trial, and that his involvement as commander of the troops who committed the Srebrenica massacre was recorded on well–known news footage.  Wire intercepts of his communications were until recently hanging on display on the walls of the Potočari memorial near Srebrenica, in the former battery factory that had also housed UN peacekeepers.

This high-level verdict is an extremely significant one for the ICTY.  Mladić was convicted of:

  • genocide and persecution, extermination, murder, and the inhumane act of forcible transfer in the area of Srebrenica in 1995;
  • persecution, extermination, murder, deportation and inhumane act of forcible transfer in municipalities throughout Bosnia;
  • murder, terror and unlawful attacks on civilians in Sarajevo; and
  • hostage-taking of UN personnel.

The only count of which he was acquitted was the “greater genocide” theory—genocide in additional municipalities in Bosnia in 1992.  The verdict is subject to appeal, as is the sentence.

These were extremely brutal crimes with large numbers of victims—over 8,300 alone in and around Srebrenica, over 13,000 in Sarajevo, after a multi-year campaign of sniping and shelling its citizens.  The ICTY’s proceedings were extensive, thorough, (and lengthy).  Trial commenced in May 2012, and according to the ICTY, there were 530 trial days, 592 witnesses, and nearly 10,000 exhibits introduced into evidence.

While the verdict is coming late in the day no doubt for some victims and their families (for example, 22 years after the Srebrenica massacre), this is not entirely the ICTY’s fault.  Mladić spent nearly 16 years on the run, and was only captured and sent to The Hague in 2011.

Well-done trials of international tribunals also take time, particularly when so many victims and so many crimes are involved.  Funder states often complain about the high costs of international trials, but these costs pale in comparison to peacekeeping expenditures that might have been required had high-level perpetrators not been indicted and apprehended.  And, if one measures the number of crime scenes involved or number of victims whose crimes were adjudicated, then costs seem not nearly as high.  States’ representatives and tribunal critics who make these cost arguments should reflect:  would they really like to argue to remaining family members that justice for their loved ones is not worth it?

Victims may or may not feel some “closure” at this verdict.  Complete closure is of course impossible, as no one can restore their loved ones.  But hopefully surviving victims and family members of those who did not survive will take some measure of solace from the verdict.

As Marko Milanovic has written, denial of crimes and partial denial of crimes is still a pervasive problem among certain communities in the former Yugoslavia (particularly in Repŭblika Srpska and Serbia), and today’s verdict is not anticipated to change that.  Yet, establishing the facts, hearing witness testimonies, and introducing documentary evidence is extremely significant in its own right, and helps create a solid record that makes denial harder, and perhaps will make it gradually less and less plausible.

Finally, the Mladić verdict can also give us hope for future prosecutions—that justice is sometimes delayed, but remains possible and one needs to remember this.  For years (when I was a junior attorney at Human Rights Watch) there was only an “arrest Mladić and Karadžić campaign,” and we had no idea if these two fugitives from justice would ever be apprehended.  It took years of concerted pressure and economic leverage from the US and the EU, but the arrests did occur, and the trials did occur.  So, as we look on as mass crimes continue today in other countries (such as Syria and Myanmar), and the geopolitical roadblocks to seeing any kind of comprehensive justice solutions, we should remember this long trajectory that the ICTY’s work took, and the need to stay the course.

An Utterly Damning Report on Moreno-Ocampo

by Kevin Jon Heller

Following on the heels of the much-reported e-mail scandal, FICHL has released a policy brief entitled “A Prosecutor Falls, Time for the Court to Rise” that is an utterly damning indictment of Luis Moreno-Ocampo’s tenure at the ICC. Here is a taste of the report, which picks up not long after the Court became operative:

This idyllic mood in the OTP continued through the summer of 2003, as if “the Office was embraced by the human warmth and outstanding social skills of the Prosecutor”. Among the new staff then recruited was co-author William H. Wiley, the first investigator in the Office. The situation started to change in late September 2003. The Chef de cabinet sought to hire a fourth diplomat in the OTP from one of the two Governments that had enabled the election. The Prosecutor asked the Senior Legal Adviser to legitimize the appointment. When he gently referred to the importance of following the rules on recruitment, the Prosecutor shouted: “For you, I am the law!”. To facilitate the recruitment of the diplomat, the Prosecutor asked Wiley to find dirt on the stronger candidate, as his first “investigative task”.

