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Scottish Independence Insta-Symposium: The International Legal Significance of the Scottish Independence Referendum–A Long View

by Tom Sparks

[Tom Sparks is a PhD Candidate in Law at the Durham University School of Law and member of the ERC-funded "Neo-Federalism project."] 

We have been repeatedly told that the Scottish referendum of the 18th of September  is an historic moment, and it surely is.  As a matter of international law, however, it may be that the most significant decision in the Scottish independence saga has already been made. On the 15th October 2012 an agreement was concluded between the United Kingdom and Scottish Governments (The Edinburgh Agreement), by which the UK Government agreed to delegate authority under s.30 of the Scotland Act 1998 such that the Scottish Parliament would be competent to pass legislation on an independence referendum.  Paragraph 30 of the Memorandum of Agreement stated that: The United Kingdom and Scottish Governments […] look forward to a referendum that is legal and fair producing a decisive and respected outcome. The two governments are committed to continue to work together constructively in the light of the outcome, whatever it is, in the best interests of the people of Scotland and of the rest of the United Kingdom. Although it appears unlikely that the Edinburgh Agreement has legal force either domestically or internationally, it is significant because it constitutes a political recognition that the question of whether Scotland should become an independent State  .  Moreover, it recognises that the independence decision is a decision that the people of Scotland have the right to make, and indicates that both Governments will abide by the outcome.  The importance of these statements lies in their value as (political) precedents – something which can be best appreciated by looking to the history of self-determination. Self-determination has always been a controversial concept. From its earliest days it has been seen as deeply subversive, but it is at once more radical and more modest that is often appreciated.  In the first place, although self-determination is intimately connected to secession, the two are not synonymous.  I suggest self-determination claims may be subdivided into four categories: political self-determination (often called ‘internal’), secessionary self-determination (‘external’), remedial self-determination (whereby a serious and prolonged denial of political self-determination results in a right to secede), and colonial self-determination (a category sui generis because of the political context).  In its most common incarnation, political self-determination, it is an internal concept that refers to the right of the people of a State (i.e. the entire populace of a pre-defined territorial entity) to determine their form of government.  So commonplace is this political form, that the ICJ in its East Timor decision declared self-determination ‘one of the essential principles of contemporary international law’, and stated that:

In the Court’s view, [the] assertion that the right of people to self-determination, as it evolved from the Charter and from United Nations practice, has an erga omnes character, is irreproachable. (Paragraph 29)

It its political form, the concept of self-determination represents a recognition of what may loosely be described as popular sovereignty, and serves as a guarantee of the principle of non-interference. Simultaneously, however, self-determination represents a claim on behalf of the people to an authority as of right superior to the government of a State, and even a claim on behalf of a minority to an authority as of right superior to the (sovereign) power of the State itself.  Both claims are deeply irreverent, striking as they do at the legitimacy of the existing power structures of the State.  Typically, therefore, although political self-determination has now been accepted as ‘one of the essential principles of contemporary international law’, the concepts have a long and violent history. Self-determination’s voyage from radical and dangerous concept to accepted tenet of international law begins with the American Declaration of Independence.  In 1776 the Continental Congress of America adopted the Declaration, stating that ‘these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States’.  Following a destructive war, the states’ independence from Britain was confirmed in 1783 with the signing of the Treaty of Paris.  Although the declaration effected the secession of the United States, the document itself speaks in terms of remedial self-determination, and thus represents a powerful claim to a right to political self-determination on behalf of the territories.  The Declaration holds that, in order to protect the ‘unalienable Rights’ of man, ‘Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed’.  Further:

That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundations on such principles and organizing its powers in such a form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

The principles expressed in the American Declaration of Independence were echoed in the Declaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen, of 1789.  Like the American Revolution, the French Revolution espoused a philosophical conviction that ‘[m]en are born and remain free and equal in rights.’   Like the American Revolution, the French Revolution  recognised the principle of popular sovereignty: ‘The principle of any Sovereignty lies primarily in the Nation.  No corporate body, no individual may exercise any authority that does not expressly emanate from it.’  And as with its American counterpart, the French Revolution of 1789 represents an acceptance and application of the principle of political self-determination: that the legitimacy of the form of government derives from the will of the people, and that the People, as a corporate entity, has the right to alter that form of government if it has become inimical to their interests or wishes. The revolutions are, and remain, precedents  – in both the legal and political sense.  Of course, they had no legal force in the 18th Century – at that time this idea, that the people can depose the ruling power, was even more controversial than the idea that minorities can break away from a State is today – nor for many years afterwards.  But they have subsequently acquired legal force.  Political self-determination has been enshrined in the Charter of the United Nations (Art.1(2)), and the common first Article of the ICCPR and ICESCR (Art.1(1)), and has evolved into a norm of customary international law of erga omnes status (East Timor).  It is not possible, here, to review the whole progress of the concept – naturally the revolutions were not, in and of themselves, sufficient to generate a legal norm.  But it was this first step that was the most significant: it marked the shift in perspective that begun the slow process towards norm-formation.  As Cassese opines, the revolutions

[M]arked the demise of the notion that individuals and peoples, as subjects of the King, were objects to be transferred, alienated, ceded, or protected in accordance with the interests of the monarch. (Antonio Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples: a Legal Reappraisal (Cambridge University Press 1995) 11.)

The significance of the Scottish referendum, similarly, lies in its value as a precedent.   The Edinburgh Agreement is, as commented above, a recognition that the independence decision is a decision which the people of Scotland have a democratic right  to make, and that it is a decision to be made by them alone.  It also politically binds the Governments to respect the result of the referendum.  In short, it represents an acceptance, in this instance, by the United Kingdom of the right of the Scottish people to secessionary self-determination.  Irrespective of the outcome of the vote, the Scotland precedent puts pressure on other governments to grant similar referendums to secessionist movements in their own territories.  At present that pressure is only political, but it is entirely conceivable that, should other States follow Britain’s lead, a new norm of customary international law will begin to emerge. Scotland is not a flash in the pan. The question of secession will surely crop up again, and again in years to come (see, for example, Catalonia, and Iraqi Kurdistan).  The reaction of the States concerned, and the wider international community, may mark a paradigm-shift in international law.  It remains to be seen whether Scotland will be secessionary self-determination’s 1776, but we’ll have to wait longer for that result.

Scottish Independence Insta-Symposium: Scotland’s Secession from the EU

by Jure Vidmar

[Jure Vidmar is a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow in the Faculty of Law and Research Fellow of St John's College, Oxford. Some arguments made in this post are further elaborated on in this article.]

