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Guest Post: International Criminal Justice and Reconciliation: Beyond the Retributive vs. Restorative Divide (Part 2 of 2)

by Carsten Stahn

[Carsten Stahn is Professor of International Criminal Law and Global Justice and Programme Director of the Grotius Centre for International Studies.This two-part post is based on a talk given at the seminar on Reconciliation v. Accountability: Balancing Interests of Peace and Justice, organized by the Centre for International Law Research and Policy on 29 May 2015 at the Peace Palace. Part 1 can be found here.]

2. International Criminal Justice and Reconciliation: Improving Connections

It is easy to criticize international criminal justice for its shortcomings. A hard question is: How can the connection between international criminal justice be improved?

Existing studies have expressed doubts to what extent international criminal trials have promoted a ‘thicker’ conception of individual, inter-group or inter-societal reconciliation, at least in the short or medium term. International trials have limited the space for denial of atrocities and created a public space and reference point to confront history, which is one pre-requisite for societal transformation. In past years, international courts have sought to address their limitations through greater investment in restorative features (i.e., victim participation, compensatory justice), complementarity strategies, and education and outreach (e.g., legacy). But improvements might start with a closer look at retributive practices and procedures.

2.1.Reconciliatory potential of retributive justice

There is, first of all, a need to reduce practices that undermine the reconciliatory potential of retributive justice.

(I) Judicial Management

One of the most basic lessons is that  criminal courts and tribunals need to complete trials and produce a judicial outcome, in order to have a transformative effect. In existing practice, criticism has focused on the divisive nature of acquittals or dissents. Such judgments may indeed confirm existing societal tensions. But they are not necessarily detrimental to longer-term processes of reconciliation. They represent a legitimate outcome and contribute to the process of truth-finding. More critical are flaws in the justice process as such, i.e., unfinished or derailed proceedings. At the international level, there are number of critical examples over the past decade, including Milošević, Lubanga, or most recently Kenyatta. In a national context, the Rios Montt trial was affected by dilatory tactics and intimidation. Such examples undermine the demonstration effect of justice, and the faith in law and institutions that is necessary for meaningful engagement with the ‘other’.

The prospect of the trial to contribute to reconciliation depends on its acceptance and perception as a common forum. Each trial necessarily involves a certain degree of theatre and drama. International trials can easily turn into show trials, and struggle to confront ideology fueled criminality. These challenges need to be addressed. Judicial proceedings need to provide space to challenge pre-determined attitudes and biases or the heroization of agents, in order to maintain their perception as shared fora. This requires active, and sometimes better judicial management of proceedings, deeper engagement with conflicting visions of history and causes of criminality, and space to highlight and challenge contradictions in ideology-tainted discourse.

(ii) Plea agreements

From a reconciliatory perspective, it seems tempting to encourage plea agreements in proceedings. But this inclination is deceptive. In the early ICTY practice, guilty pleas were used as a means of reconciling punishment with acknowledgment of wrong or apology. Experience has shown that such admissions of guilt cannot be taken at face value. For instance, Mrs Plavsic’s guilty plea in 2003 was initially heralded as a significant move towards the advancement of reconciliation. After sentencing, she retracted her guilty plea and expression of remorse. This experience highlights the fragility of negotiated justice.  If an apology is offered in return for sentence leniency, it might not necessarily benefit reconciliation, and call it into question the genuineness of remorse.

In the ICC context, risks of bargaining are curtailed by greater judicial power, and structural attention to the interests of victims (Art. 65 (4) ICC Statute) But at the Court, similar concerns have arisen in the context of the apology of Katanga. Katanga’s remorse was offered after the sentencing judgment, and before the decision on appeal. It caused resentment among victims, since it was perceived as a tradeoff for the discontinuance of the appeal.

2.2. Justice Approaches

International criminal justice may contribute to break divides, if it makes best use of the constructive tension between retributive and restorative approaches.

(i) Constituency and locality  

A fundamental element is the approach towards constituency and locality. Justice, and in particular, justice in the Hague, must be a two- way street. International proceedings are not merely abstract processes, geared at the interests of the parties or fictive community interests; they require a close nexus  context, and the interests of affected communities and victims. It is this inclusiveness, which connects international criminal justice to processes of reconciliation. In current practice, interaction with the ‘domestic’ or ‘local’ is often characterized by outsourcing, transfer of cases or one-directional communication (e.g., ‘outreach’). The conditions of this relationship, and its transformation over time (e.g., after closure of cases) require further structural attention. Holding local hearings (e.g., Ntaganda) may facilitate visibility and access to victims, and foster the perception that ‘justice is seen to be done’. But it is not in itself sufficient to facilitate a structural dialogue locally.

(ii) Challenging‘friend/enemy’ clusters

Many trials suffer from the reproduction of binaries, and are perceived as obstacles to reconciliation, if they remain entrenched in ‘friend/enemy’ clusters, or associate crime or victimhood across pre-configured collective identities (e.g., ethnic lines). International criminal justice may reduce these frictions, if it pays attention to rights and wrongs of  all sides of the conflict, as mandated by the principle of objectivity (Art. 54 ICC Statute). A positive contribution to reconciliation also requires better engagement with dilemmas of selectivity, and justification of choices (e.g., selection of situations, cases, defendants). Typically, most attention is focused on action. But from a perspective of reconciliation, inaction requires equal attention. It is, in particular, important to communicate that inaction does not entail an endorsement of violations.

(iii) Contradictorial v. adversarial proceedings

International criminal courts have experimented with different types of procedures. Experiences suggest that inquisitorial features may be more closely aligned with rationales of reconciliation. Accusatorial models tend to treat parties to proceedings as adversaries. This structure consolidates binaries, and produces clear winners and losers. This methodology fuels a certain hostility, and stands in tension to a more exploratory mode of inquiry. As noted by Albin Eser, this contradiction could be mitigated, if procedures were construed as ‘contradictorial’, rather than ‘adversarial’, i.e. focused on ‘elucidating the truth by way of  contradiction, including confrontation’ and ‘(controversial) dialogue’ in ‘a spirit of cooperation’, rather than hostile contest. Steps like these would facilitate empathy and potential re-humanization of perpetrators and victims. One of the implicit purposes of these trials is to give back to the victims some of the humanity that they have lost.

(iv) Fact-finding

A last procedural point relates to fact-finding and quality of evidence. Existing practice continues to rely heavily on oral testimony. Testimonial evidence is fragile and limited by epistemic challenges, since it linked to assessments of trustworthiness. This is shown by many examples, internationally and nationally. Some of these vulnerabilities might be limited by creative uses of information technology, and better translation of ‘big data’ into analysis or evidence. International courts and tribunals (e.g., ICC, STL) serve as important pioneers in this field.

2.3. Treatments of Actors

Finally, prospects of reconciliation are closely linked to the experiences of parties and participants in the justice process. Individuals share and digest experiences through narratives. Criminal proceedings may contribute to this process, if parties and participants have the impression that they are listened to.

Some of the most direct transformative effects may occur through the experience of testimony, i.e., the contact and exposure of witnesses or victims to a professional justice environment. Existing practice provides positive and negative examples. Existing experiences might be improved through greater care for witnesses before and after testimony, and better management of victim participation in proceedings, including information, representation  and processes of inclusion and exclusion. Greater caution is required in the use and labeling of victims. Judicial proceedings tend to produce imageries (e.g., vulnerability) and abstract categorizations of victimhood that may have disempowering effects on victims.

One innovative development at the international level is the ICC’s approach towards reparation. It combines retributive and restorative features. It establishes a direct form of  accountability of the convicted person towards victims, which differs from classical models of victim-offender mediation. Accountability is grounded in the obligation to repair harm, but linked to the punitive dimensions of ICC justice (e.g., conviction, sentence). Jurisprudence has made it clear that establishment of accountability towards victims through reparation proceedings is an asset per se that can provide a greater sense of justice to victims, even in cases where the defendant is indigent. Examples like these illustrate some of the strengths and possibilities of international criminal justice.

 3. Not a conclusion

In the future, as in the past, it will remain difficult to demonstrate empirically whether and how international criminal justice contributes positively to reconciliation. This debate is likely to continue. It might be interesting to turn the question around: Would one be better off without international criminal justice? If the question is framed in the negative, the ‘benefit of the doubt’ might gain greater weight.

