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The Fog of Technology and International Law

by Duncan Hollis

[Note: This piece is cross-posted to the SIDIblog, the blog of the Italian Society of International Law, which was kind enough to ask for my views on these topics; for those interested in their other posts (in multiple languages), see here.]

 

  • War is the realm of uncertainty; three quarters of the factors on which action in war is based are wrapped in a fog of greater or lesser uncertainty.

Carl von Clausewitz, Vom Kriege (1832), Bk. 1, Ch. 3.

  • It is a cruel and bitter truth that in the fog of war generally and our fight against terrorists specifically, mistakes — sometimes deadly mistakes — can occur.  But one of the things that sets America apart from many other nations, one of the things that makes us exceptional is our willingness to confront squarely our imperfections and to learn from our mistakes. 

U.S. President Barack Obama, April 23, 2015

I arrived in Rome for a month-long visit at LUISS Universita Guido Carli to find a country wrestling with the tragic news of the death of one of its own – Giovanni Lo Porto.  As President Obama himself announced, the United States inadvertently killed Lo Porto and Warren Weinstein, a USAID contractor, as part of a January drone strike targeting an al Qaeda compound in the Afghanistan-Pakistan border region.   Both aid workers were Al Qaeda hostages; Lo Porto had been kidnapped in 2012, while Weinstein was abducted in 2011.

The story made global headlines for Obama’s apology that the United States had not realized these hostages were hidden on-site, and thus their deaths were a tragic mistake:

As President and as Commander-in-Chief, I take full responsibility for all our counterterrorism operations, including the one that inadvertently took the lives of Warren and Giovanni.  I profoundly regret what happened.  On behalf of the United States government, I offer our deepest apologies to the families.

President Obama directed a “full review” of the strike, and there are calls for other investigations as well, including here in Italy.

Amidst this tragedy – and some of the apparent missteps by the U.S. (not to mention Pakistani) governments (painfully noted by Mr. Weinstein’s family) — there is something remarkable in the Obama statement.  Unlike so many other reports of U.S. errors or controversial programs in recent years (think Wikileaks or this guy), here was the U.S. Government, on its own, declassifying and disclosing the facts surrounding a drone strike that by all accounts appears to have included a major mistake in its execution.  For lawyers, moreover, such disclosures are critical – without them we are left with what I’d call the “fog of technology” which precludes the application of the rule of law in an open and transparent way.

Clausewitz’s concept of the “fog of war” is simple, and well known:  it describes the situational uncertainty that military actors face, their lack of perfect information about an adversaries’ intentions and capabilities (not to mention incomplete knowledge of their allies’ intentions and capabilities).   What looks good on paper before an armed conflict may prove unworkable as the conditions of war – physical hardship, the need for immediate decision-making, emotional strains, etc. – complicate decision-making, and with it, the achievement of military objectives.

I use the term “fog of technology” to identify a similar situational uncertainty that lawyers face when confronting the deployment of new technology.  Simply put, new technology can cloud how lawyers understand the content of law.  Of course, lawyers can assess new technology and find it analogous to prior cases, allowing for what I call “law by analogy”, where the nature or function of a new technology is regulated according to how an analogous technology or function has been regulated in the past.  But the more novel the technology – the more it can function in non-analogous ways, or with effects previously unimagined – the more lawyers may (or at least should) struggle with interpreting and applying the law to it.

Now, the fog of technology can emerge in all sorts of legal systems and all sorts of contexts from 3D printing to nanotechnology to driverless cars.  But President Obama’s explicit reference to Clausewitz makes me think about it in the particular context of warfare itself.  We are very much in a fog of technology when it comes to applying law to modern conflicts, whether it’s the remotely-piloted drone that killed Lo Porto and Weinstein, Stuxnet, or rumors of truly autonomous weapon systems (or “killer robots”).  Which domestic and international legal frameworks regulate the deployment of these technologies?  Does international humanitarian law (IHL) govern these operations, and, if so, does it do so exclusively, or do other regimes like international human rights apply as well?  To the extent a specific regime applies – IHL – how do its rules on things like distinction or neutrality apply to technologies and operations that may have no prior analogues?  More specifically, how does the law treat specific cases – was the killing of Lo Porto and Weinstein, tragic but legal, or was it an internationally wrongful act?

Of course, technology is not the only reason we have such questions.  Indeed, several scholars (most notably Michael Glennon) have identified the idea of a “fog of law.”  The rise of new types of non-state actors such as Al Qaeda continue to generate legal uncertainty; more than a decade after September 11, debates persist over whether and when U.S. counter-terrorism operations fall within a criminal law framework, or, as the U.S. insists, within the laws of armed conflict.   Similarly, when the United States targets and kills a U.S. citizen abroad (such as Ahmed Farouq, the American affiliated with Al Qaeda, who died in the same strike that killed Lo Porto and Weinstein), the question is not so much how the technology did this, but whether the U.S. Constitution regulates such killing.

Still, I think there are features of technology itself that make lawyering in this context significantly more difficult.  My co-blogger Ken Anderson recently summarized a few of the most important aspects in a recent post at the Hoover Institution.  He identifies several commonalities among cyberweapons, drones, and killer robots:  (i) their ability to operate remotely; (ii) their capacity for extreme precision (at least when compared to earlier weapons); and (iii) the diminished ease of attribution.  Of these, I think the problem of attribution is foundational; law will have little to say if legal interpreters and decision-makers do not know how the technology has been deployed, let alone how it functions or even that it exists in the first place.   In such cases, the fog of technology is tangible.

Consider the story of drones and international law. (more…)

Guest Post: Iran’s Relief Ship and the Blockade of Yemen 

by Eugene Kontorovich

[Eugene Kontorovich is Professor of Law at Northwestern University School of Law.]

Iran has announced that it will be sending a ship with humanitarian supplies to Yemen, departing the evening of May 10th. Many parts of the Yemeni conflict raise law of war questions, from the legality of the pan-Arab intervention to questions about the use of force and civilian casualties. The Iranian relief ship puts into focus the blockade maintained by Saudi Arabia and its allies, with logistical and intelligence support from the United States.

Saudi Arabia imposed a blockade of Yemen’s ports from the start of the campaign. Since then, the humanitarian situation has become dire, according to many reports, with significant shortages of medicine, food and water.  (Saudi Arabia also bombed the Sanaa airport to prevent Iranian relief planes from landing.) According to Oxfam, “there is no exit” for Yemen’s 10 million people, half of whom are already going hungry.

Blockade is an entirely valid military tactic, which necessarily puts pressure on the civilian economy and well-being. However, there is a theory, which in recent years has attracted considerable support, that international law prohibits blockades in a non-international armed conflict (NIAC). This limitation on blockade has been discussed almost exclusively in connection with Israel’s blockade of Gaza. Assuming that the Yemeni conflict is a NIAC, as most observers seem to view it (a civil war with foreign assistance to both sides), the Saudi blockade raises the same questions as the Gaza blockade, as Tehran has gleefully noted.