The mask of power fell repeatedly during the autumn of 2003 and subsequent months. The practice of vigorous peer review of important draft motions and other documents – so carefully established in the OTP of the nearby International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia – was not followed. A culture was established whereby even working meetings were choreographed, to ensure that the Prosecutor and his favourites would not be contradicted – soon, no one dared to. A “sense of fear” and “intimidation” set in. The idea of ‘one Court’ was undervalued. Several government officials and leaders of non-governmental organizations knew about the problems already from late 2003 onwards. Within a few years, 22 of the top staff members in the OTP left. Among those who remained were colleagues who worked on cases that collapsed, were withdrawn, and postponed again and again.

A report condemning Moreno-Ocampo comes as no surprise: supporters and critics of the Court alike agree that he was a disastrous choice for the Court’s first Prosecutor. The authors of the report are surprising, however, because three of them are among the Court’s most important initial employees: William H. Wiley, mentioned above; Morten Bergsmo, who led the preparatory team for the OTP and was its first Senior Legal Adviser; and Sam Muller, who led the ICC’s Advance Team.  If they are not credible witnesses to what went on in the early days of the Court, no one is.

Kudos to the authors — which also include Wolfgang Kaleck, the Secretary-General of the European Centre for Constitutional and Human Rights — for their willingness to go public with their grievances and recollections. They do so, of course, because they are all committed to the long-term success of the Court. We can only hope the ICC is listening.

Mladic Convicted

by Jens David Ohlin

The ICTY Trial Chamber announced today its verdict in Prosecutor v.  Ratko Mladić and has found the defendant guilty and sentenced him to life in prison. (The judgement summary, which was read aloud in court, is available here. I don’t see a link to the full judgement; if someone else has it, please provide a link in the comments below.) Although this outcome was widely expected by most court observers, the details of the decision merit some discussion.

First, the Chamber found Mladić guilty of genocide in Srebrenica but not of genocide in the other provinces. According to the court (from the oral summary):

The Chamber then examined the specific intent of the physical perpetrators. The Chamber found by majority, Judge Orie, dissenting, that the physical perpetrators in Sanski Most, Vlasenica, and Foča, and certain perpetrators in Kotor Varoš and Prijedor Municipalities intended to destroy the Bosnian Muslims in those Municipalities as a part of the protected group. The Chamber then considered whether the targeted part constituted a substantial part of the protected group, and concluded that the Bosnian Muslims targeted in each municipality formed a relatively small part of the protected group and were also in other ways not a substantial part. Consequently, the Chamber was not satisfied that the only reasonable inference was that the physical perpetrators possessed the required intent to destroy a substantial part of the protected group of Bosnian Muslims.

This finding is consistent with other cases where the ICTY has failed to conclude that the crimes committed in these municipalities amounted to genocide. But the genocide finding for Srebrenica was reaffirmed in Mladić.

As for modes of liability, Mladić was found guilty of participating in four joint criminal enterprises. As far as I can tell from the court’s oral summary, the chamber convicted Mladić in each case of JCE I, meaning that the chamber concluded that the defendant shared the intent to carry out the crimes of the JCE (its objective). There is no reference to JCE III, i.e. liability for crimes committed by other members of the enterprise that fall outside the scope of its design but which were reasonably foreseeable. It seems as if the court felt it unnecessary to rely on the controversial JCE III, preferring instead to simply rest its conclusions on the more stable and secure JCE I theory.  (If I have misread the judgement summary in this regard, please correct me in the comments.) If this is what happened, the court has preserved JCE III as a viable theory by removing an opportunity for judicial scrutiny of the doctrine at the appeal level.

The four joint criminal enterprises were described in the following manner:

First, an Overarching JCE, which had the objective of permanently removing Muslims and Croats from Serb-claimed territory in Bosnia-Herzegovina, through the commission of the crimes charged in the indictment, including Genocide, Persecutions, Extermination, Murder, the inhumane act of forcible transfer, and Deportation.

Second, a Sarajevo JCE, which had the objective of spreading terror among the civilian population through a campaign of sniping and shelling as charged in the indictment including through murder, acts of violence the primary purpose of which is to spread terror among the civilian population and Unlawful Attacks on Civilians.