The Treaty on European Union (TEU) now gives member states an explicit right to exit the EU and provides for a mechanism that makes this right effective. However, the TEU does not directly regulate the future relationship between the EU and a territory which is seceding from a member state. If Scotland votes for independence, this will be the first case of secession from an EU member state. Thus, neither a direct treaty provision nor a useful precedent exist that would regulate the Scottish scenario. Would Scotland either join or stay in the EU at the moment of independence? If not, what would happen with the free movement rights of EU citizens residing in Scotland, and of those future Scottish citizens who are currently residing in other EU member states?

Professors Boyle and Crawford convincingly demonstrate that rump UK (rUK) would continue UK’s international personality, while Scotland would become a new state, with certain problems that this status brings. Among these problems are accession to treaties and membership of international organizations. As Richard Hoyle shows, it is perhaps arguable that automatic accession applies where human rights treaties are concerned. Even that is not uncontested, but in any case, there is no automatic accession to treaties establishing international organizations or other institutionalized supra-state formations. An independent Scotland would thus need to join the UN anew. The same scenario applies for its EU membership. If Scotland exits the UK, it prima facie also exits the EU. This conclusion is not unqualified, however.

Should Scotland vote for independence, a period of negotiations will follow between the governments in Edinburgh and London. In this period, the exact modalities of secession will need to be determined. It is possible and perhaps even politically likely that negotiations with Brussels would also be initiated in this transitional phase, so that Scotland could enter the EU at the moment of independence. It might not be necessary for Scotland to follow Article 49 TEU which regulates admission of new members. Instead, the TEU could be amended by an ordinary revision procedure of Article 48. Professor De Witte convincingly explains that Article 49 is concerned with states that are outside of the EU at the moment of application. Scotland, however, would not (yet) be a state if it asks for admission in the transitional period after a ‘yes’ vote, and it would still be an EU territory at that time. It is thus questionable whether Article 49 should be followed in this case at all. Another argument in support of the route via Article 48 is that the TEU would need to be amended in any case. Without Scotland, rUK would be a smaller state, and without relevant amendments, rUK would be overrepresented in the EU institutions. An elegant solution could be an amendment which would admit Scotland, make institutional provisions for its membership, and acknowledge the new size of rUK.

A shortcut via Article 48 seems to be feasible, but does not solve Scotland’s major problem which is otherwise also looming large in Article 49: all member states would need to ratify such an amendment of the TEU. It is not possible to exclude that the ratification process could fail in some member states with their own secessionist problems (e.g. Spain). In other words, the applicable legal framework does not provide for any automaticity and certainty on Scotland’s path to EU membership. Regardless of which route is followed, EU membership will be subject to political negotiations and approval of all member states.

The possibility of Scotland’s implicit EU exit opens the problem of rights stemming from EU citizenship. Would they be lost entirely? This could have serious consequences for Scots currently residing in other EU member states, as well as for EU citizens currently residing in Scotland. Would they need to acquire visas and work permits or leave their homes? It has been suggested that EU citizenship is so fundamental in the European legal order that Scots cannot simply lose the rights stemming from it. Two variations of this argument have been brought forward. The first one is that citizens of an independent Scotland retain EU citizenship regardless of what happens with Scotland’s EU membership and regardless of whether they are also entitled to keep UK nationality. This is problematic because EU citizenship is not an independent concept, it is derived from citizenship of a member state. Taking this problem into account, an even more radical proposal suggests that in order to ensure that EU citizenship rights would not be lost, Scotland automatically stays in the EU. Professor Tierney has rightly called this argument: “simply not tenable”. The idea of a fundamental nature of EU citizenship comes from the CJEU case law dealing with situations that crucially differ from Scotland in law and fact. The Scottish situation is indeed unprecedented. If an independent Scotland does not become an EU member state, EU citizenship simply could not be derived from Scottish nationality. In other words, EU citizenship would be lost. Yet, even this conclusion requires some qualifications.

A similar problem, albeit not in the EU context, has been addressed by the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) in the 2012 case of Kuric v. Slovenia. The case was concerned with residency rights of those aliens who had acquired the right of residency prior to Slovenia’s independence, but afterwards no longer possessed the qualifying nationality to be entitled for residency. The ECtHR reasoned: “[A]n alien lawfully residing in a country may wish to continue living in that country without necessarily acquiring its citizenship.”Following the logic in Kuric, once you have legally established permanent residency, you keep the right of residence, even if the legal status of either your home or your host state changes and, as a result of this change, your new citizenship status alone would no longer give you a right to residence. What matters is that you had the right at the moment of the change of the territorial status. It is notable that the Court established that non-citizen residents enjoy this guarantee under Article 8 ECHR (the right to private and family life) in their own right; it does not depend on, e.g., a family relationship with a citizen of the host state. The ECtHR’s reasoning in Kuric v. Slovenia is broad enough that it should also cover the Scottish situation. It means that even if Scotland leaves the EU on becoming independent, nationals of EU member states will be allowed to retain residency in Scotland and Scottish nationals will be allowed to retain residency in EU member states. However, this would no longer be a benefit of EU citizenship. Rather, the ECHR would extend protection to previously-exercised free movement rights stemming from EU citizenship. This effect of the ECHR would only freeze the already-acquired rights, it would not give the right to start free movement anew.

By becoming independent, Scotland also exits the EU, unless negotiated otherwise. Even EU citizenship will be lost if negotiations on EU membership fail and Scotland does not join the EU at the moment of independence. In this case, the ECHR would extend its protection and the affected individuals would not lose their already-acquired residency rights.

Scottish Independence Insta-Symposium: ‘Negotiated Independence’–Scottish Independence and a New Path to Statehood?

by Stephen Tierney

[Stephen Tierney is a Professor of Constitutional Theory, University of Edinburgh and Director of the Edinburgh Centre for Constitutional Law.]

In the Edinburgh Agreement of 2012 the United Kingdom Government committed itself to respect the outcome of the Scottish independence referendum. This suggests that, in the event of a Yes vote, the transition to independence will be relatively straightforward, as will the pathway to Scotland’s international recognition and membership of the United Nations – see here.