At least three insights can be drawn now. First, reconciliation is not, and should not necessarily be treated as a primary goal of international criminal justice. The criminal trial is at best one intermediate factor in such a process. Second, the contribution to reconciliation cannot be assessed exclusively through the lens of restorative justice. Some important impulses result from the positive tension between retributive and restorative justice. Third, some of the strengths of international criminal justice lie in its expressivist features and, its ability to serve as experiment for national experiences. These experiences require further translation and/or transformation in a national or local context, rather than mere replication.

The Supreme Court Endorses the Power of the President to Defy Congress in Foreign Affairs

by Julian Ku

I generally read the U.S. Constitution to grant broad powers to the President in the conduct of foreign affairs (see here for my recent take on Presidential war powers), but I am more hesitant to read the Constitution to prohibit congressional override of executive acts.  That is why I disagree with Peter’s implication above that today’s U.S.Supreme Court decision in Zivotofsky in any way cuts back on presidential power in foreign affairs.  I also disagree with Deborah’s characterization of the opinion as “narrow.” To me, it is actually a remarkable endorsement (by justices not named Clarence Thomas) of the President’s power to act in defiance of an express congressional mandate.

Which is a roundabout way of explaining my surprise that the Supreme Court upheld the President’s decision to defy and ignore an express congressional mandate requiring him to allow individuals to list “Jerusalem, Israel” as the place of birth on their passports. I don’t doubt that the President gets to decide whether the U.S. will recognize whether Jerusalem is “in” Israel, but I am a bit surprised to see that majority endorse the power of the President to ignore an express congressional mandate, especially when the majority doesn’t even make clear that the “recognition” power is being affected by a passport listing.

To put in constitutional law-nerd terms, Justice Jackson’s classic concurring opinion in Youngstown Sheet & Tube listed three categories of presidential power: expressly authorized by Congress, not authorized by not prohibited by Congress, and expressly prohibited or mandated by Congress.  This last category, which Jackson described as where the president’s power is at his “lowest ebb,” has never been applied by the Supreme Court before today.  Indeed, many commentators in the context of the commander in chief power have suggested such exclusive powers don’t really exist (see my musings here on this point in the context of the commander in chief power).  Justice Thomas was out on his own island in Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, for instance, but he was relying on a very similar structural argument to the one the Court introduced today.

I think that the President’s recognition power is probably exclusive, but that what constitutes the “recognition” should be interpreted quite narrowly.  That is why I joined Eugene Kontorovich’s amicus brief arguing that a passport designation is not part of the recognition power.  Indeed, if it IS part of the recognition power, the government of China is going to have a pretty good complaint about laws that allow the designation of “Taiwan” on passports. So the Court may have inadvertently created new diplomatic complications in its efforts to avoid other ones.

In any event, the Court could have chosen the “judicially modest” way out. It could have interpreted the relevant statute narrowly to avoid touching on the “recognition” power.  Instead, it reached out to announce judicial endorsement of an exclusive presidential power, and invalidated a law passed by Congress and signed by the President.  I am glad to welcome Justices Ginsburg, Breyer, Sotomayor, Kagan, and Kennedy to the “exclusive presidential power” bandwagon.  Justice Thomas was getting lonely, so I suppose he will be glad to have the company.

 

Guest Post: International Criminal Justice and Reconciliation: Beyond the Retributive vs. Restorative Divide (Part 1 of 2)

by Carsten Stahn

[Carsten Stahn is Professor of International Criminal Law and Global Justice and Programme Director of the Grotius Centre for International Studies.This two-part post is based on a talk given at the seminar on Reconciliation v. Accountability: Balancing Interests of Peace and Justice, organized by the Centre for International Law Research and Policy on 29 May 2015 at the Peace Palace.]

Introduction

Punishment and reconciliation are closely linked. In this post, I would like to explore one issue of this relationship, namely the link between the retributive and restorative justice. The core dilemma was identified by Hannah Arendt in her treatment of forgiveness in the Human Condition in1958:

 ‘men are unable to forgive what they cannot punish and are unable to punish what turns out to be unforgivable’.

This dichotomy still stands today. Since Nuremberg and Tokyo, there is a strong trend to recognize that the purposes of trials reach beyond retribution and vengeance. International criminal proceedings are increasingly associated with restorative features, because punishment alone has inherent limitations. Some harm may only heal with time. At the same time, certain acts may be beyond forgiveness. This argument is used to discard alternatives to punishment or short cuts to impunity, in particular in relation to core crimes.

These dilemmas arise in any mass atrocity context. They have a legitimate space in law and justice policies. They cannot, and should not be outplayed against each other, but stand in a dialectic relationship. The right equilibrium must be found anew in any specific context, through argument, contestation and persuasion.

The contribution of international criminal justice to reconciliation is modest. Reconciliation has of course many meanings. It extends beyond the victim-offender relationship that forms part of the criminal trial. It involves different levels: interpersonal forgiveness and collective dimensions (e.g., community-based, societal or national reconciliation). It contains retrospective (e.g., understanding of the past, healing, undoing of wrong) and prospective elements (e.g., social repair). Legal visions of time do not necessarily correlate with societal understandings. International criminal justice typically only covers fragments of the past, and glimpses of the imagination of the future.

Unlike a judgment in a trial, reconciliation can rarely be tied to a specific moment in time. It occurs as a process. As argued in the Handbook on Reconciliation after Violent Conflict, it is both a goal, i.e., an ideal state to strive for, and a process ‘through which a society moves from a divided past to a shared future’. It involves ‘social learning’ and a move beyond negative co-existence and the mere absence of conflict. Justice is only one element, alongside others such as the search for truth, forgiveness or healing.

It is questionable to what extent reconciliation should be framed as a primary goal of international criminal justice per se. International criminal justice can neither stop conflict nor create reconciliation. A Court can judge, but only people can build or repair social relations. A Chamber cannot order an apology by the perpetrator, nor forgiveness by victims. In fact, the liberal criminal trial may require respect of the will of those who do not choose to forgive. The experiences in the Balkans, Latin America and Africa have shown that healing and forgiveness are culturally-bound processes that are rooted in local cultures, and start at the level of the individual or community based structures. Reconciliation requires the recognition of a more inclusive common identity that transcends the justice trial. But international criminal law strengthens the claim that reconciliation should not be conceived ‘as an alternative to justice’. Moreover, the criminal trial can provide conditions that facilitate such complex processes. It may signal a rupture with the past that contributes to a process of reconciliation.

In the following, I will try to unpack some of the existing divides. I will first challenge whether restorative approaches are per se better suited to achieve reconciliation than retributive mechanisms. I will then explore certain means to improve the connection between international criminal justice and reconciliation.

1. Links between Reconciliation and Retributive Justice

Retributive justice mechanisms, such as international criminal courts and tribunals, are often criticized for their limitations, namely their emphasis on perpetrators, their individualization of guilt and focus on the past, and their risks. This includes detachment from local context and emphasis on universal justice models and standards. Restorative mechanisms of justice, including victim-centred and less formal forms of accountability, have gained increased acceptance as a middle ground between retributive justice and blanket pardon. They are viewed as more conducive to reconciliation, in light of their stronger focus on needs of victims, their proximity to community or group structures, and their flexibility in terms of process and sanction (e.g., restorative penalties). This either/or logic requires differentiation. Developments over past decades suggest that it is the linkage between these two models that may be most conducive to reconciliation.

1.1.Punishment as prerequisite for reconciliation

One first important point is that prosecution aimed at punishment is not necessarily an obstacle to reconciliation. In certain contexts, retribution may have a greater effect on reconciliation that certain restorative forms of justice that prioritize forgiveness or forgetting. Forgiveness often requires more than a mere apology or generic acknowledgments of responsibility. Victims might be more willing to forgive, or at least temper their feelings of revenge, if they know that the perpetrator will be punished. A recent example is the trial against camp guard Oskar Gröning before German Courts. Ausschwitz survivor Eva Moses Kor shook hands with Gröning. She noted that she could forgive because ‘forgiveness does not absolve the perpetrator from taking responsibility for his actions’ nor diminish the ‘need to know what happened there.’