Third, a Srebrenica JCE, the objective of which was the elimination of Bosnian Muslims in Srebrenica through the crimes charged in the indictment, including Genocide, Persecutions, Extermination, Murder, the inhumane act of forcible transfer, and Deportation.

Fourth, a Hostage-taking JCE, the objective of which was taking UN personnel hostage to prevent NATO from conducting air strikes against Bosnian-Serb military targets through the crime of Taking of Hostages, as a war crime.

One question I have is the relationship between the “Overarching JCE” and the other JCE. This isn’t exactly spelled out in the summary and it will be interesting to read the full judgement to understand their exact relationship. Are the second, third, and fourth JCEs merely sub-components of the overarching JCE? Or are these overlapping JCEs? How should we understand their geometric inter-relation? Furthermore, does describing one of the JCEs as “overarching” have some consequence for the application of the doctrine to the facts of this case? I would welcome thoughts from readers on this point.

Finally, with regard to the hostage-taking JCE, it is interesting to read the chamber’s conclusion that the defendant “intended the objective of the hostage-taking joint criminal enterprise, to capture UN personnel and detain them in strategic military locations to prevent NATO from launching further air strikes. The Chamber found that the Accused’s statements, in particular with regard to the fate of UNPROFOR personnel, were tantamount to having issued threats to continue to detain or to kill UN personnel, and that these threats were meant to end the air strikes.”

I also found it interesting that the chamber declined to give the defendant a reduction from a life sentence just because the defendant was acquitted on one count (genocide in the municipalities). Rather than looking at the significance of that acquittal for purposes of determining the appropriate sentence, the chamber looked to the significance of the convictions to determine Mladić’s blameworthiness.

The appeal in the case will be heard by the Mechanism (MICT).

Cyber POWS and the Second Geneva Convention

by Jeffrey Biller

[Jeffrey Biller, Lt Col, USAF, is the Associate Director for the Law of Air, Space and Cyber Operations at the Stockton Center for the Study of International Law, US Naval War College.]

Those familiar with Patrick O’Brian’s Aubry-Maturin series of novels (brought to film in Master and Commander starring Russel Crowe) will know that the boarding and seizure of ships was a common feature of naval warfare in the Age of Sail. However, modern naval conflicts rely more on the sinking of ships than their capture. Although the standoff range of most modern weapons weighs against an imminent change of this feature, there is one modern method of warfare that raises the question of capture once again: cyber warfare. This post is the second in a series examining the impact of cyber on the law of naval warfare through the lens of the updated commentary to the Second Geneva Convention (GCII). This first of this series examined the question of whether a crew can be “shipwrecked” within the meaning of GCII for purposes of Article 12 protections. This post takes that scenario one-step further and examines the status of a crew on a ship commandeered by cyber means.

Although indeed more difficult from a technical standpoint, it stands to reason that if a ship could be completely disabled through an offensive cyber operation, those same networked systems could also be controlled by an outside entity. With a high enough level of control, it would functionally turn the ship into a remotely operated vessel, similar to other drone-type vehicles. The first question to ask is whether the analysis differs from a ship disabled by cyber means. This could simply be a situation where the crew is “in peril” and, if they refrain from hostilities, must be afforded Article 12 protections. However, if someone is in control of the ship and could choose to pilot the crew to safety, is it really in peril?

Assuming the crew, for whatever reasons, chooses to stay onboard the ship and not disable it through mechanical means, it is fair to ask if they must be afforded Article 16 protections as prisoners of war (POW), which states that “…the wounded, sick and shipwrecked of a belligerent who fall into enemy hands shall be prisoners of war, and the provisions of international law concerning prisoners of war shall apply to them.” Breaking that article down into its parts, we first examine the phrase “wounded, sick and shipwrecked of a belligerent.” It may be tempting to suggest that, at this point, the crew is not wounded, sick or shipwrecked, so Article 16 would not apply. However, para 1575 of the updated commentary states that:

Although in setting down who is a prisoner of war Article 16 uses the looser formulation ‘the wounded, sick and shipwrecked of a belligerent’ rather than the more technical terms used in Article 13, the definition of prisoners of war in the Second Convention is not meant to diverge from that in the Third Convention.