How then would Scotland’s move to statehood be characterised under international law? It is extremely unlikely that the UK will be taken to have dissolved. The international community is generally ill-disposed towards state dissolution. Despite the loss by Pakistan of over half its population in the secession of Bangladesh it continued to be recognised. More recently the Republic of Sudan survived the loss of the significant territory and population of South Sudan. Certainly Scotland constitutes a significant area (almost one third) of the United Kingdom’s land mass, but it contains less than 10 per cent of the population. The territories of England, Wales and Northern Ireland would all still be contained within the United Kingdom and the UK would retain its principal governmental institutions. These factors suggest a strong presumption in favour of the UK’s continuation.

There are also political considerations. The significance of the UK as a member of the EU, NATO and the Security Council of the United Nations would all be important factors in encouraging others to view it as the continuing State. By analogy, the fact that Russia could continue as a permanent member of the Security Council, thereby avoiding the need to revisit how membership of that body is constituted, was without doubt a significant factor in the international community treating Russia as the USSR’s continuation.

Therefore, Scotland would I think clearly be taken to have seceded from the UK (taking secession to be ‘the effort of a group or section of a State to withdraw itself from the political and constitutional authority of that State, with a view to achieving statehood for a new territorial unit on the international plane’. Supreme Court of Canada, Reference re Secession of Quebec, [1998] 2 S.C.R. 217, para 83.). But all the same, the label secession doesn’t seem to fit very well. We tend to think of secession as a unilateral act, denounced as illegal by the remainder state. It is notable that in light of the Edinburgh Agreement, Crawford and Boyle seem to characterize the process almost as a sui generis situation, what they term ‘negotiated independence’. Certainly the consensual negotiation process which would likely follow a Yes vote would surely have a significant bearing in how Scotland would be treated by the international community.

Let me turn then to issues of recognition and succession. Recognition is itself a complex and contested area of international law. There is no institution authorised to determine definitively the legitimacy of claims to recognition as a new State. Indeed, the generally held view is that recognition is a uniquely political act, operating largely if not entirely at the discretion of States. Certainly Scotland would seem to fit the minimalist Montevideo Convention criteria for statehood as well as the criteria for recognition advanced by the  European Communities Guidelines on the Recognition of New States issued in 1991: for example, respect for the rule of law, democracy and minority rights. Notably the Supreme Court of Canada in the Secession Reference referred to the domestic legality of the secessionist act as another possible condition for recognition. If so, then again the UK’s acceptance of Scotland’s independence in the event of a Yes vote and the likelihood of negotiations between the two governments to this end would surely greatly assist an independent Scotland in the search for early international recognition.

How then would Scotland succeed to the rights and responsibilities that currently apply to the United Kingdom? Unlike the situation with state recognition, state succession has been the subject of considerable attention by the International Law Commission of the United Nations – see here and here. Despite this work the area is still subject to considerable confusion and disagreement. It seems certain that an independent Scotland would assume responsibility for the international relations of the territory of Scotland under international law but that does not mean that it would succeed automatically to all of the UK’s rights and responsibilities, to treaties, and in particular to membership of international organisations. For the avoidance of doubt it would probably make sense for an independent Scotland to accede to major multilateral treaties. At the same time, and assuming the continuation model, the UK State would continue to function as before, be recognised as identical to the State as it existed prior to the secession, would continue to enjoy the same rights and owe the same obligations, and retain UK membership of international organisations.

Scottish succession to membership of international organisations is an intense political issue. Regardless of the disagreement surrounding the meaning of Article 34 of the 1978 Convention, we need to treat this as a separate issue from succession to treaty obligations. The same Convention (Art. 4) is clear that succession to constituent instruments of an international organization is: ‘without prejudice to the rules concerning acquisition of membership and without prejudice to any other relevant rules of the organization.’ In other words, international organisations control their own membership and any special rules they set for membership supersede principles of general international law.

I will discuss only the United Nations here. It seems highly likely that the UN will treat the UK as the continuing State and that an independent Scotland would, as a new State, be required to apply for membership. For precedents see India/Pakistan; Malaysia/Singapore; Pakistan/Bangladesh; Serbia/Montenegro; Sudan/South Sudan. Other new States such as the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Eritrea have also had to apply for membership as did the former republics of the SRFY, including the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

Although Scotland would be required to apply for membership under Article 4 of the Charter, there do not seem to be any significant obstacles. The conditions for admission are that the candidate territory be a State; be peace-loving; accept the obligations of the Charter; be able to carry out its Charter obligations and be willing to do so. Without going into details it seems clear Scotland would satisfy each of these criteria. Of course, if the United Kingdom were to object to Scottish independence, then Scotland could find it difficult to obtain the required level of support within the General Assembly for admission, and as a continuing permanent member of the UN Security Council the UK could also attempt to use its veto to prevent a recommendation that Scotland be admitted. Each of these scenarios seems highly unlikely. Since we might reasonably anticipate negotiations between the UK and Scottish Governments leading to agreed terms for Scottish independence, and since an independent Scotland would most probably be considered an important ally by the UK, it is realistic to assume UK support for Scotland’s UN membership application.

Another big issue is Scotland’s membership of the EU discussed here and here.

Scottish Independence Insta-Symposium: The Legal Terrain Following a Yes Vote for Scottish Independence

by David Scheffer

[David Scheffer is the Mayer Brown/Robert A. Helman Professor of Law and Director of the Center for International Human Rights at Northwestern University School of Law.]

If the Scottish people vote in the majority on September 18th to become an independent nation, then a host of legal issues will descend immediately upon Holyrood, where the Scottish Parliament sits in Edinburgh, and Westminster, the legislative center of the United Kingdom Government in London.  Some of these issues can be overcome if there is a willingness to negotiate in good faith.  Otherwise, obstructionist and stubborn negotiating tactics can result in a bitter fight to the end, which will be 24 March 2016 if Holyrood’s schedule stands for Scotland to break away as a newly-minted sovereign state.

The Edinburgh Agreement of 15 October 2012, signed by First Minister Alex Salmond for the Scottish Government and Prime Minister David Cameron for the United Kingdom, provides the legal platform for the September 18th referendum.  Whatever is decided on that day has the legitimacy required under British law to move forward either with the United Kingdom as a unified country (if there is a majority no vote) or with the emergence of an independent Scotland following separation negotiations between Holyrood and Westminster and the necessary parliamentary acts (if there is a majority yes vote).

Section 30 of the Edinburgh Agreement is critical as to the aftermath, stating that the two governments “look forward to a referendum that is legal and fair producing a decisive and respected outcome.  The two governments are committed to continue to work together constructively in the light of the outcome, whatever it is, in the best interests of the people of Scotland and of the rest of the United Kingdom.”  That has long been understood to mean that negotiations between Holyrood and Westminster would commence in the event of a “yes” vote for independence.