1.2.‘Us vs. them’ divides

Second, reconciliation is linked to cognitive and affective change, grounded in social interaction. It is shaped by positive experience with the ‘other’ and a relationship of recognition and trust. As argued by Jodi Halpern and Harvey Weinstein, reconciliation ‘shows itself in the degree to which people actually can act as distinct individuals with mutual regard in the real world’. Prosecutor have a tendency to portray perpetrators as persons lacking in humanity. But there are many types of perpetrators in international criminal justice: Political leaders, executers, followers. Alette Smeulers has identified at least nine different species:

 

‘(1) the criminal mastermind; (2) the careerist; (3) the profiteer; (4) the fanatic; (5) the devoted warrior; (6) the professional; (7) the criminal and sadist; (8) the follower; and (9) the compromised perpetrator’.

 

One common feature is that many of them are ‘ordinary’ persons who turn into criminals because of context. International criminal justice offers a space to re-humanize, by breaking some of the inequalities and hierarchies inherent in system criminality, or de-constructing context. As argued by Pablo de Greiff, the Special Rapporteur on the promotion of truth, justice, reparation and guarantees of non-recurrence, the criminal trial provides a forum to discard any ‘implicit claim of superiority made by the criminal’s behaviour’. In specific contexts, the victim and perpetrator (re-)encounter each other as mutual holders of rights, or as members of a common polity. These structural features can lay important foundations for longer-term processes of social repair or reconciliation. They can break up ‘us vs. them’ divides.

1.3.Acceptance of multiple truths

A third point relates to the relationship between reconciliation and truth-finding. One of the inherent features of a criminal trial is that it can produce different narratives, or even multiple truths, through assigned roles in the legal process, competing testimonies or conflicting decisions. International criminal justice is paved with such examples. It has produced many frustrating experiences for victims of crime. But this is not necessarily an impediment to healing or forgiveness. Reconciliation is not linked to the acceptance of a ‘single truth’ or narrative, but grounded in the acceptance or toleration of conflicting points of view. It lives from the ability to respect the ‘other’ and tolerate difference, despite opposite or conflicting views of events and facts. The strength of the criminal process lies in the fact that it offers a forum where contradictions and contestations may legitimately co-exist, based on the constraints of the law.

Is Law Losing Cyberspace?

by Duncan Hollis

The ALL CAPS headline of the last few hours involves news that social security and other identifying information for some 4 million U.S. federal workers was compromised in a cyber exploitation that, if one believes the unofficial finger pointing, came at the behest of the Chinese government.  Of course, it was just yesterday, that the Council on Foreign Relations’ Adam Segal was reporting how China was crying foul over “OceanLotus” a cyber exploitation that counted various Chinese governmental agencies and research institutes among its victims (and where the fingers were pointed back at the United States). And that’s to say nothing of the Snowden disclosures or the tens of millions of people whose personal data has been compromised via data breaches of an ever-expanding list of private companies (e.g., in February 2015 the U.S. health insurer Anthem admitted that up to 80 million people in its databases had their personal data compromised).  Now, maybe such data breach stories are hyperbolic, offering big numbers of potential losses that do not necessarily mean actual data compromises, let alone consequences for the associated individuals.  Nonetheless, the current zeitgeist seems to be the normalization of cyber insecurity.

As someone who believes international law has an (imperfect) role to play in preserving international peace and stability, I find the current scenario increasingly worrisome.  The level and breadth of cyber exploitations suggests a world in which actors are engaged in a race to the bottom of every data well they think might be useful for their own purposes, on the theory that their adversaries (and their allies) are all doing the same.  In such a world, law seems to be playing a diminishing role.

To be clear, domestic law certainly may constrain (or facilitate) a State’s cyber operations, as all the anxiety associated with the expiration of the PATRIOT Act and this week’s passage of the USA FREEDOM Act suggest. For those of us who care about international law, however, it seems increasingly marginalized in the current environment.  We’ve spent much of the last several years, focused on how international law applies to cyber-operations with huge efforts devoted to questions of line-drawing in what constitutes a prohibited use of force in cyberspace under the jus ad bellum or where the lines are for an attack under the jus in bello.  The Tallinn Manual is the paradigmatic example of this (often quite good) work.  More recently, States and scholars have moved on to cyber operations below these lines, with attention shifting in Tallinn and elsewhere to which cyber operations may generate counter-measures and defining when cyber operations violate the duty of non-intervention.

Such efforts have (so far) had relatively little to say on the question of a cyber exploitation that is best characterized as espionage.  With the exception of U.S. efforts to decry “economic” cyber espionage (as opposed to national security cyber espionage), most international lawyers have shrugged their shoulders on the legality of governments (or their proxies) stealing data from other governments or their nationals.  The conventional wisdom suggests intelligence agencies will be intelligence agencies and we should let this play out via diplomacy or power politics.  To the extent international law has long failed to prohibit espionage, the thinking goes, by analogy it should also leave cyber espionage alone.  And if that’s true, international law has little to say about China taking whatever data it can on employees of the U.S. federal government.

Of course, conventional wisdom is often conventional for good reasons.  From a national security perspective, there are important interests that militate against regulating or constraining data collection from abroad.  Yet, I worry that we’re reaching a tipping point where in conceding international law can do little to nothing for the problem of cyber exploitations, we are effectively conceding the rule of law in cyberspace.  It’s understandable that, from a rational perspective, States will want to do as much of this activity as their technical capacity allows.  But, such self-centered policies have generated a dramatic collective action problem.  The current cyber system is certainly sub-optimal, whether you consider it in economic, humanitarian, or national security terms. The economic costs of the status quo are by all accounts growing, whether in terms of losses of data and IP, or the costs of cleaning up after exploits occur.  Similarly, the ability of individuals to preserve their privacy is rapidly diminishing, and the right to privacy along with it.  And, of course, national governments are fighting, and losing, the battle to keep their own data (and secrets) secure.

All of this leads me to ask whether it’s time to revisit the question of how international law deals with data breaches?  I recognize some may say “no” or that after long and careful thought the answer may remain the same.  But, the rising importance and success rates of data breaches across the globe suggests it’s high time for international law to at least engage these questions more closely.

What do others think?  Is international law losing in cyberspace or is there still a chance that it can play a regulatory role over modern cyberthreats, even if only an imperfect one?

 

Appeals Chamber Fails To See the Forest — Complementarity Edition

by Kevin Jon Heller

Earlier this week, the Appeals Chamber rejected Cote d’Ivoire’s challenge to the admissibility of the case against Simone Gbagbo. The challenge was based on Gbagbo’s 20-year sentence for disturbing the peace, forming and organising armed gangs, and undermining state security. Like the Pre-Trial Chamber, the Appeals Chamber concluded that Gbagbo’s domestic convictions failed to satisfy Art. 17’s “same conduct” requirement, making her case admissible. Here are the key paragraphs:

99. The Pre-Trial Chamber found that the conduct underlying the alleged economic crimes was “clearly of a different nature” from the conduct alleged in the proceedings before the Court, and therefore “irrelevant”.171 The Pre-Trial Chamber further found that according to the documentation provided by Côte d’Ivoire, in particular Annex 8 to the Admissibility Challenge, the alleged conduct was characterised as [REDACTED].172 In view of the description of the alleged acts provided in the material submitted by Côte d’Ivoire, the Appeals Chamber finds that it was not unreasonable for the Pre-Trial Chamber to find this conduct to be of a different nature to Ms Gbagbo’s alleged conduct in relation to the crimes against humanity of murder, rape and other forms of sexual violence, persecution and other inhumane acts, on the basis of which the Warrant of Arrest was issued against her by the Court. In addition, Côte d’Ivoire does not explain why “excessively rigid distinction” between the crimes allegedly investigated domestically and those before the Court is erroneous.