The Third Geneva Convention (GCIII), Article 4, clearly states that “[p]risoners of war, in the sense of the present Convention, are persons belonging to one of the following categories, who have fallen into the power of the enemy,” and covers those “soldiers who became prisoners without fighting.” Essentially, this means that in whatever manner the sailor comes into the power of the enemy, regardless of being wounded, sick, or shipwrecked, they are now a POW.

The next element is the crux of the analysis, the phrase “who fall into enemy hands.” The obvious difficulty is deciding whether this is possible when the enemy is not physically present. The updated commentary, in para 1568, states that “the phrase ‘fall into enemy hands’ is sufficiently broad to cover capture or surrender.” Here, let us assume the crew has neither chosen to leave the ship nor made an affirmative action of surrender. Although para 1571 of the updated commentary suggests “[n]o active ‘capture’ is necessary,” the enemy certainly seems to have captured the ship, and if the crew is unwilling or unable to abandon the captured ship, are they also captured? The updated commentary makes no further definition, which is understandable. Capture without the physical presence of the enemy is a novel concept with few, if any, analogies.

One analogy is the case of unmanned combat systems, such as drones. If the operator of an attack drone witnesses a group of enemy combatants with weapons dropped and waving a white flag, should those soldiers be considered hors de combat and no longer subject to attack? The lack of ground forces to process as POWs those who surrender has made this question a matter of some debate due to the potential for misuse. The difference in the current situation is the greater potential degree of control exercised over those aboard a ship at sea as opposed to soldiers on the ground. The crew of a ship for which they no longer have effective control is subject to the whims of their controllers while they remain onboard the ship. The crew could potentially be driven into a perilous situation or perhaps even internally detonated if the weapon systems have been accessed.

Given the difficulty of defining what is required for capture without the presence of enemy soldiers, it may be instructive to turn a separate, but related, body of law: international human rights law (IHRL) for assistance. Although unlikely to apply in the current scenario, IHRL can offer a useful insight into what level of control is required for certain protective obligations to attach under international law. For example, the European Convention of Human Rights held in Al Skeini, paras 133 – 140, that the Convention applies extra-territorially either through the exercise of effective control over an area or through the exercise of control over a person by a State agent. In an earlier case, the Court had also held that human rights obligations attach to civilians on board a ship when military forces placed the crew under guard and gained control of the ship’s navigation, thereby exercising “full and effective” control. In Al-Skeini, the court ruled that the “exercise of physical power and control over the person in question” was critical in establishing jurisdiction.

Although “full and effective control” is a human rights concept, it illustrates that physical power and operational control of a ship’s navigational functions are potential factors in determining what level of power is required by enemy forces before obligations are placed upon them under that legal regime. It may be that this level of control can be obtained by the use of cyber means and if it is, then the crew should be considered as POWs with the attendant protections. This brings us to the third element of Article 16: “the provisions of international law concerning prisoners of war shall apply to them.”

What would be the obligations towards a crew on a warship over which they no longer have control? Although these requirements are primarily contained in GCIII, the updated commentary to GCII does spell out certain provisions. Of note, it states in para 1579 that “the time a person is held on board is limited to the absolutely necessary.”

If the potential for POWs to be taken under such circumstances exists, what must navies do to prepare? First, navies looking to employ cyber operations involving gaining control over ships should formulate a plan of what to do with the crew if they remain onboard. The Geneva Conventions place certain obligations on how they are to be treated and States must understand how they will transfer that crew to a more appropriate facility. Second, navies that employ networked systems would be wise to ensure there is a mechanism to revert to mechanical control or formulate clear plans as to their operating procedures in the event of a successful cyber-attack.

CfP: Contingency in the Course of International Law

by Kevin Jon Heller

Just a reminder that the deadline is fast approaching for the workshop I am organising with Ingo Venzke, “Contingency in the Course of International Law: How International Law Could Have Been.” The workshop, which will feature an opening address by Fleur Johns (UNSW) and a closing address by Sam Moyn (Yale), will be held over two half days and one full day from June 14-16, 2018. Here is the concept:

The workshop will ask a question that is deceptive in its simplicity: How might international law have been otherwise? The overarching aim will be to expose the contingencies of international law’s development by inquiring into international law’s past. Such inquiries may be of systematic purport – asking, for example, how a different conception of the sources of international law could have emerged. Or they may focus on specific areas of the law, asking questions like whether the idea of state crimes could have taken hold or whether the NIEO could have achieved greater success. International law’s past is almost certainly ripe with possibilities that we have forgotten. The workshop will seek to reveal and remember them.