Yet for months Westminster and the three main UK political parties (Conservative, Labour, Liberal) have waged their “no” campaign with scare tactics premised, it seems, on there being no meaningful negotiations at all.   Their message is that if there is a “yes” vote, then the protectionist shields will rise at Hadrian’s Wall and the remainder of the United Kingdom (rUK) will simply go its own way as the “continuator state,” leaving Scotland to survive or sink on its own.  Nothing could be further from reality, and Westminster knows that.

It will be in the interests of Westminster and the citizens of rUK to work out how to continue prosperous commercial and social relations with the Scottish people and sustain bonds with Scotland as a close ally.  Alienating Scotland with arrogant posturing now—a raw campaign tactic—as well as later during the inevitable negotiations is an irrational game plan for Westminster.  In fact, the tightening polls in Scotland seem to confirm that the bluff is backfiring.

The first legal issue upon which so much else depends centers on the law of state succession—what will be the legal outcome regarding statehood if Scotland and rUK split?  Westminster and many international lawyers insist that the rUK will be the continuator state, thus continuing the status quo in almost all treaty and international organization relations, while Scotland would be cast off as a new state to initiate its own treaty relations, currency, and membership in international organizations—the “clean slate” approach.  Such a punitive view of Scottish self-determination would force Holyrood onto the most arduous pathway towards statehood and presupposes either unnecessarily complex negotiations with no end in sight or no credible negotiations at all.  Westminster’s tactic is built upon a pyramid of presumptions arising from the initial premise of the continuator theory and yet little of which relates to the sui generis character of the Scottish situation, as I have examined elsewhere.

The unique history of the Scottish and English union of 1707 and the fact that since the 1970s we have seen unfold in Scotland a distinctly modern form of self-determination colors this entire exercise.  Nowhere else are the facts even similar regarding this remarkably peaceful and progressively building process of devolution leading to the renewed independence of a once sovereign nation, including the consent of the UK Government to hold such a referendum.  Legal theories on state succession based upon irrelevant practices of decolonization and stale notions of what constitutes customary international law simply do not work here.

Indeed, the modern formulation of state succession framed in the 1978 Vienna Convention on Succession of States in Respect of Treaties for a situation of this character points towards negotiated co-equal successor state status for both Scotland and the rUK during post-referendum negotiations.  If Holyrood and Westminster cooperate in good faith during the negotiations as co-equal successor states, they can create a pathway of mutually agreed and beneficial continuation of various treaty obligations for both states, Scottish membership in the European Union, continued UK membership as a permanent member of the UN Security Council, and a smooth transition for Scotland to join NATO and other international organizations.

Regarding the European Union, if one theoretically were to design the most judicious and EU-compliant path towards internal enlargement, the Scottish experience would set the gold standard.  Scotland is already part of the European Union because it is part of the United Kingdom.  The Scottish people are EU citizens with important rights under EU law.  Given those realities, transitioning to Scotland and the rUK following a “yes” vote on the referendum should be negotiable with Brussels in order to sustain the membership of both nations in the EU.  Surely that would be to the advantage of the European Union.  Caustic and unsubstantiated statements by EU officials and Westminster politicians in the past that relegate Scotland to new applicant status shorn of any existing rights under EU law have been narrow-minded expressions of insecurity.  I recently argued in Brussels, “[Scotland] is truly a sui generis phenomenon within the European Union and efforts to create false symmetries with other sub-state aspirations on the European continent are misleading.”

Of course, much is complicated by Prime Minister Cameron’s intention, expressed on 23 January 2013, to renegotiate parts of the UK’s relations with the European Union and hold a referendum by 2017 to determine continued membership of the UK in the Union. The anti-EU fervor arising from both Conservative and Labour party ranks and manifested in the United Kingdom Independence Party stands in contrast to the Scottish Government’s strong allegiance to the European Union and for sustained EU membership for an independent Scotland.  For rUK negotiators to threaten their Scottish counterparts with outcast status in the European Union while London plots its own withdrawal would be supremely ironic and not easily overlooked.

Each side has a different take on how to proceed with EU membership for Scotland.  The Scottish Government favors amending the Treaty of the European Union (TEU) under Article 48 to create procedures for continued Scottish membership.  This “continuity of effect” assumes transitioning Scotland’s current status as part of the United Kingdom into a newly sovereign status in a fully integrated way within the European Union’s legal, economic, institutional, political and social frameworks.  But this approach requires Westminster to seek such amendments as a willing partner following a yes vote on the referendum.

Westminster and some European Commission officials insist that Scotland would have to apply for membership in the European Union under Article 49 of the TEU just like other new applicants that have never been part of the European Union, like Croatia recently.  There doubtless would result a significant gap in EU membership for Scotland, which might be forced to delay the process until it achieves sovereign statehood status. A legal nightmare may well ensue. If Westminster intends to punish Holyrood following a yes vote, rather than negotiate in good faith, this would do it.

A negotiated formula, however, that essentially melds together procedures of Articles 48 and 49 of the TEU with the support of Westminster in discussions with EU leaders in Brussels and EU member states could provide a reasonable framework for keeping Scotland in the European Union with the least degree of disruption.  This formula would open the way for Holyrood to negotiate what normally would be required under Article 49 for membership, but to do so during the period prior to Scottish statehood with an Article 48 amendment process.  Westminster can facilitate this by joining with Holyrood in such negotiations and thus be the EU member state at the table.  That would reflect the true spirit of Section 30 of the Edinburgh Agreement already agreed to by the two parties.  Westminster’s role is critical, for under the procedures of either Article 48 or Article 49 of the TEU, the unanimous consent of all 28 EU member states would be required to facilitate Scotland’s membership in the European Union.

Perhaps the most divisive issue in recent months has been over the Scottish Government proposal that a currency union be formed between Scotland and rUK to sustain use of the pound sterling by an independent Scotland. There are considerable complexities to any currency option for an independent Scotland, but Westminster has slammed the door on a currency union prior to any negotiations and taunted First Minister Salmond to state his Plan B.

For Salmond to have put forward any Plan B before the referendum would cave into Westminster’s cynical tactic prior to any serious negotiations on currency that could work to the benefit of both nations.  Such bullying by unionists may have chalked up a  few debate points, but it has stirred anti-UK sentiment in Scotland while ignoring the fact that during post-referendum negotiations the Scots have some trump cards of their own.