100. As regards crimes against the State, the Pre-Trial Chamber noted that in the domestic proceedings it is alleged that Ms Gbagbo [REDACTED].173 The Pre-Trial Chamber further noted that, in the domestic proceedings, “there are references to, inter alia, the allegations of [REDACTED].174 The Pre-Trial Chamber observed that the provisions criminalising such alleged conduct are included in the section of the Ivorian Criminal Code concerning felonies and misdemeanours against the safety of the State, the national defence and the public security.175 The Pre-Trial Chamber concluded that the alleged conduct only includes [REDACTED] and therefore the domestic proceedings in question “do not cover the same conduct” that is alleged in the case before the Court.176 The Appeals Chamber finds that it was not unreasonable for the Pre-Trial Chamber to find, on the basis of the description of the alleged conduct contained in the documents provided by Côte d’Ivoire, read in light of the applicable provisions of the Ivorian Criminal Code, that this conduct, characterised as infringing [REDACTED], is not the same as that alleged before the Court. In addition, as indicated earlier, Côte d’Ivoire does not explain why “excessively rigid distinction” between the crimes allegedly investigated domestically and those before the Court is erroneous.

I have no doubt that the Appeals Chamber’s application of the “same conduct” requirement is correct. But I think it is important to once again ask a basic question about the requirement: what does the ICC gain by insisting that Cote d’Ivoire surrender Gbagbo to the Court to face a second prosecution? 20 years is a significant sentence — five years longer than Lubanga’s, and eight years longer than Katanga’s. Even if the OTP manages to convict Gbagbo, she is very unlikely to receive a substantially longer sentence. So why should the ICC waste the OTP’s precious and overstretched resources by trying Gbagbo again?

My answer, not surprisingly, remains the same: it shouldn’t. The ICC simply cannot afford the kind of hyper-formalism that underlies the “same conduct” requirement. As I have argued elsewhere, the Court should defer to any national prosecution that results in a sentence equal to or longer than the sentence the suspect could expect to receive at the ICC, even if the national prosecution is based on completely different conduct than the ICC’s prosecution.

In fairness to the Appeals Chamber, it’s worth noting that Gbagbo’s attorney challenged the Pre-Trial Chamber’s application of the “same conduct” requirement; she did not challenge the requirement itself. That’s a shame, because I think Gbagbo’s case perfectly illustrates why the Appeals Chamber should jettison the “same conduct” requirement. Would it? Probably not — as I note in my article, the requirement does have a clear textual basis in Art. 20 of the Rome Statute (“upward” ne bis in idem). But the Appeals Chamber has proven remarkably willing to ignore the Rome Statute when it proves inconvenient, so it would have been worth a shot — especially as the “same conduct” requirement is fundamentally inconsistent with the principle of complementarity’s emphasis on the ICC being a court of last resort . At the very least, challenging the requirement would have forced the Appeals Chamber to explain why the requirement’s waste of OTP resources is warranted. I would have liked to read that explanation.

Dear World Media: The U.S. is NOT Challenging China’s Territorial Claims in the South China Sea (Yet)

by Julian Ku

I have been following closely the U.S. Navy’s plans to use military ships and aircraft to challenge China’s aggressive land reclamation activities in the South China Sea, and China’s not very positive reaction to these plans.  But although there is a real dispute brewing here that could escalate into a sovereignty fight, I think media reports are making this dispute more serious than it actually is.

Contrary to some media reports, the U.S. Navy plans do NOT intend to challenge China’s “sovereignty” claims in the South China Sea. Instead, the U.S. Navy is asserting its rights to freedom of navigation under international law. If we understand the U.S. Navy plans in this context, it may help us defuse (at least somewhat) the growing tensions between the U.S. and China in this region, if only the media would help us out with better reporting.

From CNN, here is an example of how media reporting is making this dispute seem worse than it is.

Above the South China Sea (CNN)The Chinese navy issued warnings eight times as a U.S. surveillance plane on Wednesday swooped over islands that Beijing is using to extend its zone of influence.

The series of man-made islands and the massive Chinese military build-up on them have alarmed the Pentagon, which is carrying out the surveillance flights in order to make clear the U.S. does not recognize China’s territorial claims.

(Emphasis added). This report feeds into the (accurate) narrative about growing tensions between the US and Chinese navies.  In this story, the US Navy is flying “over” the Chinese islands in order to challenge or reject China’s territorial claims.  But later in that same report, CNN says that U.S. Navy is considering “flying such surveillance missions even closer over the islands, as well as sailing U.S. warships within miles of them, as part of the new, more robust U.S. military posture in the area.” (emphasis added).

Here’s the problem.  If the U.S. Navy aircraft featured in the CNN video (a military surveillance plane and “sub hunter”) actually flew “over” the Chinese artificial islands, then why would they consider flying even closer “over” the islands and what would be the significance of sending naval ships?

In fact, the US Navy has tried to make it clear to reporters that they are merely conducting freedom of navigation operations and “that U.S. military aircraft do not fly directly over areas claimed by China in the Spratly Islands.” (in the washington post).  It’s my guess that the Navy hasn’t even flown within 12 nautical miles of the artificial islands.

Why? Because as far as I can tell, this is a standard US Navy “freedom of navigation” operation that it uses to assert international law rights of navigation against numerous countries around the world.  It is NOT, as the CNN and other reports suggest, a challenge to China’s territorial claims.

Freedom of Navigation” operations involve sending US Navy warships into both the 200 nautical mile Exclusive Economic Zone and the 12 nautical mile territorial seas recognized under the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea.  In the view of  the U.S., military warships and aircraft are free to conduct surveillance operations (e.g. spying) in any country’s 200 nm EEZ and surface warships (but not military aircraft or submarines) have the right to “innocent passage” through a country’s 12 nautical mile territorial waters.

The U.S. Navy has been conducting  “freedom of navigation” operations for decades to enforce these views of international law, and it even has a “Freedom of Navigation” website making public where it has been operating. The point of these operations it to publicly challenge a country which is making (in the U.S. view) unjustified legal rights under UNCLOS.  China has a longstanding disagreement with this U.S. interpretation of UNCLOS. So they always make protests, and China has sometimes sent its fighter jets out to harass or challenge US spy aircraft.

But the bottom line: pace CNN, freedom of navigation operations are not challenges to “territorial claims” or “sovereignty.” The US Navy operations assume that the other nation has “sovereignty” over the relevant coastline or island.  So the US Navy operations near China’s artificial islands can assume that China has sovereignty but still demand China allow US military aircraft and ships  transit rights etc. under UNCLOS.

It is worth noting that the U.S. could escalate the dispute with China.  The U.S. might take the view that China is building artificial islands on top  of reefs or submerged features which do not entitle China to any legal rights at all (See UNCLOS, Art.60(8): “Artificial islands, installations and structures do not possess the status of islands. They have no territorial sea of their own, and their presence does not affect the delimitation of the territorial sea, the exclusive economic zone or the continental shelf.”).  If so, then the US would fly within 12 nm miles or even directly “over” the artificial islands. Such operations would effectively be a direct challenge  to a China’s territorial claims, because the U.S. would be taking the view that China has no territorial basis at all for claims in the South China Sea.

“Challenging legal rights under UNCLOS” doesn’t make for very sexy headlines or get many clicks as compared to “challenging China’s territorial claims”. But it is worth parsing media reports about US Navy activities in the South China Sea very carefully, and it would be nice of those well-sourced reporters would clarify just how close the US Navy is going to fly/sail to China’s reclaimed islands.

Maybe the U.S. government should directly challenge China’s territorial claims and sovereignty claims.  I am not sure in my own mind whether the U.S. should take that next step.   But for now, the U.S. hasn’t challenged China’s territorial claims yet, and I wish reporters would stop making it seem like it is doing so.

Guest Post: Five Questions on the Colombian Sentencing Practice and the Principle of Complementarity under the Rome Statue

by Marina Aksenova

[Marina Aksenova is a post-doc in the Centre for Excellence for International Courts, Faculty of Law, University of Copenhagen.]

The ICC prosecution team has been conducting preliminary examinations in Colombia for over ten years and has yet to decide whether to move to the stage of formal investigations. In doing so, it must assess, among other things, whether reduced or suspended sentences rendered to senior perpetrators by the local judiciary are adequate in light of the gravity of the crimes committed during the continuing civil war. The ICC prosecution noted in its 2012 report on Colombia that some paramilitaries may benefit from the sentences of 5 to 8 years imprisonment if convicted of genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes provided they demobilize. The matter is further complicated by the ICC’s capacity to frustrate the ongoing peace negotiations between the government and the FARC guerrillas. These talks aim at ending a conflict disrupting the country for over fifty years.