To be sure, considerable authority concludes that blockade is entirely permitted in NIACs. The Saudi blockade gives a good occasion to revisit the debate, which has thus far proceeded with an incomplete account of state practice.

Israel’s blockade of Gaza appears to be the first one where said to be illegal because of the nature of the conflict. In the Gaza context, the illegality argument was based largely on what was said to be scanty affirmative precedent for such actions in such contexts, though a lack of precedents does not normally create a prohibition in international law.

Though it was not mentioned in the extensive discussions of Israel’s Gaza policy, there is not only historical precedent, but also contemporary practice supporting NIAC blockades. In particular, Georgia’s blockade of the separatist Abkhazia region, which has been in effect since 2008. The details of the blockade are murky, in part because it has generated not only no international protest, but also no international interest. It is clear that the blockade has been used to interdict neutral vessels carrying non-military supplies. Indeed, the blockade is so well accepted, that the commentators on the legality of the Gaza blockade appear to have been entirely unaware of it.

Then there is Sri Lanka’s blockade of Tamil-held areas during their decades-long civil war. Douglas Guilfoyle, the author of one of the major analyses of the legality of the Gaza blockade, dismissed the relevance of the Sri Lankan precedent:

Most reported maritime interceptions appear to have occurred with Sri Lanka’s territorial sea or contiguous zone, ostensibly on suspicion the vessels were engaged in smuggling weapons or supplies… The practice certainly involved no assertion of rights against neutral vessels on the high seas.

Unfortunately, this account appears to be mistaken on all major points. The blockade certainly applied to neutral ships carrying food and relief supplies, even under Red Cross emblem. Indeed, the blockade resulted in major shortages of basic necessities. The seizure Guilfoyle points to as being within the contiguous zone was, according to all other news accounts, well outside it (and was in any case after the cessation of hostilities and defeat of the Tamils). Nonetheless, the international community does not appear to even have questioned the legality of this blockade.

In another precedent that has not factored into the NIAC-blockade discussion, Indonesia imposed a naval blockade on East Timor when it invaded the territory in 1975, according to accounts of the conflict. Despite fairly strong international condemnation of the invasion itself, I have not found specific criticism of the legality of the blockade.

Incidentally, in 1992, a  “peace ship” carrying activists, Western politicians, and a slew of journalists was turned back by the Indonesian navy after attempting to symbolically challenge that blockade. In that incident, the ship turned back of its own accord after Indonesian threats to open fire; despite the strong international focus on the incident at the time, no one suggested the illegality of such actions in a NIAC.

There may be other recent state practice that has gone unnoticed as well. The episodes discussed here generated relatively little legal controversy – ironically, permissive precedent is most likely to go unnoticed. (The discussion’s of Israel’s blockade dwelt mostly on the United States blockade of Confederate ports in the Civil War and the France’s blockade of Algeria, rather than more current ones, no doubt because they attracted more attention, and better sourced in English and French publications than the Indonesian, Georgian and Sri Lankan measures.)

The blockades discussed here, including the Saudi one, all appear to proceed without all of the formality of the a traditional international armed conflict blockade; for example, it is not clear that there were formal declarations, and the blockaded enemy does not seem to have been always been recognized as a belligerent. This suggests state practice supports a less legally restrictive blockade regime for NIACs.

Thus if Riyadh and its allies are inclined to maintain the blockade, and intercept the Iranian relief ship, it has a strong legal basis. Of course, the Saudi blockade itself becomes part of the state practice on this issue, and on other blockade issues such as proportionality.  One may have thought that, prior state practice to the contrary, Gaza suggested an interest by some states in changing the rules about blockade in NIACs. The Yemen blockade, in force since late March, has not been denounced as illegal, suggesting that no new rule is taking shape.

In regards to the conduct of the blockade, it is interesting to note that Human Rights Watch today criticized the coalitions conduct of the blockade, in particular urging for allowing in fuel. The report, which is well worth reading for more detail on the naval blockade, paints an absolutely catastrophic picture of the situation in Yemen, with much of the population facing death by hunger, water shortage and associated diseases.

Interestingly, HRW does not challenge the legality of the blockade, or its apparently very narrow list of “free goods” (those permitted to pass the blockade after being subject to inspection). In particular, HRW does not call for the US or the UN to condemn the operation, as it has for other blockades. While HRW interestingly reports that the Saudi’s contraband list is not public (generally a legal problem for blockade), it also does not protest what appear to be its fairly comprehensive scope.

Whale Wars Seeks a New Forum: The U.S. Supreme Court

by Julian Ku

Sea Shepherd, the activist group that has been aggressively protesting Japanese whaling practices, has filed a very interesting petition for certiorari with the U.S. Supreme Court.  Readers may recall that Sea Shepherd was sued by a group representing Japanese whalers under the Alien Tort Statute (ATS).  The Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit held that Sea Shepherd’s actions of boarding the Japanese whalers and obstructing them could fall within the definition of “piracy” for the purposes of jurisdiction under the ATS.

The best argument for Sea Shepherd is that the definition of piracy adopted by the Ninth Circuit cannot meet the Supreme Court’s “Sosa” standard for requiring ATS claims to be “universal” and “specific” under international law.  I think there is some force to this argument, although I find their disparagement of the UN Convention of the Law of the Sea’s definition of piracy a little odd.  In any event, the question may turn on the definition of “private ends” that UNCLOS requires as an element of piracy.  I don’t have a strong view on this, but I refer our readers to Kevin’s critique of the Ninth Circuit conclusion that private ends can include political activism, and Eugene Kontorovich’s contrary view in support of the Ninth Circuit. The petition for certiorari smartly frames this as a “Sosa” issue, which would ordinarily mean that the uncertainty as to the applicability of “private ends” here should defeat ATS jurisdiction.  I am not sure the petitioners will get much traction, given the unusual and narrow facts of this case, but no doubt this case is worth watching.

U.S. Appeals Court Holds that “Domestic Takings” Can Violate International Law

by Julian Ku

As I continue to avoid grading my exams, I ran across this interesting recent case (Helmerich & Payne v. Venezuela) from the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit which considered whether Venezuela’s expropriation of a Venezuelan subsidiary of a U.S. corporation is a “taking in violation of international law” under Section 1605(a)(3) of the U.S. Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act. Helmerich & Payne, a U.S. based company, alleges that the government of Venezuela expropriated its Venezuelan subsidiary and sued Venezuela in U.S. court.  Ven

Helmerich & Payne, a U.S. based company, alleges that the government of Venezuela expropriated its Venezuelan subsidiary and sued Venezuela in U.S. court.  Venezuela argued that it is immune under the U.S. Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act because, among other reasons, its expropriation fo the subsidiary is not a “taking in violation of international law” for the purposes of the FSIA.  The FSIA does contain an exception for such claims in the so-called “Hickenlooper Amendment” to the FSIA enacted in the wake of the well-known Sabbatino case from the early 1960s.