One of those cards is that if Westminster insists that UK will be the continuator state of the United Kingdom and refuse a currency deal, Scotland can beg off sharing the UK debt and let Westminster shoulder the entire estimated burden of £1.6 trillion by 2016/17. That would comply with the logic of rUK being a continuator state.  Holyrood has offered to accept partial liability on the UK debt but obviously only after negotiations that settle all issues, including division of assets. The markets likely would respect Scotland’s willingness to pay, but also calculate the punitive character of a refusal by Westminster to negotiate currency issues with the result that Scotland’s economy would be unshackled of UK liabilities.  In an effort to reassure the markets, the UK Treasury agreed earlier this year to cover all UK gilts in the event of Scottish independence, but did so assuming that Holyrood still would shoulder a portion of the UK debt.  Not so fast, as Holyrood will have its own demands in such negotiations.

Whatever the outcome on September 18th, the people of Scotland will have acted democratically and peacefully to determine the fate of their nation.  That itself will be a significant achievement under the rule of law.

Guest Post: The Crimes Against Humanity Initiative and Recent Developments towards a Treaty

by Leila Nadya Sadat and Douglas J. Pivnichny

[Leila Nadya Sadat is the Henry H. Oberschelp Professor of Law and Israel Treiman Faculty Fellow at Washington University School of Law and the Director of the Whitney R. Harris World Law Institute. Douglas J. Pivnichny is the Whitney R. Harris World Law Institute Fellow at Washington University School of Law and a masters candidate in International Law at the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies in Geneva.]

Last month, the International Law Commission moved the topic of crimes against humanity from its long-term to its active agenda and appointed Professor Sean D. Murphy as Special Rapporteur. This was a crucial step in filling a normative gap that has persisted despite the development of international criminal law during the past decades:  the absence of a comprehensive global treaty on crimes against humanity. Although this post will not rehearse the reasons a treaty is needed, an eloquent case for a treaty can be found in an important 1994 article by Cherif Bassiouni.

Professor Murphy’s charge is to prepare a First Report, which will begin the process of proposing Draft Articles for Commission’s approval. The Commission first included the topic of crimes against humanity on its Long-Term Programme of Work in 2013 on the basis of a report prepared by Professor Murphy.  This report identified four key elements a new convention should have: a definition adopting Article 7 of the Rome Statute; an obligation to criminalize crimes against humanity; robust inter-state cooperation procedures; and a clear obligation to prosecute or extradite offenders (para. 8). The report also emphasized how a new treaty would complement the Rome Statute (paras. 9-13).

The Crimes Against Humanity Intiative
(more…)

Is the AUMF Limited to the United States Armed Forces?

by Kevin Jon Heller

Bobby Chesney has responded at Lawfare to my most recent post on the CIA and the public-authority justification. It’s an excellent response from an exceedingly smart scholar. I still disagree, but Bobby’s post really hones in on the differences between us. I’ll leave it to readers to decide who has the better of the argument.

I do, however, want to discuss Bobby’s reading of the AUMF. In his view — echoing John Dehn’s comments — it is possible to read the AUMF to authorise the use of force by both the military and the CIA:

I’m not actually agreeing with [Kevin's] AUMF reading. Yes, Section 2′s title refers to the armed forces, but the actual text of section 2 is not so limited (in contrast to the similar section of the 2002 Iraq AUMF, for example, which did refer explicitly and only to armed forces). 

I confess that I find this argument baffling. It’s true that Section 2(a) of the AUMF does not mention the Armed Forces, providing only that “the President is authorized to use all necessary and appropriate force against those  nations, organizations, or persons he determines planned, authorized, committed, or aided the terrorist attacks that occurred on September 11,  2001.” Read in context, however, I don’t see how it is possible to plausibly maintain that the word “force” in Section 2(a) does not specifically refer to force by the United States Armed Forces.

First, the AUMF is a Joint Resolution whose purpose, according to its very first line, is “[t]o authorize the use of United States Armed Forces against those responsible for the recent attacks launched against the United States.”

Second, Section 1 of the AUMF (“Short Title”) says the joint resolution “may be cited as the “Authorization for Use of  Military Force.” We do not traditionally associate with the CIA, even if the CIA occasionally engages in paramilitary activity. (And the “para” in paramilitary is important in this context.)

Third, Section 2 of the AUMF, which contains the “force” language upon which Bobby (and John) rely, is entitled “Authorization For Use of United States Armed Forces.” I know no theory of statutory interpretation nor any canon of statutory construction that would suggest “force” in the first paragraph of a section entitled “Authorization For Use of United States Armed Forces” should be read in context to refer to something other than the use of force by the Armed Forces.

Fourth, Section 2(b)(1) provides that “[c]onsistent with section 8(a)(1) of the War Powers Resolution, the Congress declares that this section is intended to constitute specific statutory authorization within the meaning of section 5(b) of the War Powers Resolution.” Section 8(a)(1) of the WPR provides as follows (emphasis mine)…

Three Reasons Why Obama Will Not (and Should Not) Seek Congressional Okay for ISIL Strikes

by Peter Spiro

It looks like President Obama learned his lesson. Last summer he decided to seek Congress’s advance approval for a strike against Syria’s chemical weapons capabilities. Political support for the operation evaporated. Obama looked weak and waffly (the decision was taken on a dime after a 45-minute South Lawn stroll with chief of staff Denis McDonough, almost certainly not vetted through the legal chain of command). Even though the ISIS operation will probably be more significant than what he had in mind for Assad, he won’t be looking for a formal nod from Congress.

In the run-up to the decision (which will likely be announced in his speech Wednesday night) there emerged a nearly unanimous chorus of voices — scholars, lawmakers, commentators — arguing in favor of advance congressional authorization. Among law profs, those pressing the case included Jack Goldsmith, Harold Koh, Ilya Somin, Steve Vladeck and Jennifer Daskal. Tim Kaine and Ted Cruz agreed on this one. The Atlantic’s Conor Freidersdorf had this stinging column pressing for a congressional mandate.

Why Obama is better served bucking this consensus:

1. Authorization would not have been easy to get. Most sane people agree that ISIS presents a threat that needs to be addressed. Prospective military action against the entity enjoys high levels of US popular support.

But that doesn’t mean Congress would have handed Obama the authorization he sought, even on a narrowly tailored basis. Remember, Congress is totally dysfunctional. GOP members facing reelection in November may be loath to do anything that supports the President. The tradition of politics stopping at the water’s edge seems quaint.