The issue of sentencing in Colombia illustrates the difficulties the Court faces in applying the principle of complementarity in practice. What are the exact criteria of assessing the state’s willingness to undertake genuine prosecutions? The ICC will evaluate domestic penalties with the reference to two different legal regimes provided by the Rome Statute – admissibility and sentencing. Up until now, the Court has not treated these two issues in conjunction with each other. The post discusses five specific concerns that this exercise may produce. This working paper elaborates on the context surrounding the questions presented below.

  1. Proportionality of sentences

The idea that a penalty must be in proportion to the gravity of the crime is widely accepted in international criminal law. In the Lubanga sentencing decision (para. 36), the ICC held that the ‘gravity of the crime’ is one of the principal factors to be considered in the determination of sentence, which should be in proportion to the offence and reflect the culpability of the convicted person. How will this consideration play out in the complementarity analysis? Will a sentence of 5 to 8 years of imprisonment for crimes against humanity and war crimes be considered grossly disproportionate?

The principle of complementarity presupposes the primacy of states in handling cases domestically. Thus, according to Article 17 of the Rome Statute, a case comes within the purview of the Court only if the crimes are of sufficient gravity and the country in question is unable or unwilling to address them via its national criminal justice system. Article 17(2) specifies that the state is ‘unwilling’ if it initiates the proceedings with an unjustified delay or with the purpose of shielding the person concerned from criminal responsibility or fails to conduct the proceedings independently or impartially – all of which signals lack of intent to bring the person concerned to justice. It is important that the offences allegedly prosecuted and investigated on a national level cover substantially the same conduct as those charged by the ICC, while legal characterization of the underlying incidents matters less.

Consequently, even if domestic prosecutions cover the ‘same conduct’ but result in disproportionately light penalties, this may evidence the state’s intent to shield some persons from responsibility, and, thus, render the case admissible to the ICC. There are three caveats to this argument. First, the ICC’s own sentencing practice so far has been rather lenient: Thomas Lubanga received a sentence of 14 years of imprisonment and Germain Katanga received a sentence of 12 years. The Lubanga analysis of proportionality suggests that no rigid guidelines are available for measuring the correlation between the gravity of the offence and the sentence. The Chamber in its sentencing decision (paras. 92-93) rejected the strict numerical approach suggested by the OTP and upheld its own discretion to assess the totality of factors when deciding on the ultimate number of years of imprisonment. The deficiencies in Mr. Lunbanga’s mens rea and his cooperation with the Court played an important role in the determination of his sentence.

Secondly, in the Al Senussi admissibility decision (paras. 218-219), the ICC dealt with the reverse situation  – the Defence argued that the threat of a death penalty, which the accused faced in Libya, rendered the case admissible because of the adverse effect on the accused. The ICC rejected this plea and granted local authorities a wide margin of appreciation when it comes to punishment, claiming it is not a human rights court. One might expect similar flexibility in cases on the other side of the spectrum.

Finally, Article 53(1)(c) of the Rome Statute allows some room for a manoeuvre granting the prosecution the power not to commence an investigation even where the situation is formally admissible if it serves the ‘interests of justice’. The ‘interests of justice’ is a broad category open to various interpretations, but ultimately it leaves the door open for a political compromise. The fragility of the Colombian peace talks is likely to fall within this category because arguably it provides for a valid reason not to proceed to the official investigations by the ICC.

  1. Participation of the convicted persons in political life

Participation of convicted persons in political life is a burning issue in the peace talks in Colombia. Many senior perpetrators have links to the government or the FARC and hope to remain in power after a deal has been reached. Even if certain leaders from both sides receive formal punishment, the question still remains whether these people will be allowed to form part of a future government. Is it possible to conceive of suspended or lenient sentences as sufficiently reflecting public censure if the convicted person re-enters politics? Can such punishment deter future violations by senior perpetrators?

The Rome Statute does not give any guidance as to whether convicted persons may participate in political life; it restricts the types of punishment to a maximum sentence of 30 years of imprisonment, fine and forfeiture of assets. If one looks at the broader picture, Article 27 renders the official capacity as is generally irrelevant to the ICC prosecutions. This provision is not directly relevant to sentencing, but it reflects the spirit of the Rome Statute. One might argue that for this reason alone the ICC may criticize participation of the convicted person’s in political life.

In its complementarity analysis, the ICC may also refer to the general sentencing practice of the respective state. The Colombian Criminal Code appears rather flexible in this regard; it leaves it up to the judges to decide whether to ban the offender from political life. The law provides for the suspension of rights and public functions as well as the loss of public office as an additional punishment for various offences, such as, murder of certain persons. Loss of public office can last up to 5 years, while suspension of other rights can vary from 5 to 20 years. In certain circumstances, rights can be restored at an earlier date (Articles 43(1), 43(2), 92, 135 of the Colombian Criminal Code).

The ICC is unlikely to be guided solely by the provisions of Colombian law, however. Instead, it is may look at the standards applicable in other states in an attempt to discern generally recognized principles of law deriving from the multitude of domestic legal systems. This is one of the sources of international law along with treaty and custom. It seems that in some jurisdictions there is a blanket prohibition to occupy public posts for those convicted of serious offences. For example, Article 45 of the German Criminal Code reads as follows: ‘Whoever is sentenced for a serious criminal offense to imprisonment for at least one year shall lose for a period of five years the capacity to hold public office and attain public electoral rights.’ This provision reflects an understanding that the public censure element of punishment is severely compromised if someone convicted of a grave offence is allowed to re-enter public life.

  1. Relevance of domestic law for the ICC complementarity analysis

The Rome Statute does not suggest that the ICC should consider the scale of penalties of the relevant state. Its determination of sentences shall solely be guided by the gravity of the crime, individual circumstances of the accused, and mitigating and aggravating factors. It is in contrast to the statutes of the ad hoc tribunals, which allow recourse to domestic law; although, it has rarely been seen in practice.

The ICC will assess Colombian criminal law in its complementarity analysis in the light of the principles enshrined in the Rome Statute and international law. The general principle is that the person cannot invoke domestic law to avoid responsibility under international criminal law. When it comes to the admissibility test, it is essential that the penalty imposed at the national level is not intended to shield the person from criminal responsibility.

  1. Disparity of sentences

The sentencing practice of the Colombian courts shows some disparity in sentences meted out to various parties to the conflict. Colombia attempts to bring to justice different responsible actors, but their penalties are significantly different. How will this aspect play out in the complementarity analysis of the ICC? The question of disparate sentences is tightly linked with the idea of individualized punishments and judicial discretion widely accepted at the ICC. There are a number of factors that might support Colombia’s claim for lenient (and, to a lesser extent, suspended) and/or disparate sentences.

Firstly, it seems that the ICC prosecution already pointed to broad discretion of the Colombian judiciary in its 2012 report (para. 206), when it confirmed that the ICC would examine local sentences individually on the basis of particular factors, such as, the intent to bring perpetrators to justice, the gravity of the crimes and the efforts to establish the truth. Secondly, the ICC practice itself shows relative leniency in its two available sentencing rulings. Thirdly, the reasoning in the Katanga sentencing decision (para. 38) exhibits a trend of integrating reconciliatory aims in sentencing considerations. Fourthly, the Rome Statute upholds the power of the prosecution to halt investigations if it is not in the ‘interests of justice’ in light of the gravity of the crimes and the interests of victims.

  1. Remedy to the victims

When combining two legal frameworks for the purposes of complementarity analysis, the ICC might have to decide where it stands on the issue of enforcement of human rights and victims’ rights. In the recent complementarity decision in the Al Senussi case (paras. 218-219), the ICC refused to act as a human rights court and rendered the case inadmissible, notwithstanding the death penalty threatening the accused. The Court’s view might be altered when victims’ rights are at stake, as is the case in Colombia. Both the Colombian national legislation and the Rome Statute contain provisions upholding victims’ rights in the process of criminal adjudication. Reduced sentences for war crimes and crimes against humanity may be at odds with the victims’ quest for justice. One way to resolve this contradiction is to ensure that victims receive adequate reparations for their suffering. It will not ‘offset’ the perceived impunity of senior perpetrators entirely, but it will help in mitigating the concern.