What I find fascinating is the Court’s rejection of Venezuela’s argument that as a “domestic takings”, its expropriation of a Venezuelan company cannot violate international law, even if (as in this case) the sole shareholder of that Venezuelan company was a U.S. national and that there is plenty of evidence of anti-U.S. animus motivating the expropriation.      This is indeed a difficult question, and I am struck that the D.C. Circuit held that such a taking “could” violate international law but it relied solely on other U.S. court precedents (the 1962 Second Circuit decision in Sabbatino) and Section 712 of the Restatement of U.S. Foreign Relations Law.  This is pretty thin precedent, as the dissenting judge in this case points out.  I am not ordinarily one to yell for citation of international and foreign sources, but given the clear language of the FSIA (a “taking in violation of international law”), it is odd that no international or foreign sources were consulted.

In any event, I am curious whether any of our readers could help out by pointing to other precedents on the question of “domestic takings” under international law.  I have a feeling the DC Circuit reached the right conclusion here, but I am troubled by the lack of authority for its holding.

 

Guest Post: Stephen W. Preston on ‘The Legal Framework for the United States’ Use of Military Force since 9/11’ (ASIL Annual Meeting 2015)–Old Wine in New Bottles

by Elisa Freiburg

[Elisa Freiburg, LL.M. (LSE), is research associate for international law at the University of Potsdam and a doctoral candidate at the University of Heidelberg. Her research focuses on international human rights, development, international criminal law, and the use of force.]

On April 10, 2015, Stephen W. Preston, General Counsel at the United States Department of Defense, delivered a keynote speech at the ASIL Annual Meeting. This speech addressed a vast number of US policy issues and describes the current state of the US understanding of international law on the use of force – an understanding that should worry the international community.

A central issue and starting point of Preston’s speech was the 2001 Authorization for Use of Military Force (AUMF), which had been passed by the US Congress in the aftermath of 9/11 on September 14, 2001, and still, as of today almost 14 years later, continues to authorizes the US President under domestic law to use “all necessary and appropriate force against those nations, organizations, or persons” responsible for 9/11  (or those who harbored such organizations or persons), “in order to prevent any future acts of international terrorism against the United States”. In 2009, the Obama Administration filed a memorandum in the Guantánamo habeas litigation, arguing that the President’s authority to detain “persons who were part of, or substantially supported, Taliban or al Qaida forces or associated forces that are engaged in hostilities against the United States or its coalition partners” could be derived from the 2001 AUMF (thereby actually abandoning the “enemy combatant” argument of the Bush administration). By the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2012, US Congress endorsed this new formula which meant that the initial definition of the 2001 AUMF had been significantly expanded.

Certainly, the term “or associated forces” in that definition offers endless possibility to expand the scope of alleged detention authorities. Preston reiterated the interpretation by his predecessor, Jeh Johnson, who had held in 2012 that an associated force must be both (1) an organized, armed group that has entered the fight alongside al-Qa’ida (no mere alignment), and (2) a co-belligerent with al-Qa’ida in hostilities against the US or its coalition partners. Preston also referred to a public hearing before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee in May 2014, during which he had listed the groups and individuals against which the US were taking military action (in the sense of capture or lethal operations) under the 2001 AUMF, namely: al-Qa’ida, the Taliban and certain other terrorist or insurgent groups in Afghanistan; al-Qa’ida in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP) Yemen; individuals who are part of al-Qa’ida in Somalia and Libya; (since 2014) the Nusrah Front and the Khorasan Group in Syria; and “the group we fought in Iraq when it was known as al-Qa’ida in Iraq”, the Islamic State. This list already shows how the understanding of the original scope of the AUMF (applicable to those responsible for the 9/11 attacks) has been expanded since 2001. Though Preston tried to differentiate between the Islamic State and its ties with al-Qa’ida, and (theoretically) a totally new group arising “fully formed from the head of Zeus”, in practice one might wonder whether a new group in the region without any links to al-Qa’ida would not rather constitute an abnormality than the rule (at least for the foreseeable future), thereby allegedly allowing the US to include every terrorist group in the region into the AUMF scope if they wanted to. The inclusion of the Islamic State, which does not consider itself as forming part of al-Qa’ida, but as a new group, demonstrates that this line of association might last, from the US perspective if not forever, then for quite a while. (more…)

Guest Post: The Mediterranean Migrants Crisis and the Use of Force–Is There a Case for Destroying Smugglers’ Boats?

by Sondre Torp Helmersen and Niccolo Ridi

[Sondre Torp Helmersen is a PhD Candidate at the University of Oslo and Niccolò Ridi is a PhD Candidate at King’s College London and SNSF Research Assistant, The Graduate Institute, Geneva.]

1. Introduction

The recent disasters off the coasts of Italy have been the deadliest documented incidents in the troubled history of migration in the Mediterranean sea. The unprecedented number of lives lost at sea has prompted outrage in a number of countries and brought the Mediterranean migrants Crisis at the top of the European political agenda. After more than 1000 people drowned in ten days, a summit was finally called by the President of the European Council Donald Tusk.

The outcome of the meeting has been met with disappointment: outside of southern European Countries, plans for a more equitable distribution of migrants within the European Union states do not seem a priority, and the measures agreed upon focus merely on preventing departure. States have agreed on a number of measures comprising the tripling of the funding allocated to Europe’s Operation Triton (which had previously been called ‘woefully inadequate’ by the UN High Commissioner for Refugees Antonio Guterres), improved cooperation against smugglers networks, a generic pledge to do more for refugee protection and resettlement on a voluntary basis and, more controversially, actions directed to identify, capture and destroy vessels used by smugglers before they can be used.

The idea of targeting smugglers’ vessels was originally included in a 10-point action plan relying on the precedent of Operation Atalanta, which focuses on protecting on preventing piracy acts off the coast of Somalia. The adoption of such a strategy as a means of dealing with a migrants crisis, however, calls for careful consideration.

European leaders have asked EU High Representative for Foreign Affairs Federica Mogherini “to propose actions in order to capture and destroy the smugglers’ vessels before they can be used”. However, aside from rumours on the possible use of Apache helicopters targeting vessels from a range of 2 km, proposals on the use of force have so far been quite vague, and their wording careful enough to suggest that any action would have to be consistent with international law. Angela Merkel is reported to have suggested that either a Security Council resolution or the cooperation of a Libyan unity government would be prerequisite for these operations. French President François Hollande has said that France and the United Kingdom will push for a Security Council resolution. But how do these proposed operations fit in the traditional paradigms on the use of force?