If an authorization measure were voted down, Obama would have boxed himself into a corner. Either he would have backed down, with US (and global) security taking the hit. Or he could have persisted with the action on a lonely and legally shaky basis. Although he would surely have framed a request for congressional authorization as constitutionally discretionary (as he did with Syria), that line would have rung hollow in the wake of rejection. This is a context in which actions speak louder than words. The legitimacy of any military action following a failed authorization would have been undermined at home.

And what would Congress’s approval have won him, assuming he got it? Politically, not much. Congress’s favorability ratings are at all-time lows (it is less popular than the U.S. going communist). Anything that can get through Congress now must by definition be so popular that Congress’s approval is itself like a single candle on a crowded cake. That small reward wasn’t worth the significant downside risk of a rebuffed request.

2. Seeking congressional okay would have set a terrible precedent for the future. Leaving aside direct attacks on the United States, there won’t be an easier case for military strikes than against the Islamic State, whose brutality has provoked international revulsion. Most future cases will involve adversaries not nearly so scary. The rise of Rand Paul Republicanism will raise the bar for authorizing any military action, however well advised. Imagine a close case arising during a GOP primary season. If President Obama had asked today, his successors would have had to ask tomorrow.

In that respect, he’s lucky that the Syria CW episode mooted out before it developed any further (it almost certainly would have gone badly). As an incomplete episode it didn’t set down a constitutional precedent. It’s a lot easier to walk back from Rose Garden statement than from a closed constitutional case-file.

3. Obama has ample constitutional authority for not securing congressional authorization. There has been a lot of hair splitting on constitutional war powers lately, the unfortunate byproduct perhaps of the AUMF experience. But the basic dividing line (as nicely argued in the OLC Libya opinion) is between real wars (requiring advance congressional authorization) and everything else (not requiring it). Whatever the ISIL operation ends up being, it is unlikely to be of the former description, involving high risk of significant casualties, huge appropriations that Congress can’t refuse, and escalation. It won’t be “war” for constitutional purposes. I don’t need Article II for this. I’ll take 200+ years of history.

There will be inevitable carping about the refusal to seek the congressional okay here. But that has always been the case, even with respect to quick and painless military action. It will be a little louder than usual this time around. There are the contingencies of this particular operation, which is likely to be complicated and drawn out, with no immediate prospects of erasing the problem. There may also be a broader shift against using force in the wake of Iraq and Afghanistan. But Obama will weather the denunciations, just as have all of his predecessors, validating the constitutional order in the process.

A Response to Bobby Chesney — Part II (Article II)

by Kevin Jon Heller

In the first part of my response to Bobby, I argued (after meandering around a bit) that Title 50’s “fifth function” provision cannot be used to authorise the CIA to kill Americans overseas — a necessary condition of any argument that the CIA is entitled to a public-authority justification with regard to 18 USC 1119, the foreign-murder statute. (Bobby kindly responds here.) I thus ended that post by asking where else that authority might be found.

Which brings me to the second argument Bobby makes: namely, that the President’s authority to permit the CIA to kill Americans overseas derives from Article II, Section 2 of the Constitution, which deems him the Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces. Here is what Bobby writes:

OK, fine, but aren’t covert action programs bound to comply with federal statutes, including 1119?

They sure are, and it is important to the continuing legitimacy of the covert-action instrument that it be subject to American law in this way. But the question remains: Does the covert drone strike program violate 1119 as applied to al-Aulaqi? Kevin argues that it does because the AUMF should be read to exclude CIA, and thus that section 1119 is violated, and thus that the requirement that covert action programs comply with statutes is violated too. I don’t agree, however, for I don’t think the AUMF is the only possible domestic law explanation for the CIA’s role; Article II likely applies here as well, and performs the same function as the AUMF in this respect.

There are two ways to read Bobby’s argument. The first is that the President’s Article II authority simply empowers him to ignore duly-enacted federal statutes like the foreign-murder statute. That is John Yoo’s position, encapsulated so memorably when he said, with regard to the federal torture statute, that the President could authorise an interrogator to crush the testicles of a detained terrorist’s child if he felt it was necessary to protect the United States. I doubt Bobby shares Yoo’s sentiments.

The second way to read Bobby’s argument is as follows: (1) the President cannot rely on Article II to violate duly-enacted federal statutes; but (2) he can rely on his Article II authority to authorise the CIA to kill Americans overseas, which means (3) the CIA has the same public authority to kill that the military has under the AUMF; therefore, (4) the CIA is no less entitled than the military to the public-authority justification with regard to the foreign-murder statute.

That is a much more sophisticated argument, and no doubt the one that Bobby endorses. Unfortunately, once we understand the nature of the public-authority justification, it’s simply a more sophisticated way of arguing that Article II permits the President to violate a duly-enacted statute…

Why Title 50 Does Not Provide the CIA with a Public Authority Justification

by Kevin Jon Heller

As I noted in my previous post, my co-blogger Deborah Pearlstein has suggested that a covert operation authorised by the President under Title 50 of the US Code could function as the CIA’s equivalent to the AUMF in terms of its authority to kill an American citizen overseas. Here is what she has argued:

Here, even if the AUMF was not meant to authorize the CIA to do anything, the CIA has broad authority under Title 50 of the U.S. Code to engage in operations overseas, provided it has relevant Presidential approval and complies with requirements of congressional notification. In other words, I can imagine a straightforward explanation for why such an exception would apply to the CIA as well. That it is not evident from the memo is, I suspect, far more a function of redaction than absence of legal authority.

With respect to Deborah, I don’t think the Title 50 argument works. There is no question that 50 USC 3093 provides the President with considerable authority to authorise “a covert action by departments, agencies, or entities of the United States Government” that he determines “is necessary to support identifiable foreign policy objectives of the United States and is important to the national security of the United States.” But the President’s authority is not unlimited; indeed, Title 50 contains two important restrictions that very strongly suggest the President could not legally have authorised the CIA to kill an American citizen overseas, and particularly not Anwar al-Awlaki.

The first limit is provided by 50 USC 3093(e), which defines “covert action” for purposes of Title 50 generally (emphasis mine):

As used in this subchapter, the term “covert action” means an activity or activities of the United States Government to influence political, economic, or military conditions abroad, where it is intended that the role of the United States Government will not be apparent or acknowledged publicly, but does not include 

(1) activities the primary purpose of which is to acquire intelligence, traditional counterintelligence activities, traditional activities to improve or maintain the operational security of United States Government programs, or administrative activities;

(2) traditional diplomatic or military activities or routine support to such activities;

(3) traditional law enforcement activities conducted by United States Government law enforcement agencies or routine support to such activities; or

(4) activities to provide routine support to the overt activities (other than activities described in paragraph (1), (2), or (3)) of other United States Government agencies abroad.