The workshop will focus on trying to tell compelling stories about international law’s contingency. To be sure, those attempts may fail and claims to contingency may well turn out to be false. Either way, though, we will question the present state of international law by challenging its pretense to necessity and by better understanding the forces that have shaped it. Put simply with Robert Musil: ‘If there is a sense of reality, there must also be a sense for possibility’.

While the operation of the law is bound to gloss over any contingency in its course, we wish to draw out those contingencies to learn what could (not) have been. Some contributions will focus on the operation of international law itself, exploring the differential developments that could have taken place concerning seminal judicial decisions (eg, what if France had won the Lotus case?), key treaties (eg, what if states had failed to conclude the Second Additional Protocol in 1977?), or important institutions (eg, what if the International Clearing Union had been established in 1949?). Another set of inquiries will question the development of international law in light of more general historical events that might not have happened or might have happened differently, such as the outbreak of World War I, the processes of decolonization, or the terrorist attacks of 9/11. And yet other angles are welcome.

In the course of concrete inquiries into international law’s past, there are numerous opportunities for theoretical reflection about the nature of contingency itself, ranging from philosophies of legal history to questions about the narrator’s perspective. How should actor- and structure-centered accounts of the past be combined in probing the contingency of past events? How should we cope with possible tensions between pursuing interests in the present while avoiding undue anachronisms? And how can we contextualize legal developments without reducing law to its context only? Not the least, the question of how it could have been provides a renewed take on perennial questions of international law’s relationship with power, culture, and justice.

The deadline for abstracts is December 1. You can download the full Call for Papers here. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to email me.

Call for Submissions / Nominations: The Francis Lieber Prize

by Chris Borgen

The American Society of International Law’s Lieber Society on the Law of Armed Conflict awards the Francis Lieber Prize to the authors of publications that the judges consider to be outstanding in the field of law and armed conflict.  Both monographs and articles (including chapters in books of essays) are eligible for consideration — the prize is awarded to the best submission in each of these two categories.
 
Criteria:         Any work in the English language published during 2017 or whose publication is in final proof at the time of submission may be nominated for this prize.  Works that have already been considered for this prize may not be re-submitted.  Entries may address topics such as the use of force in international law, the conduct of hostilities during international and non‑international armed conflicts, protected persons and objects under the law of armed conflict, the law of weapons, operational law, rules of engagement, occupation law, peace operations, counter‑terrorist operations, and humanitarian assistance. Other topics bearing on the application of international law during armed conflict or other military operations are also appropriate.
 
Eligibility:       Anyone may apply for the article or book prize.  For those in academia or research institutions, the prize is open to those who are up to 8 years post-PhD or JD or those with up to 8 years in an academic teaching or research position. Membership in the American Society of International Law is not required.  Multi-authored works may be submitted if all the authors are eligible to enter the competition.  Submissions from outside the United States are welcomed.
 
Submission:     Submissions, including a letter or message of nomination, must be received by 10 January 2018.  Three copies of books must be submitted.  Electronic submission of articles is encouraged. Authors may submit their own work.  All submissions must include contact information (e‑mail, fax, phone, address) and relevant information demonstrating compliance with eligibility criteria.  The Prize Committee will acknowledge receipt of the submission by e‑mail. 
 
Printed submissions must be sent to:
 
Professor Laurie Blank
Emory University School of Law
1301 Clifton Road
Atlanta, Georgia  30322
USA
 
Electronic submissions must be sent to:
 
 Lblank[at]emory.edu
 
Please indicate clearly in the subject line that the email concerns a submission for the Lieber Prize.
 
Prize:   The Selection Committee will select one submission for the award of the Francis Lieber Prize in the book category and one in the article category. The Prize consists of a certificate of recognition and a year’s membership in the American Society of International Law.  The winner of the Lieber Prize in both categories will be announced at the American Society of International Law’s Annual Meeting in April 2018. 
 
In 2017, the winners were:
 
Book prize:
— Kenneth Watkin, “Fighting at the Legal Boundaries: Controlling the Use of Force in Contemporary Conflict” (OUP 2016)


Article prize:

— Tom Dannenbaum, “Why Have We Criminalized Aggressive War?,” 126 Yale Law Journal (2017)