2. The Legality of Using Force

The force envisaged by European leaders would apparently be used to destroy boats docked in African harbours or internal or territorial waters. This would violate the prohibition of using force in Article 2(4) of the UN Charter, unless one of its exceptions apply. Attacking the boats may alternatively be classified as ‘law enforcement’ rather than ‘use of force’ (e.g. Guyana v Suriname para 445), but such enforcement would be equally illegal in another State’s territory or internal or territorial waters in the absence of the same exceptions.

The exception for self-defence is not applicable, since there has been no “armed attack” against European countries from African States or people smugglers (the latter would be relevant if one recognises a right to self-defence against non-State actors). There may also be a right for States to use force to protect their nationals abroad, but European nationals are generally neither threatened by nor involved in the smuggling. The more or less debunked doctrine of ‘humanitarian intervention’ would also not be applicable, since, even if one could argue that parts of Africa and/or the Middle East are suffering humanitarian crises, destroying people smugglers’ ships would not help alleviate those crises.

The simplest approach would be to have the consent of the relevant African States. In most cases this would mean Libya. A complicating factor is the current split between the two governments that claim to represent the State of Libya. One is based in Tripoli, the other in Tobruk. This raises the question of which of these, if any, that may give valid consent to the use of force in Libyan harbours and waters. The Tobruk government controls the majority of Libya’s territory, and is recognised by most other States as Libya’s government. However the Tripoli government controls the country’s traditional capital as well a substantial part of its territory. Some territory is also controlled by other groups, including the (so-called) Islamic State. In short, the situation is murky. After having repeatedly offered its cooperation to help fight the smuggling operations, the Tripoli government has said it will not give consent to using force against people smugglers. The Tobruk government has apparently not yet taken an official position.

The second option is to get authorisation from the UN Security Council, under the UN Charter Chapter VII. Such authorisation was given for the EU’s anti-piracy ‘Operation Atalanta’ off the coast of Somalia. However in that case the authorisation was made conditional on the consent of the Somali government. A similar condition could be set now. Authorisation would also require the consent of the UNSC’s five permanent members. Relations are currently frosty between Russia and the West, and one reason is how the Western powers used and possibly abused the 2011 authorisation to use force in Libya. Indeed, President Hollande has conceded that some convincing might be necessary to overcome Russian reluctance. Another basic condition for the UNSC to authorise the use of force is that the force is necessary to “maintain or restore international peace and security” (Article 42), in the presence of either a “threat to” or “breach of” international peace or an “act of aggression” (Article 39). The most plausible route would be to argue that the situation in the Mediterranean constitutes a “threat to the peace”. This is not obvious from the text of Article 39, but the UNSC has interpreted the provision highly flexibly in the past, and may well do so again. For example, in Resolution 668 (on Iraq’s treatment of its Kurdish population), the UNSC held that “a massive flow of refugees towards and across international frontiers … threaten[s] international peace and security”.

Other legal issues may also arise. African countries’ failure to clamp down on people smugglers’ activities may constitute a violation of the ‘duty of vigilance’ (Armed Activities para 246-250), but such a violation does not in itself authorise other States to respond with armed force. Further, if we concede that international humanitarian law applies, smugglers’ boats would be entitled to protection as civilian objects. The smugglers’ activities should not qualify as ‘piracy’ under the UNCLOS Article 101. That would in any case only make them liable to seizure by force by any State on the high seas (Article 105). To argue that the provision allows to destroy their ships when docked in a harbour seems too much of a stretch.

3. Conclusion: Another Problem that Cannot be Solved by Force

While there are legal avenues open for using force against African people smugglers, a wholly different question is whether this would actually contribute to solving the problem. The former head of operations of Atalanta has recently stated that to destroy smugglers’ boats would not be effective, as the boats used tend to be cheap and easy to replace. In a broader perspective, it would help solve neither the underlying causes of migration, which include conflict and misrule in Africa, nor the causes of the EU’s attempts to restrict migration, which include its social and economic costs.

The EU does seem to envisage the destruction of boats as one element in a broader set of tools. What is lacking, though, is an attempt to improve the current European asylum framework and a more equitable distribution of migrants among the members of the Union. This remains one of the most controversial and polarising issues in the EU. It therefore comes as no surprise that states less concerned by the refugee flows, such as the UK, would lend their support to operations at sea but avoid committing to any plans for a new resettlement system.

Finally, but perhaps most importantly, the construction of a narrative that places emphasis on the criminal nature of smuggling activities is conspicuous. There is clearly no question that smugglers are criminals. The idea of a “war on smugglers” seems to fit the policy goal of avoiding to give the Triton operation a clear search and rescue mandate – indeed, one of the most significant concerns voiced by human rights groups. As Kenneth Roth has suggested, to reduce the problem to the “false pretext of criminality” is to ignore the gravity of the situations from which many migrants are fleeing, and the resulting readiness to go to any lengths to seek better opportunities on European soil.

Guest Post: The Complexity of International Trials Is Necessary

by Stuart Ford

[Stuart Ford is an Assistant Professor at The John Marshall Law School.]

International criminal trials are extremely complex. The average trial at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) takes 176 trial days and involves more than 120 witnesses and 2,000 exhibits. See here at table 2. In comparison, the average criminal trial in the United States takes less than one day, and even the average murder trial takes only three or four days. Id. at 53-55. As a result, there is a widespread belief that international criminal trials are too complex, and international tribunals have come under enormous pressure to reduce that complexity. See here at Part I.

The ICTY, for example, made a number of changes to the Rules of Evidence and Procedure that were intended to reduce trial complexity. See, for example, here. Professors Langer and Doherty found that those changes failed to reduce the complexity of the ICTY’s trials, but why? The answer is important because if we understood what drove the complexity of international trials, perhaps we could find ways to reduce their complexity (and the associated cost) without undermining the purposes of international criminal justice.

My latest project attempts to answer that question by taking the complexity data I collected for my earlier work on the efficiency of international criminal courts and using it to build a model of trial complexity. Trial complexity is the response variable in the model, while the explanatory variables were based on a number of hypotheses about what might cause trial complexity. The hypotheses are summarized below:

Hypotheses
H1 Complexity increases as the number of accused tried together increases
H2 Complexity increases as the seniority of the accused in the political and military hierarchy increases
H3 Complexity increases as the total number of counts in the indictment increases
H4 Complexity increases as the number of crime sites in the indictment increases
H5 Complexity increases if the accused are charged with genocide
H6 Complexity increases is the accused are charged as members of a joint criminal enterprise (JCE)
H7 Complexity increases if the accused are charged under a theory of superior responsibility
H8 Complexity decreases if the accused are charged as a direct perpetrators

The association between the hypotheses and trial complexity was then tested using a multiple regression model. The results of the regression are presented below:

Model Results
Variable Effect Size Significant
Total Accused   0.077 Yes
Seniority   0.065 Yes
Total Counts   0.0061 Yes
Crime Sites   0.0006 No
Genocide   0.066 No
JCE   0.048 No
Superior Responsibility -0.088 No
Direct Perpetrator -0.20 Yes

The results suggest that international tribunals will have a very hard time reducing the complexity of their trials. First of all, the number of crime sites is not significant in the model. Thus simply permitting the judge to impose limits on the number of crime sites in the indictment will probably not be successful. The number of counts in the indictment is statistically significant, but the magnitude of the effect is very small, indicating that any reduction in the overall complexity from imposing limits on the number of counts would also be small. Neither the mode of liability used to prosecute the accused or the legal qualification of the charge had a statistically significant effect on trial complexity either.