The US government has consistently argued that its drone program, both in Yemen and elsewhere, only targets combatants who are involved in a non-international armed conflict between the US and al-Qaeda. While serving as the State Department’s Legal Advisor, for example, Harold Koh claimed that “as a matter of international law, the United States is in an armed conflict with al-Qaeda and its associate forces,” and that “in this ongoing armed conflict, the United States has the authority under international law, and the responsibility to its citizens, to use force, including lethal force, to defend itself, including by targeting persons such as high-level al-Qaeda leaders who are planning attacks.” Indeed, the new White Paper, like the previous memorandum, emphasizes (p. 12) that “the frame of reference” for whether the CIA is entitled to the public-authority justification regarding Anwar al-Awlaki “is that the United States is currently in the midst of an armed conflict, and the public-authority justification would encompass an operation such as this one were it conduct by the military consistent with the laws of war.”

There is no question, then, that the US government views the use of lethal force against an American citizen who is “a senior leader of al-Qaida or its associated forces” — such as al-Awlaki — as a “traditional military activity.” But if that’s the case, 50 USC 3093(e)(2) specifically prohibits the President from relying on Title 50 to authorise the CIA to engage in such targeting.

Moreover, even if it could somehow be argued that targeting “a senior leader of al-Qaida or its associated forces” in the “armed conflict” between those forces and the US is not a “traditional military activity,” 50 USC 3093(a)(5) would still prohibit the President from authorising the CIA to kill any such leaders who is an American citizen. Section 3093(a)(5) provides that a Presidential finding “may not authorize any action that would violate the Constitution or any statute of the United States.” The foreign-murder statute, 18 USC 1119, is undeniably a “statute of the United States.” The President thus has no authority whatsoever to authorise the CIA to violate section 1119.

That conclusion, it is important to note, is not affected by whether 18 USC 1119 incorporates the public-authority justification — which I believe it does. In order to claim the justification as a defence to a violation of section 1119, the defendant must obviously have the requisite public authority to kill an American overseas. And 50 USC 3093(e)(2) and 50 USC 3093(a)(5) each independently deny the President the right to bestow that authority on the CIA via a covert-action finding under Title 50.

In short, and contrary to the new White Paper, neither the AUMF nor Title 50 provide the CIA with a get-out-of-jail-free card with regard to 18 USC 1119. So unless there is some other source of the CIA’s supposed public authority to kill Americans overseas — and I can’t imagine what it could be — Anwar al-Awlaki’s killing by the CIA is indeed properly described as murder.

NOTE: Marcy Wheeler offers some similar thoughts here.

Rolling Stone on Chevron’s Dirty Tricks in the Lago Agrio Case

by Kevin Jon Heller

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged about Chevron’s “Rainforest Chernobyl” — the company’s deliberate dumping of more than 18 billion gallons of toxic waste-water into Ecuador’s Lago Agrio region. But I want to call readers’ attention to a blockbuster new article in Rolling Stone that details the wide variety of dirty tricks Chevron has used to avoid paying the multi-billion-dollar judgment against it in Ecuador. (The plaintiffs filed the suit in the US. Chevron demanded that it be moved to Ecuador, where it expected a friendly government to ensure it would win.) Here is my favorite snippet, discussing the $2 million Chevron paid one of its contractors to create fake laboratories the company could use to “test” Lago Agrio field samples:

We don’t know everything about the soil-and-water testing phase of the trial. But we do have hours of recorded conversations between Santiago Escobar, an Ecuadorean living in Toronto, and a Chevron contractor named Diego Borja.

Borja was already part of the Chevron extended family when the company hired him to transport coolers containing the company’s field samples to supposedly independent labs. His uncle, a 30-year Chevron employee, owned the building housing Chevron’s Ecuadorean legal staff. As he carried out his work, Borja collected more than one kind of dirt. In recorded calls to Escobar in 2009, Borja explained how Chevron’s Miami office helped him set up front companies posing as independent laboratories. (Among his Miami bosses was Reis Veiga, one of the lawyers indicted for corruption in the 1997 Texaco remediation settlement with the Ecuadorean government.)

Borja contacted Escobar because he thought his information might be valuable to the other side. “Crime does pay,” he told Escobar. In the calls, Borja suggests Chevron feared exposure and prosecution under the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act. “If [a U.S.] judge finds out that the company did cooked things, he’ll say, ‘Tomorrow we better close them down,’ you get it?” He boasted of possessing correspondence “that talks about things you can’t even imagine … things that can make the Amazons [plaintiffs] win this just like that.” In awe of Chevron’s power, Borja said the company has “all the tools in the world to go after everyone. Because these guys, once the trial is over, they’ll go after everyone who was saying things about it.” Still, the benefits of working with them were great. “Once you’re a partner of the guys,” he told Escobar, “you’ve got it made. It’s a brass ring this big, brother.”

Borja’s brass ring was ultimately worth over $2 million. Sometime around 2010, he was naturalized at Chevron’s expense and moved into a $6,000-a-month gated community near Chevron’s headquarters in San Ramon, California. Why the company finds his loyalty worth so much is hard to say, because Judge Kaplan blocked further discovery. When asked if Borja is still being paid by the company, Chevron spokesman Morgan Crinklaw said, “Not as far as I know.”

“Kaplan gave Chevron unlimited access to our files,” says Donziger, “but allowed them to maintain a complete iron curtain of privilege over everything related to the misconduct of non-attorneys like Borja and its network of espionage operatives.”

I’m skeptical the Lago Agrio plaintiffs will ever receive the justice they deserve — particularly in a US courtroom. But at least articles like this one help illuminate the lengths to which multinationals like Chevron will go to avoid being held responsible for their actions.

It’s Time to Reconsider the Al-Senussi Case. (But How?)

by Kevin Jon Heller

As readers are no doubt aware, Libya has descended into absolute chaos. As of now, there is quite literally no functioning central government:

Libya’s newly elected parliament has reappointed Abdullah al-Thinni as prime minister, asking him to form a “crisis government” within two weeks even as the authorities acknowledged they had lost control of “most” government buildings in Tripoli.

Senior officials and the parliament, known as the Council of Representatives, were forced last month to relocate from the capital to Tubruq in eastern Libya after fighting broke out between the Dawn of Libya coalition, led by brigades from the city of Misurata, and rival militias based at the city’s international airport.