When the Left Shoots Itself in the Foot (IHL Version)

by Kevin Jon Heller

Last week, I made the mistake of relying on an article in Electronic Intifada about a recent speech by Moshe Ya’alon, the Israeli Defense Minister. Here are the relevant paragraphs in the article:

Israeli defense minister Moshe Yaalon on Tuesday said Israel would attack entire civilian neighborhoods during any future assault on Gaza or Lebanon.

Speaking at a conference in Jerusalem, Yaalon threatened that “we are going to hurt Lebanese civilians to include kids of the family. We went through a very long deep discussion … we did it then, we did it in [the] Gaza Strip, we are going to do it in any round of hostilities in the future.”

I probably should have known better than to rely on an article entitled, in relevant part, “Israeli defense minister promises to kill more civilians.” Prompted by a skeptical commenter, I watched the video of Ya’alon’s speech. And the video makes clear that the author of the article, Asa Winstanley, selectively quoted what Ya’alon said in order to make it seem like Ya’alon was advocating deliberately attacking civilians. In fact, Ya’alon was discussing a possible attack on a rocket launcher located in a civilian house and acknowledging that, if the IDF launched the attack, it was clear they were “going to hurt Lebanese civilians to include kids of the family.” The IDF launched the attack anyway, believing that the military advantage outweighed the certain civilian damage.

Bothered by being suckered into making such a significant mistake, I tweeted Winstanley about his selective quotation. Perhaps he had not actually seen the video? His response was disappointing, to put it mildly. Instead of acknowledging his mistake, he repeated the selective quote. I replied that the video made clear Ya’alon was talking about Israel’s proportionality calculation, not deliberate attacks on civilians, and pointed out that civilian damage is permissible under IHL unless the anticipated civilian damage caused by an attack is excessive in relation to the expected military advantage. I also noted that I thought the attack Ya’alon was discussing was still illegal, because in my view killing a number of civilians in order to take out one rocket launcher was disproportionate.

At that point, it’s safe to say, Winstanley simply lost it. Here are some of his tweets, with my thoughts in the parentheticals…

Guest Post: The Death Penalty for Drug Offences: ‘Asian Values’ or Drug Treaty Influence?

by Rick Lines, Damon Barrett and Patrick Gallahue

[Dr Rick Lines is Executive Director of Harm Reduction International, and a Visiting Fellow at the Human Rights Centre, University of Essex. Damon Barrett is the Director of the International Centre on Human Rights and Drug Policy at the Human Rights Centre, University of Essex and a doctoral candidate in the Department of Law, Stockholm University. Patrick Gallahue is the Communications Director at the ACLU-Connecticut, and former Coordinator of the Death Penalty Project at Harm Reduction International. He is a doctoral candidate in the Human Rights Centre, University of Essex.]

Recent mass executions by the Government of Indonesia have thrown the international spotlight on the death penalty for drug offences, and ignited debates between abolitionist and retentionist States on the legality and efficacy of this sanction. This international attention is to be welcomed.

When we established the death penalty for drugs project in 2007 at the NGO Harm Reduction International, it was the first and only project specifically dedicated to research, analysis and advocacy on what at the time was a little understood issue. Our reports tracked State practice, estimating that up to 1,000 people a year were executed for drug offences worldwide, promoted the case that the death penalty for drugs constitutes a violation of international human rights law and documented direct links between UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) country assistance programmes and executions for drug offences.

But despite the clear evidence of the illegal nature of the sanction, and the growing chorus of voices calling for its abolition, a small and increasingly isolated group of countries continues to kill people for drug offences. In executing fourteen people in a matter of months, the Government of Indonesia has aligned itself with the extreme fringe of even this isolated group, joining just four other States (China, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Vietnam) that execute people for drug offences with regularity and/or in great numbers.

Political leaders and commentators often try to excuse or explain the death penalty for drug offences in Asian or Middle Eastern countries on the basis that the practice reflects unique values and traditions of the regions, or that the application of international human rights law represents a foreign intervention into domestic matters. However, like so many defenses of this indefensible practice, this one crumbles under scrutiny.

For the majority of States actively executing drug offenders, the practice is about as ‘traditional’ in legal or historical legal terms as the microwave oven is in cooking terms, and in most cases even less so. Most of the dozen States that actively execute drug offenders adopted these laws from the 1980s onwards, suggesting that rather than reflecting traditional ‘values’ of the region these policies are instead a response to the anti-drugs climate of the period, and the drafting and adoption of the 1988 United Nations Convention against Illicit Traffic in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances, the third UN drug treaty that established State obligations in international law to enact harsh penal provisions for drug offences at domestic level.

Consider some of those States actively executing drug offenders, and compare the dates of enacting these laws against their signing or ratification of the 1988 drug treaty.

State Treaty Signed Treaty Ratified Capital Drug Law
Indonesia 1989 1999 1995
Viet Nam 1997 1999
Saudi Arabia 1992 1987
Kuwait 1989 2000 1995
Thailand 2002 1979
Pakistan 1989 1991 1997
Egypt 1988 1991 1989
Yemen 1988 1996 1993
Singapore 1997 1975
Malaysia 1988 1993 1975

With the exception of China and Iran, which have had capital punishment for drug offences since the 1940s and 1950s respectively, only Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand have capital drug laws that predate the drafting process of the 1988 drug treaty. Even then, those 1970s laws fall squarely with the era of the modern international drug control treaty regime, in which penal approaches to drug suppression were increasingly prioritised. More specifically, they fall within the period of the global ‘war on drugs’, launched by the U.S. in the early 1970s, which formed the international political backdrop for the drafting of the 1988 treaty.

Indonesia is actually a case that neatly proves the fallacy of this argument. Far from being a longstanding ‘traditional’ part of the domestic criminal justice system, the first person executed for drug offences in Indonesia was in 1995, six years after the State signed the 1988 convention. Indonesia executed five people in total for all offences between 2009 and 2014, all in the year 2013. In the other five years, the Government executed no one at all. Yet now in the first few months of 2015, the Government has executed fourteen people, all for drug offences. How to we explain this pattern? Did Indonesian ‘traditions’ or ‘values’ change between 1995 and 2009, then change again in 2009, and again in 2015? Or did the Government, and Government policy, change in response to domestic political considerations and the perceived political weakness of its leader?

A 2001 UN report recorded a more than 50% increase in the number of countries prescribing the death penalty for drugs into domestic law between 1985 and 2000. Surely this dramatic shift in State practice in a relatively short span of fifteen years did not reflect changes in national traditions or cultures.   Rather, the use of the death penalty for drug offences reflected developments in international drug control law, and the increasingly punitive nature of the regime throughout the 1970s, as codified in the 1988 drug convention. As we have pointed out elsewhere, this dramatic increase in States prescribing the death penalty for drug offences runs exactly opposite to the overall international trend towards the abolition of capital punishment documented during that same period. The irony here is obvious, as many death penalty States are all-too-happy to amend domestic laws based on UN drug control treaties, while at the same time claiming that UN human rights treaties represent an inappropriate infringement on domestic affairs.

Perhaps the most obvious fact exposing these arguments as baseless is that the vast majority of countries in the region do not execute people for drug crimes. There are 49 countries in the huge region of Asia and the Middle East. Of these, only a dozen actively execute people of drug offences, and only four or five execute people with any regularity or in any great number. Rather than capital punishment being a ‘shared’ regional approach to drugs, the countries executing drug offenders are a minority, and those executing with regularity represent a tiny minority of only one in ten.

If we take State practice as a guide, the true regional approach to drug enforcement is the non-use of capital punishment. Placed in this broader context, the tiny group of high-executing States can be seen as the extreme fringe their policies actually represent.