In contrast, two factors are both statistically significant and have a large impact on the resulting trial complexity. The most important factor is the accused’s seniority within their respective military or political hierarchies. The complexity that resulted from increasing the accused’s seniority by one level was approximately equivalent to adding an additional ten counts to the indictment. Direct perpetration also had a large impact on overall complexity. Accused who were alleged to be direct perpetrators of violence (i.e., they carried it out themselves), had significantly shorter trials.

The figure below shows the relative contributions of the various factors to the complexity of the median ICTY case. The seniority of the accused and whether the accused was a direct perpetrator account for the majority of the resulting trial complexity.

sford

So, what does this all mean? The results suggest that the key factor driving the complexity of international criminal trials is the geographic and organizational distance of the accused from the crimes they are alleged to be responsible for. Indirect perpetration, where the accused is alleged to be legally responsible for crimes that were physically carried out by others, is a hallmark of international criminal trials. Such individuals tend to be distant, both organizationally and geographically, from the violence that results. (In the model, this distance is captured by the seniority and direct perpetration variables.) As a result, proving that they are criminally responsible for the acts of the direct perpetrators is very difficult and accounts for the bulk of the trial’s complexity.

This has implications for the future of international trials. For at least the last ten years, international tribunals have sought to reduce trial complexity by tinkering with the rules of procedure and evidence. This is unlikely to ever be successful because changes in the procedure cannot change the accused’s seniority or whether that person is a direct perpetrator.

There are some ways that trial complexity could be reduced, but they all come with fairly serious drawbacks. For example, courts could significantly reduce complexity by trying only low-level direct perpetrators. For policy reasons, however, international courts have been encouraged to focus on the most senior leaders. See, for example, here at 71-74. The result is very complex and expensive trials.

Making international criminal law a strict liability regime would also probably reduce complexity significantly by reducing the difficulty of linking accused to crimes from which they are organizationally and geographically distant. The cost, however, would be too high. Strict liability crimes are only appropriate when the violation is not associated with strong moral condemnation and the penalties are small. Serious violations of international criminal law, however, involve both stiff penalties and strong moral condemnation. Importing strict liability into international criminal law would be extremely undesirable, even if it did dramatically reduce trial complexity.

Another possibility would be to embrace symbolic charging at international tribunals. My calculations (see here at 38-42) indicate that using symbolic charging rather than representative charging would have reduced trial complexity at the ICTY by, at best, about a quarter. At the same time, it would have made it significantly harder for the court to achieve its goals by limiting its ability to inform the historical record, promote post-conflict reconciliation, and help victims find closure. These are important goals of international criminal justice and they are probably not worth compromising for a relatively modest reduction in trial complexity.

Finally, an increased use of plea bargaining might be another way to reduce overall trial complexity by simply avoiding the need to have some trials. Unfortunately, it is unlikely to have a significant impact because the cases involving the most senior leaders are the cases least likely to be resolved through a plea bargain and simultaneously the largest source of trial complexity. Prosecutors, for instance, are probably reluctant to enter into a plea deal with the individuals they believe masterminded the crimes. At the same time, senior accused are more likely to see their prosecutions in political terms and thus less likely to accept a plea deal. Indeed, the majority of plea bargains at the ICTY were accepted by low to mid-level accused.

The last ten years have seen most international tribunals focus their efforts on the most senior leaders, almost none of whom are direct perpetrators of violence.   The unsurprising result is trials of enormous complexity. Moreover, this complexity is largely out of the hands of individual judges and prosecutors. It arises from the policy decision to focus on senior leaders, and the model suggests it cannot be meaningfully changed by tinkering with the rules of procedure and evidence. The cost and complexity of international criminal trials is a necessary consequence of that policy decision.

Guest Post: Landmark Sovereign Debt Restructuring Award

by Laurie Achtouk-Spivak and Paul Barker

[Laurie Achtouk-Spivak is a member of the Bar in Paris and New York. She acts as counsel and advocate in investment treaty arbitrations before ICSID as well as other arbitration institutions. She teaches investor-State dispute settlement at the University of Poitiers. She also regularly publishes on investment treaty arbitration and is a member of the Peer Review Board of the ICSID Review. Paul Barker is a member of the Bar in New York. He has acted as counsel to States in ICSID arbitrations and international proceedings arising out of sovereign debt restructurings. His publications and research interests include the standard of review and legitimate regulatory interests in investment treaty arbitration, and transnational human rights litigation. The authors were members of Cleary Gottlieb’s counsel team for the Hellenic Republic in the Poštová arbitration. The views expressed here are their own and do not necessarily reflect those of their firm, the Hellenic Republic or any of their firm’s other clients.]

On 9 April 2015, an International Centre for Settlement of Investment Disputes (“ICSID”) arbitral tribunal dismissed a case arising out of Greece’s sovereign debt exchange for lack of jurisdiction. The landmark decision is the first time that an ICSID tribunal has declined jurisdiction over interests in sovereign bonds.

The award was made in Poštová banka, a.s. and ISTROKAPITAL SE v. Hellenic Republic, a bilateral investment treaty (“BIT”) arbitration initiated in 2013 by a Slovak bank and its former Cypriot shareholder under the Slovak Republic-Hellenic Republic BIT (“Slovakia-Greece BIT”) and the Cyprus-Hellenic Republic BIT. The claimants had sought compensation for illegal expropriation, failure to accord fair and equitable treatment, and violation of umbrella clauses in respect of the bank’s interests in Greek government bonds (“GGBs”) that were exchanged in 2012.

Beyond the headline, the decision is an important reminder that not every kind of asset qualifies as a protected investment under a potentially applicable investment treaty or the ICSID Convention, and of the basic yet fundamental rule of treaty interpretation that a BIT’s terms must be interpreted in good faith within their context and in light of the treaty’s object and purpose. More generally, the conclusion by a majority of the Tribunal that the bank’s interests in GGBs did not meet the objective requirements of contribution and risk for the purposes of Article 25 of the ICSID Convention may have broader implications for treaty-based claims asserted by other holders of interests in restructured sovereign debt.