Since then the airport has fallen to the Islamist-affiliated coalition and Tripoli appears to have slipped almost completely out of the government’s grip.

Mr Thinni’s administration said in a statement posted on its Facebook page late on Sunday night that it had lost control of Tripoli and that its officials had been unable to access their offices, which had been occupied by opposition militias.

“We announce that most ministries, state agencies and institutions in Tripoli are out of our control,” said the government. Some state buildings had been occupied by armed groups and staff, including ministers and undersecretaries, had been threatened and prevented from entering, it said.

“It has become difficult for them to go to their offices without facing either arrest or assassination, especially after several armed formations announced threats against them, attacked their homes and terrorised their families,” the statement added.

The collapse of the Libyan government comes less than five weeks after the ICC Appeals Chamber unanimously decided that the case against Abdullah al-Senussi was inadmissible. In its view at the time — to quote the summary of the admissibility decision — “the case against Mr Al-Senussi is being investigated by Libya and… Libya is not unwilling or unable genuinely to carry out the investigation.”

Whatever the merits of the Appeals Chamber’s decision at the time — and they’re limited — the situation on the ground in Libya has obviously rendered it obsolete. It is now impossible to argue that the Libyan government is “able” to effectively prosecute al-Senussi, no matter how willing it might be. The Court thus needs to reconsider the admissibility of his case sooner rather than later.

Fortunately, the drafters of the Rome Statute anticipated just such a situation. Art. 19(10) specifically provides that  “[i]f the Court has decided that a case is inadmissible under article 17, the Prosecutor may submit a request for a review of the decision when he or she is fully satisfied that new facts have arisen which negate the basis on which the case had previously been found inadmissible under article 17.” The OTP should submit such a request as soon as possible; whatever hesitation it once had about forcefully asserting the admissibility of the case, there is now no possible justification for not trying to take control of it.

But what about al-Senussi? Can he challenge the inadmissibility decision? It’s a very complicated issue — but I think the best answer, regrettably, is that he cannot…

Did Vladimir Putin Call for the Statehood of Eastern Ukraine?

by Chris Borgen

As the military situation in eastern Ukraine become more violent with the incursion of Russian troops, Vladimir Putin has called for talks to determine the statehood of eastern Ukraine. The Interpreter, a website that translates and analyzes Russian media reports, states that in an interview on Russian television Putin said:

We must immediately get down to a substantial, substantive negotiations, and not on technical questions, but on the questions of the political organization of society and statehood in the south-east of Ukraine with the purpose of unconditional provision of the lawful interests of people who live there.

[Translation by website The Interpreter.]

In its analysis of this somewhat cryptic quote, the Interpreter posits:

It is not clear how Putin envisions the “Novorossiya” entity, but given a presentation by his aide Sergei Glazyev yesterday at a conference in Yalta attended by Russian-backed separatists and European far-right party figures, there is a notion to make the amalgamated “Donetsk People’s Republic” and “Lugansk People’s Republic” a member of the Customs Union of which Russia, Belarus, and Kazakhstan are members.

For more on the Eurasian Customs Union, see this previous post.

As for the rhetoric of an independent Novorossiya, described in Foreign Policy as  the rebirth of a forgotton geopolitical term, Anne Applebaum wrote the following this past week in a grim article on Slate:

In the past few days, Russian troops bearing the flag of a previously unknown country, Novorossiya, have marched across the border of southeastern Ukraine. The Russian Academy of Sciences recently announced it will publish a history of Novorossiya this autumn, presumably tracing its origins back to Catherine the Great. Various maps of Novorossiya are said to be circulating in Moscow. Some include Kharkov and Dnipropetrovsk, cities that are still hundreds of miles away from the fighting. Some place Novorossiya along the coast, so that it connects Russia to Crimea and eventually to Transnistria, the Russian-occupied province of Moldova. Even if it starts out as an unrecognized rump state—Abkhazia and South Ossetia, “states” that Russia carved out of Georgia, are the models here—Novorossiya can grow larger over time.

Applebaum notes that for Novorossiya to move from Putin’s rhetoric to political reality will require more than the actions of the Russian army.  “Novorossiya will not be stable as long as it is inhabited by Ukrainians who want it to stay Ukrainian,” she explains.  Moreover, “Novorossiya will also be hard to sustain if it has opponents in the West.” Further sanctions will likely be the centerpiece of the EU and U.S. response.

But while some would say “international law is useless without sanction,” in this case I believe that economic sanctions are not enough without international legal argument.  For the moment, Russia’s strategy seems to be an amalgamation of stealth invasion and quasi-legal rhetoric. The “stealth”  part of the invasion is to maintain a fig-leaf of deniability and to make the uprising in eastern Ukraine seem homegrown as opposed to Russian-led. This strategy of stealth interlocks with Russia’s rhetoric, a quasi-legal/ nationalist amalgamation that attempts to persuade those who can be persuaded and befuddle those who cannot.

However, we are at an inflection point where an important new argument (the apocryphal “once and future Novorissya” argument, in this case) is being sent up like a trial balloon. Perhaps a more accurate metaphor is the idiom: “send it up the flagpole and see who salutes.” Putin and his advisers are sending the flag of Novorissya, figuratively and literally, up the flagpole.

If the EU and U.S. do not want another South Ossetia or Transnistria, then they will have to actively engage Russia’s arguments over what is “right.”  Consider this statement by Putin this week, explaining why the events in Eastern Ukraine confirm that Russia was correct in its actions in Crimea:

Now, I think, it is clear to everyone – when we look at the events in Donbass, Lugansk and Odessa – it is now clear to everyone what would have happened to Crimea, if we had not taken corresponding measures to ensure that people could freely express their will. We did not annex it, we did not seize it, we gave people the opportunity to express themselves and make a decision and we treated that decision with respect.

I feel we protected them.

If the illegality of Russia’s actions is not stressed, if the denial of Ukraine‘s right of self-determination is not emphasized, then the only thing many will hear is the rhetoric of those trying to slice off successive pieces of Ukraine. That rhetoric, unanswered, can reinforce the beliefs of those who want to dismember Ukraine. For others, it may make it seem as if maybe Russia “has a point” and muddy the waters. In both instances, effective sanctions could be perceived as just another example of might overcoming right.  And, rather than resolving the situation, the seeds for further conflict would be planted.

While effective sanctions enforce norms, clear norms strengthen sanctions.