Regulation 55 and the Irrelevance of the Confirmation Hearing

by Kevin Jon Heller

It’s becoming an old story: the Pre-Trial Chamber (PTC) rejects a charged mode of liability after a confirmation hearing, so the OTP simply asks the Trial Chamber (TC) to give the defendant notice that it will consider convicting him on the basis of the rejected mode anyway. This time, the defendant is Laurent Gbagbo. The OTP initially alleged that Gbagbo is responsible for various crimes against humanity on the basis of Art. 25 in the Rome Statute — indirect co-perpetration; ordering, soliciting or inducing; and otherwise contributing to the commission of crimes — as well as command responsibility and superior responsibility. Following the confirmation hearing, the PTC confirmed all of the modes of liability in Art. 25, but declined to confirm command and superior responsibility, because those modes “would require the Chamber to depart significantly from its understanding of how events unfolded in Cote d’Ivoire during the post-electoral crisis and Laurent Gbagbo’s involvement therein.” Undeterred, the OTP then asked the TC to invoke Regulation 55:

The Office of the Prosecutor (“Prosecution”) requests that Trial Chamber I (“Chamber”) give notice to the Parties and participants pursuant to regulation 55(2) of the Regulations of the Court (“RoC”) that the legal characterisation of the facts confirmed by Pre-Trial Chamber I (“Pre-Trial Chamber”) may be subject to change to accord with a further alternative form of participation of the Accused Laurent Gbagbo (“Gbagbo”): superior responsibility under article 28(a) and (b) of the Rome Statute (“Statute”) for all crimes (“Request”).

I have explained at length in this article why the Rome Statute — Art. 61 in particular — does not permit the Trial Chamber to convict a defendant on the basis of an unconfirmed mode of liability, so there is no need to repeat the argument here. Suffice it to say that the OTP’s request, which will almost certainly be granted by the TC (if past practice is any guide), continues the confirmation hearing’s long, slow slide into irrelevance. Given how the TC and Appeals Chamber have (wrongly) interpreted Regulation 55, the confirmation hearing actually “confirms” nothing; it just provides suggestions to the TC concerning how it might choose to convict the defendant. If the TC wants to go a different direction and convict the defendant on the basis of an unconfirmed mode of participation, no problem. It can simply “recharacterize” the facts and circumstances proven at trial.

Discerning readers might wonder how a defendant is supposed to prepare his defence in such a situation. Isn’t the entire point of the confirmation hearing to inform the defendant of the crimes and modes of liability he will have to rebut during trial? Yes — which is the fundamental problem with Regulation 55 as the judges have interpreted it. Because of their interpretation, defendants now have only two potential strategies at trial: (1) prepare a defence to every possible legal characterization of the facts and circumstances in the charge sheet — all possible crimes and all possible modes of liability; or (2) ignore the law entirely and focus solely on rebutting the facts and circumstances themselves. The first strategy is effectively impossible — and it’s very unlikely the TC would even let a defendant do it. (“Sorry, you have to pick one or two theories of the case — even though we can pick any theory we want down the track.”) And the second strategy is inconsistent with the nature of the adversarial trial contemplated by the Rome Statute. Defendants are (supposed to be) charged with specific crimes on the basis of specific modes of liability; they are not charged with bare facts and circumstances.

It’s a shame that the ICC’s judges have allowed Regulation 55 to metastasise into the ultimate judicial hammer — a one-size-fits-all tool for saving the OTP from its own poor charging decisions and ineffective trial advocacy. (See, e.g., Katanga.) But, of course, it’s not a surprise. After all, the judges wrote the Regulation themselves.

Guest Post: The Anders Kompass Case–A Moment of Opportunity for the UN Internal Justice System

by Rishi Gulati

[Rishi Gulati practices as a barrister in Melbourne. The author has not had any involvement with the Kompass case; and this post should not be construed as legal advice in any form whatsoever.]
Highlighting Mr Anders Kompass’s suspension from duties as a senior official at the UN, the Guardian recently reported that Mr Anders Kompass, a senior UN staff member:

“leaked an internal UN report on the alleged sexual abuse of children by French troops in Central African Republic to French prosecutors last summer. The French immediately mounted an investigation and revealed…they were investigating up to 14 soldiers for alleged abuse. The French authorities wrote to thank Kompass for passing on the internal report detailing the abuse”.

Notably, the UN suspended Mr Kompass from his job at the UN, arguing that Mr Kompass engaged in misconduct warranting his suspension from duties. It is apparent that the “misconduct” in question concerns allegations that Mr Kompass breached confidentiality by sharing with French authorities “confidential un-redacted preliminary investigative notes” about allegations of sexual abuse of children in the Central African Republic.

As is reported in the article in the Guardian cited above:

The confidential internal report leaked by Kompass contained interviews by a UN official and a member of Unicef with a number of children, aged between eight and 15, who say they were sexually abused at a camp for internally displaced people in Bangui, the capital of CAR, by French troops last year. The interim report identified about 10 children effected but the UN said it was possible many more children had been abused.

A procedural background to Mr Kompass’s suspension

The key facts are contained at paragraphs 1-12 of the judgment of the United Nations Dispute Tribunal (UNDT) in Kompass v Secretary General of the United Nations, Order on an Application for Suspension of Action, 5 May 2015. In summary (footnotes omitted):

  • Mr Kompass is employed at the Director level at the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), Geneva,
  • In July 2014, another senior OHCHR official provided Mr Kompass a copy of a report containing serious allegations of paedophilia allegedly committed in the Central African Republic by French military. Mr Kompas says that “he brought the content of the report to the attention of the Deputy Ambassador of France”. Mr Kompass states that “he informed the Deputy High Commissioner (his supervisor at the OHCHR) that he had seen the report and had discussed the allegations with the Deputy Ambassador of France.
  • Mr Kompass said that in response to a request from the French Permanent Mission to the UN in Geneva, he shared the report with the Permanent Mission. Mr Kompass said that he shared this information with his supervisor at the OHCHR, the Deputy High Commissioner (a disputed fact).
  • On 6 March 2015, the High Commissioner for Human Rights (High Commissioner) became aware that Mr Kompass allegedly leaked confidential investigative notes concerning allegations of sexual abuse.
  • It is uncontested that on 12 March 2015 Mr Kompass was asked to resign by the Deputy High Commissioner who was ultimately relaying the request of the Under-Secretary-General for the Department of Peacekeeping Operations. Mr Kompass refused to resign.
  • Upon a request by the High Commissioner, the body at the UN that conducts investigations of internal staff misconduct, the Office of Internal Oversight Services (OIOS) was then asked to conduct an investigation into Mr Kompass’s actions.
  • Whilst the OIOS investigation was on foot, on 17 April 2015, Mr Kompass, under the internal rules of the UN, was placed on administrative leave with pay (ALWP).

ALWP, as the name suggest disallows the affected staff member from continuing in his or her duties. Being placed on ALWP obviously can cause professional and reputational damage, leaving aside the emotional distress it may cause to a staff member.

On 29 April 2015, Mr Kompass accessed the UNDT requesting relief that the ALWP be suspended, meaning that if Mr Kompass succeeded in his application, then he could return to his duties. To obtain relief, Mr Komposs amongst other things, needed to show that the decision to place him on ALWP was prima facie unlawful, and the decision would cause Mr Kompass irreparable damage.

Why did Mr Kompass have to access the UNDT as opposed to a domestic employment tribunal?

As the UN enjoys immunities before domestic courts, an aggrieved UN staff member cannot approach a domestic court. Employment disputes between the UN and its staff are heard by a tribunal set up by the UN, the United Nations Dispute Tribunal (UNDT), and an appeals tribunal, known as the United Nations Appeals Tribunal (UNAT). These tribunals apply a specialised body of law known as international administrative law (IAL). IAL governs the employment relationship between the UN and its staff. IAL is a specialised body of law that includes aspects of administrative, contract and international law. It is based on both, the common and civil law traditions. While links are discernible, strictly speaking, IAL should be distinguished from the broader notion of Global Administrative Law (GAL), which is an emerging body of law focusing on the “increasing use of administrative law-type mechanisms, in particular those related to transparency, participation, accountability and review, within the regulatory institutions of global governance.” See here for information on the GAL movement.

It is worth noting that in the past, serious criticisms have been levelled at the UN concerning the deficiencies in its internal justice system where cases often took years to resolve. In 2009, after decades of effort, the UN comprehensively redesigned its internal justice system, creating the UNDT and the UNAT. For a discussion, see an earlier article by the author here.

So, is the redesigned system working? The Kompass case is a prime example that while much more needs to be done, progress has been made.

What did the UNDT decide in the Kompass case?