No Investment Under The BIT

In deciding whether it had jurisdiction ratione materiae (subject-matter jurisdiction) over the dispute, the Tribunal had to determine as a matter of treaty interpretation whether the interests in the GGBs held by the Slovak claimant, Poštová banka, qualified as a protected investment under the definition of investment in Article 1(1) of the Slovakia-Greece BIT, specifically its chapeau and the categories of assets listed thereunder. As we discuss below, the Tribunal found that the bank’s interests in GGBs did not fall within the definition and therefore dismissed the claim.

The chapeau of Article 1 of the Slovakia-Greece BIT provides that “[i]nvestment means every kind of asset and in particular, though not exclusively includes: (…).” Article 1(1)(b) refers to “shares in and stock and debentures of a company and any other form of participation in a company.” Article 1(1)(c) refers to “loans, claims to money or to any performance under contract having a financial value.” (para 278)

Although the Tribunal agreed with Claimants that Article 1 of the BIT contains a broad asset-based definition rather than a closed list or exhaustive description (para 286), the Tribunal noted that the careful drafting of categories of protected investments in the subsections demonstrated that there were limits to the definition. (para 294) In this regard, the Tribunal considered Greece’s treaty practice, observing that some Greek BITs refer to the term “loans,” others to “long term loans,” others to loans “connected to an investment”, whilst others exclude the term “loan” altogether. (para 292) Accordingly, the Tribunal underlined the importance of the principle of effective treaty interpretation as follows:

  1. The list of examples provided by the Slovakia-Greece BIT must, thus, be considered in the context of the treaty and be given some meaning together. Otherwise, if the interpretation stops by simply indicating that any asset is an investment, the examples will be unnecessary, redundant or useless. […]

The Tribunal was further persuaded by the fact that Article 1(1)(b) of the BIT refers to “shares in and stock and debentures of a company and any other form of participation in a company” but not to sovereign debt or bonds issued by the State parties. The Tribunal found that this language in the Slovakia-Greece BIT differed significantly from the Argentina-Italy BIT at issue in Abaclat and Ambiente Ufficio, in which ICSID tribunals upheld jurisdiction over sovereign bonds. (para 304) For example, whereas Article 1(c) of the Argentina-Italy BIT includes “obligations, private or public titles or any other right to performances or services having economic value, including capitalized revenues,” Article 1(1) of the Slovakia-Greece BIT does not refer to a general concept such as “obligations,” or to “public titles”. (paras 306-308)

In the absence of similar language to the Argentina-Italy BIT, the Tribunal could not reach the same conclusions as in Abaclat and Ambiente (or for that matter the more recent Alemanni case), holding that:

an interpretation of the text and context of Article 1(1) leads the Tribunal to consider that the State parties to the treaty wanted an ample definition of what could constitute an investment, but within certain categories that are also broad, but not unlimited. Otherwise, the examples could be expanded to include any asset whatsoever, and would become useless or meaningless. (para 314)

As part of the interpretative exercise, the Tribunal paid particular attention to the special features and characteristics of sovereign debt that distinguish it from private debt, (318-323) including that creditors’ security and legal recourse against a sovereign debtor is much more limited, and there is a high degree of political influence and risk, because:

[a] sovereign State engages in much more complex decisions, both in negotiating and structuring the debt and in payment thereof, and repayment is subject not only to the normal credit risk of any credit operation, but also to political decisions that are extremely sensitive for the inhabitants of the given State, such as a tax increase or a reduction in public expenditure or investment to repay the sovereign debt. (para 320)

The Tribunal thus concluded:

In sum, sovereign debt is an instrument of government monetary and economic policy and its impact at the local and international levels makes it an important tool for the handling of social and economic policies of a State. It cannot, thus, be equated to private indebtedness or corporate debt (para 324)

The Tribunal also noted the practical realities of sovereign debt, including that its issuance is subject to specific and strict regulations and that secondary market trading and holding of sovereign debt is also heavily regulated. (paras 325-326, 329) The Tribunal noted that sovereign debt financial instruments are “easily tradable” on the secondary market, independent of the issuing State, and that creditors therefore change many times during the life of the financial instrument. (para 327)

The Tribunal agreed with Greece that sovereign bonds are “different from forms of participation in corporations, and therefore their exclusion from the definition of investment in a given treaty indicates that the contracting parties did not intend to cover these types of assets.” (para 333)

Having performed its analysis of the treaty language and practicalities of sovereign debt issuance and trading, the Tribunal reasoned that:

  1. Neither Article 1(1) of the Slovakia-Greece BIT nor other provisions of the treaty refer, in any way, to sovereign debt, public titles, public securities, public obligations or the like. The Slovakia-Greece BIT does not contain language that may suggest that the State parties considered, in the wide category of investments of the list of Article 1(1) of the BIT, public debt or public obligations, much less sovereign debt, as an investment under the treaty.

Nor did the sovereign bonds at issue fall within Article 1(1)(c) of the BIT (“loans, claims to money or to any performance under contract having a financial value”), because there was inter alia no claim to money, no contractual privity or contractual relationship between Poštová and Greece that could arise out of the bond issuance or trading process. (paras 338-349)

By adopting a rigorous approach to treaty interpretation that focuses on the terms in their context and in light of the BIT’s object and purpose in order to give an effective meaning, the award therefore has wider significance in demonstrating that not every kind of asset qualifies as a protected investment, including where the treaty contains a broadly drafted asset-based definition, which is common in BITs.

No Investment Under The ICSID Convention

For an ICSID arbitral tribunal to have jurisdiction ratione materiae, it must find that the dispute concerns an investment protected under both the underlying BIT and the ICSID Convention. Because the Poštová Tribunal found no jurisdiction under the Slovakia-Greece BIT, it was not necessary to consider the position under the ICSID Convention in order to dispose of the case. Nevertheless, a majority of the Tribunal made important observations on the treatment of sovereign debt under the ICSID Convention.

As noted by the Tribunal, a number of ICSID tribunals have held that there are “objective” characteristics of an “investment” under Article 25 of the ICSID Convention irrespective of any “subjective” definition of an investment agreed in the BIT, namely (i) a contribution of money or assets, (ii) duration and (iii) risk. (paras 351-359)

Having concluded that the “subjective” test pursuant to Article 1 of the BIT was not met – and therefore the Tribunal lacked jurisdiction over the dispute – a majority of the Tribunal nevertheless stated that the claimants would also have failed to satisfy the “objective” requirements for an investment to be protected under the ICSID Convention. (paras 360, 371) Specifically, “the element of contribution to an economic venture and the existence of the specific operational risk that characterizes an investment under the objective approach” were not present. (para 371) Accordingly, the Tribunal could not have asserted jurisdiction even if the BIT had been drafted broadly enough to cover sovereign debt.

Whereas the majority considered an investment “in an economic sense, is linked with a process of creation of value”, the arbitrators found that Poštová’s purchase of interests in GGBs made no contribution to an economic venture. (paras 361, 371) In this regard, the majority noted:

  1. The Claimants have not argued that the money Poštová banka paid for the GGB interests, even if considered as ultimately benefitting Greece, was used in economically productive activities. Rather, it appears that the funds were used for Greece’s budgetary needs, and particularly for repaying its debts…

Citing to Michael Waibel’s scholarship, the Tribunal noted the importance of the distinction between sovereign bonds that are used for general funding purposes and those used for specific public works or services. (para 364)

The Tribunal observed that the ICSID tribunals in Fedax v. Venezuela, CSOB v. Slovakia, Joy Mining v. Egypt and Alps Finance v. Slovak Republic have adopted the same approach in distinguishing between protected investments connected with a particular economic operation, on the one hand, and instruments or contracts that are not linked with an economic venture and are therefore do not satisfy the objective test, on the other. (para 365)

Regarding the risk element, the majority held that investment risk requires the presence of operational risk, explaining:

  1. Under the objective approach, commercial and sovereign risks are distinct from operational risk. The distinction here would be between a risk inherent in the investment operation in its surrounding – meaning that the profits are not ascertained but depend on the success or failure of the economic venture concerned – and all the other commercial and sovereign risks.

The majority’s view was that acquisition of interests in sovereign bonds would not amount to taking any operational risk. (para 371)

In sum, had the objective requirements of contribution and risk been applied, the Tribunal would not therefore have had jurisdiction over the dispute under the ICSID Convention, regardless of the language in the Slovakia-Greece BIT. This conclusion will undoubtedly give pause to other holders of interests in sovereign debt before initiating arbitration proceedings under other investment treaties.

Guest Post: The Status of the Territory Unchanged: Russia’s Treaties with Abkhazia and South Ossetia, Georgia

by Natia Kalandarishvili-Mueller

[Natia Kalandarishvili-Mueller is a Lecturer in Humanitarian Law at Tbilisi State University, Institute of International Law, Faculty of Law, and a PhD Candidate at the University of Essex, School of Law. The views expressed in the post are that of the author only.]

Russia still occupies twenty percent of Georgian territory. On 24 November 2014, the Russian Federation and Abkhazia, one of Georgia’s breakaway region, signed a Treaty on Alliance and Strategic Partnership. The document is an avenue for Abkhazia’s incorporation into Russia’s military, economic, social and legal space. Particularly, it aims to create a common security and defence system and armed forces of Russia and Abkhazia in the form of joint defence and border protection forces and unifies standards of warfare management and law enforcement. Moscow also envisages the breakaway region’s support with military equipment. The provisions provide for the harmonization of the breakaway region’s legislation not only with that of Russia, but also with the standards of the Eurasian Economic Union. Russia also guarantees helping Abkhazia not only with its international recognition, but also facilitating Abkhazia’s membership in international organizations. On 18 March 2015, Russia and the other one of Georgia’s breakaway regions, South Ossetia, also signed a Treaty on Alliance and Integration (and here) containing basically the same provisions.

The Government of Georgia regards both these treaties as Russian annexation of Georgian territories (here and here). Georgia’s view is not without grounds. As a whole, the aforementioned documents also undermine the right to return and the right to self-determination of ethnic Georgians and their descendants who have been forced to flee their homes during the 1990s and 2008 armed conflicts. At present, the issue of the ethnic cleansing of Georgians is dealt with by the ICC, but only in the context of the 2008 armed conflict. The ICC Prosecutor’s Office Report on Preliminary Examination Activities (December 2014) observed that

[…] there is a reasonable basis to believe that South Ossetian forces carried out a widespread and systematic attack against the ethnic Georgian civilian population in South Ossetia and adjacent areas in the context of the armed conflict in the period from August 2008 through October 2008 that amounted to the crime against humanity of forcible transfer of ethnic Georgians under article 7(1)(d). There is a reasonable basis to believe that these forces also committed war crimes of pillaging under 8(2)(b)(xvi) and/or article 8(2)(e)(v) and destroying civilian property belonging to ethnic Georgians under article 8(2)(a)(iv) and/or article 8(2)(e)(xii) in the same period. (para. 140)

Hence, from the perspective of international law, the signed treaties raise complex issues such as the legality of the use of force, state formation, the management of natural resources, and the validity of these very treaties in light of the VCLT of 1969, occupation law, territorial annexation and the legality of self-determination of these territories. This post chooses to focus on the last three aspects, namely the interplay of the principles of annexation and self-determination in light of occupation law. Two questions may, therefore, be posed in light of the signed treaties:

  1. According to International Humanitarian Law (IHL), what is the relationship between occupation law and annexation of territory?
  2. What is the relevant legal framework for self-determination in international law and how may it be connected with occupation law?

 

Occupation Law and the Annexation of Territory

In light of the first question, I argue that even when an instance of annexation of territory takes place, the situation of occupation continues from the perspective of IHL, and the responsibility of the occupying power vis-à-vis the civilian population persists. Hence, no matter what type of treaty is forged or which agreements are achieved by Russia and the breakaway regions of Georgia, Abkhazia and South Ossetia will still remain occupied in light of Article 42 HR 1907. This stance echoes the reading of Article 47 of the GC IV, which states that:

Protected persons who are in occupied territory shall not be deprived, in any case or in any manner whatsoever, of the benefits of the present Convention by any change introduced, as the result of the occupation of a territory, into the institutions or government of the said territory, nor by any agreement concluded between the authorities of the occupied territories and the Occupying Power, nor by any annexation by the latter of the whole or part of the occupied territory.

Likewise, the commentary to Article 47 regards the relationship between situations of occupation and those of annexation in the following way:

[…] an Occupying Power continues to be bound to apply the Convention as a whole even when, in disregard of the rules of international law, it claims during a conflict to have annexed all or part of an occupied territory.