Bearing in mind that the merits of the case have not yet been determined, on the issue of prima facie unlawfulness, the UNDT concluded at para 34 that the UN official who placed Mr Kompass on ALWP did not have the authority to do so; and critically, the decision did not comply with the internal rules of the UN:

39. The Tribunal finds that neither the interest of the Organization, nor the avoidance of any interference with the investigation are reasons in the exhaustive list …of the respective administrative instruction. Therefore, as such, they cannot be accepted as valid reasons for placing the Applicant on administrative leave.

On the issue of irreparable damage, the UNDT said:

49. Therefore, and since the Applicant is currently being prevented from carrying out his functions as a result of being on administrative leave, which is of public knowledge, the Tribunal finds that if the suspension is not granted, the harm done to the Applicant’s reputation will be irreparable and could not be adequately compensated at a later stage.

Mr Kompass has now been reinstated to his position. This decision of the UNDT is undoubtedly a decision consistent with the maintenance of UN accountability to its very own staff members: ensuring that UN management acts within the purview of its internal rules and procedures. This is especially critical as UN staff cannot approach domestic courts for remedies for breach of their terms of employment. Most critically, the fact that Ms Kompass could seek justice within a few days of being placed on ALWP is a testament to the initial success of the new internal justice system. Undoubtedly significant issues with whistle-blower protection exist at the UN, but the Kompass case provides an example that there is reason for cautious optimism regarding access to justice for aggrieved UN staff members.

It bears noting that as per the information in the UNDT’s judgment, Mr Kompass’s appointment at the UN expires on 8 July 2015. It can only be hoped that any renewal of Mr Kompass’s employment does not attract retaliatory action. This case could yet be subject to several more twists, and it is crucial to maintain a close watch.

Guest Post: The End of the Road for Ngudjolo and the Stacked Odds Against ICC Acquitted

by Emma Irving

[Emma Irving is a PhD Researcher at the University of Amsterdam School of Law, and a visiting researcher at Cornell University.]

Earlier this week was the final instalment of the story of the International Criminal Court’s (ICC) first acquittal, with the removal of Mathieu Ngjudjolo Chui from the Netherlands back to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).

It was not altogether surprising when the Appeals Chamber of the ICC upheld the Ngjudjolo’s acquittal on the 27th February this year. What was surprising was the events that followed. Immediately following the judgment, Ngudjolo was escorted by Dutch police to Schiphol International Airport to be deported back to the Democratic Republic of Congo. The plane made it all the way to the runway before being dramatically called back: Ngudjolo was to have his asylum application heard a second time.

Ngudjolo first applied for asylum in the Netherlands in 2012 after he was acquitted by the ICC Trial Chamber. In this case too he made it all the way to Schiphol Airport, but not quite onto a plane, before the Dutch authorities halted the deportation. Ngudjolo contended, and still does, that he would be at risk if returned to the DRC. The Dutch authorities responded to these claims by stating that Ngudjolo had not provided enough evidence of the risks he faced, and that in any event he was excluded from refugee protection as a suspected war criminal. The issue was appealed all the way to the Council of State, the highest administrative body in the Netherlands, which ultimately sided with the Dutch government. It held that Article 1F of the 1951 Refugee Convention, which disqualifies an individual from refugee status if they are suspected of having committed war crimes or crimes against humanity, could be applied despite an acquittal by the ICC. The Council deemed that the evidentiary standard for exclusion was lower than in criminal cases, and that Ngudjolo’s acquittal did not remove suspicion of his involvement in other crimes. The asylum application was denied.

Such is how matters stood up until the appeal judgment. Ngudjolo’s legal team secured a second asylum hearing after he was acquitted on appeal, stopping his immediate deportation. However, on the 23rd of April 2015, this application was also refused. While Ngudjolo can appeal this decision, an appeal will not have suspensive effect, and his deportation was scheduled for the 1st May. For a more detailed procedural history see here and here.

After an application for residence in Switzerland on humanitarian grounds was turned down, Ngudjolo reached the end of the road in terms of preventing his return to the DRC. And that road seemed to be a dead-end all along. The odds were stacked against Ngudjolo from the beginning: 1) he was in a catch-22 position as regards acting as a witness in his own defence, 2) the ICC did not act to assist him, and 3) he could not cast his asylum seeking net beyond the Netherlands.

To begin with Ngudjolo’s role as a witness, he was caught in a no-win situation. Although important in securing his acquittal, the content of Ngudjolo’s testimony prejudiced his position on release. It both prevented him from returning home, and prevented him from remaining in the Netherlands. As regards returning home, Ngudjolo made statements against the DRC government, and in particular, provided a letter that incriminated the DRC government in the attack on the village of Bogoro, for which he himself was standing trial. Speaking out against the powers-that-be in the DRC, Ngudjolo claims, has placed him at great risk. As to remaining in the Netherlands as a refugee, Ngudjolo’s testimony handed the Dutch authorities the evidence they needed to exclude him from refugee protection. In order to prove that he was not involved in the Bogoro attack, Ngudjolo provided details as to his position in the militia hierarchy. The Dutch authorities then used this information, combined with other reports about the conflict, to invoke Article 1F. For reasons that the ICC has kept confidential, Ngudjolo was also excluded from ICC witness protection. He was therefore stuck in a lose-lose situation: give evidence in his own defence but have nowhere to go if acquitted, or do not give evidence and increase the chance of conviction.

Then there was the inaction on the part of the ICC. The dilemma of acquitted persons who cannot return to their home countries is by no means new. The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) has been dealing with this thorny issue for years, and still has no firm resolution – while the Tribunal may have wrapped up at the end of last year, there are still acquitted persons living in a safehouse in Arusha. It is perhaps this legacy that has prompted the ICC to act the way it has: to simply open its doors and allow acquitted persons to walk out (and be arrested). Granted, when a person is cleared of all charges, the right to liberty requires their release, as does the Rome Statute (Article 81(3)(c)). However, as Ngudjolo’s case demonstrates, this is not always ideal. When it comes to acquitted persons, the Rules of Procedure and Evidence also have something to say. Rule 185 obliges the Court to make such arrangements as it considers appropriate for the transfer of an acquitted person, taking into account the person’s views, to a State. This can be a State that is obliged to receive the acquitted person, a State that has agreed to receive the person, or a State that has sought the acquitted person’s extradition.

From a reading of the text of Rule 185 alone, it would seem that the ICC can order a transfer to any State willing or obliged to receive the individual. But then there is Article 21(3) Rome Statute. This Article requires that all law applicable to the ICC be interpreted and applied in accordance with internationally recognised human rights norms, of which non-refoulement is one. It is argued that when Rule 185 is read with Article 21(3), it must mean that the ICC cannot order a transfer to a State where the individual would be at risk. This application of Rule 185 would require the creation of a procedure to decide where the acquitted person is to go before they are released. A comparable process is undertaken when an accused is considered eligible for interim release; a hearing must be held in which a State willing to host the accused is identified. Neither this approach to Rule 185, nor apparently any other, was taken in Ngudjolo’s case. His release and hand over to the Dutch police seems to have been done with no formal decision on where he would be taken, at least none that is transparent and publicly available.

The final obstacle facing Ngudjolo was the fact that the Netherlands was his only option for seeking asylum. The construction of the Refugee Convention is such that no other State is obliged to hear an asylum application from him, as he is neither on their territory nor at their border. For this reason he is only able to make applications for humanitarian residence, or variations of, which are entirely discretionary (this limitation is what led to the chronic problem of acquitted persons at the ICTR). The consequence is the overburdening of The Netherlands with asylum claims from not only acquitted, but also witnesses. It is perhaps not surprising that the Netherlands has fought hard against such applications, for fear of establishing a precedent.

In the end it was May 11th, rather than May 1st, that saw Ngudjolo deported from the Netherlands. Interestingly, the website for the 1533 Sanctions Committee still lists Ngudjolo as being subject to a UN travel ban, although this does not seemed to have proven a hindrance. The Ngudjolo case is another instalment in the story of the ICC’s growing pains, and in The Netherlands’ fight to minimise the impact of it hosting the Court. This story will go on as the ICC continues its operations and more judgments are rendered, and it is hoped that in future the odds become a bit more evenly distributed.