Dinstein, too, considers that an occupant cannot take the title, i.e. the possession of the territory it occupies. The displaced sovereign, therefore, remains to be holding the title de jure and the annexation of the occupied territory by the occupant is prohibited (Y. Dinstein, The International Law of Belligerent Occupation, Cambridge University Press, 2009, p. 49). Thus “any unilateral annexation of an occupied territory – in whole or in part – by the Occupying Power would be legally stillborn” (ibid. p. 50). Therefore, IHL does not fall mute, as it bases its application on the facts on the ground. The fact that Russia continues to exert effective control over Abkhazia and South Ossetia in light of Article 42 HR 1907 cannot be swept under the carpet. Even if Russia considers signing these treaties to be valid because it has herself recognised Abkhazia and South Ossetia as sovereign states, in light of the separability of ius ad bellum and ius in bello, for IHL the situation remains unchanged:

This complete separation between ius ad bellum and ius in bello implies that IHL applies whenever there is de facto armed conflict, however that conflict can be qualified under ius ad bellum, and that no ius ad bellum arguments may be used in interpreting IHL. (M. Sassòli, A.A Bouvier, et al., How Does Law Protect In War? ICRC, Vol. I, 2006, p. 103)

 

Occupation Law and Self-Determination

In light of the second question, I argue that a situation of occupation may end with self-determination. However, resorting to self-determination may only be justified once the effective control of the occupant over the territory is completely relinquished and the process of self-determination is free from any third-party interference, particularly by the former occupant. Furthermore, self-determination, if exercised contrary to the international law principles of state sovereignty and territorial inviolability, undermines these very principles. In 1970, the Secretary General of the UN stated that:

… as far as the question of secession of a particular section of a Member State is concerned, the United Nations attitude is unequivocable. As an international organisation, the United Nations has never accepted and does not accept and I do not believe it will ever accept a principle of secession of a part of a Member State. (U. Thant, “Secretary General’s Press Conferences” (1970) 7:2 UN Monthly Chronicle 34 at 36)

There are two forms of self-determination: external and internal (A. Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples: A Legal Reappraisal, Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 5). Internal self-determination means that an entity establishes its self-government within the internationally recognized borders of a state (C.A. Monteux, Institution Building in Kosovo: the Role of International Actors and the Question of Legitimacy, London School of Economics and Political Science, PhD thesis, 2009, p. 90). In practice, internal self-determination can take various forms, from simple cultural autonomy to the canton system in Switzerland (C. Dominicé, The Secession of the Canton of Jura in Switzerland, in Secession: International Law Perspectives, in M. G. Kohen (ed.), Cambridge University, 2006, pp. 453–469).

External self-determination, on the other hand, means that an entity determines its status under international law, establishes its position among the international community and regulates its relation with other states free from the intervention of any state (supra, C.A. Monteux, Institution Building in Kosovo: the Role of International Actors and the Question of Legitimacy, p. 90). Direct recourse to external self-determination (i.e., secession) could undermine not only the principles of sovereignty and territorial integrity, as mentioned above, but render the whole concept of self-determination unjust. As such, this right has been linked to the colonial period and was aimed to free the people from the oppressing regimes. In its decision, the Supreme Court of Canada makes this point explicit:

International law contains neither a right of unilateral secession nor the explicit denial of such a right, although such a denial is, to some extent, implicit in the exceptional circumstances required for secession to be permitted under the right of a people to self-determination, e.g., the right of secession that arises in the exceptional situation of an oppressed or colonial people […]. (Reference RE Secession of Quebec Supreme Court of Canada (1998) 2. S.C.R. 217 §112)

Further, the Canadian Supreme Court views external self-determination as a step of last resort in particular situations:

The recognized sources of international law establish that the right to self-determination of a people is normally fulfilled through internal self-determination – a people’s pursuit of its political, economic, social and cultural development within the framework of an existing state. A right to external self-determination (which in this case potentially takes the form of the assertion of a right to unilateral secession) arises in only the most extreme of cases and, even then, under carefully defined circumstances. (ibid., § 126)

It has to be mentioned that the circumstances which would pronounce the conditions for external self-determination in international law lack clarity. This is also evidenced by the stance the ICJ took in the advisory opinion on Accordance of International Law of the Unilateral Declaration of Independence in Respect of Kosovo, when it only dealt with the issue of whether or not Kosovo’s unilateral declaration of independence was in accordance with international law (§ 49-56 and § 82-83). Based on arguments of those in favor of external self-determination, Borgen summarized one possible way such a rule could be formulated:

“Any attempt to claim legal secession “that is, where secession trumps territorial integrity” must at least show that:

  1. 1. the secessionists are a “people” (in the ethnographic sense);

  2. 2. the state from which they are seceding seriously violates their human rights; and

  3. 3. there are no other effective remedies under either domestic law or international law” (C.J. Borgen, Kosovo’s Declaration for Independence: Self-Determination, Secession and Recognition, ASIL Insights, Issue 2, Volume 12, February 29, 2008 available here)

In the context of de-colonisation, the concept of self-determination meant that colonies were allowed to “secede” and form a state on their own. But when it comes to “communities that are not colonies and within existing states, self-determination means ‘internal self-determination’, the pursuit of minority rights within the existing state” (C.J. Borgen, States and International Law: The Problems of Self-determination, Secession, and Recognition in B. Cali (ed.), International Law for International Relations, Oxford, 2009, p. 207).

Therefore, before directly leaping to claims of secession, internal self-determination has to be exercised. In this context, the demographic situation of the territory must not be changed and all those who lived there and who were forcibly transferred away from it have to have a say in the future of its status. At least this is what permeates the logic of international law. This would respectively apply to the Georgians and their descendants who were evicted from Abkhazia and South Ossetia and who were the victims of ethnic cleansing, both during the 1990s armed conflicts and the 2008 war.

Examining self-determination and occupation law in tandem points to the fact that it has to be viewed in light of the element of consent, i.e. who gives consent of the presence of the hostile state on the territory. The lack of consent to be present on one’s territory during military occupation means the previous power/sovereign is absent from the territory and does not exercise effective control over it as any state ought to over its own territory. So that consent is regarded valid, it must not be coerced and be extended by the recognised government of the recognised state (E. Benvenisti, The International Law of Occupation, Oxford University Press, 2012, p. 67).

When an occupant claims not to have effective control over the territory, but remains on the territory either by an alleged invitation of the de facto regime or by a drawn-up treaty, not only the legality of the regime has to be questioned, but also the validity of the treaty has to be examined in light of the VCLT.

In my view, these are the points that bring to the forefront the tension between occupation law and the principle of self-determination. Any recourse to the right of self-determination of a territory should be done only once a situation of occupation has completely ended and even then it should only be exercised without third-party intervention in addition to restoring the original demographic situation. During military occupation, when elections or the determination of the political future of the occupied territory are underway without the genuine consent of the ousted government, the situation on the ground continues to be one of occupation.

[This post has been slightly revised from the previous version that was posted.]

Am I Missing Something or Does the New Trade Promotion Authority Bill Violate the U.S. Constitution?

by Julian Ku

I am slammed with a couple of projects right now, but I can’t help throwing this question out to the legal blogosphere.  Does the new “Bipartisan Trade Priorities and Accountability Act” recently introduced by leading U.S. Senators violate the U.S. Constitution’s bicameralism and presentment requirements as stated by the U.S. Supreme Court in INS v. Chadha?

The BTPAA seems crucial as the U.S. enters the final stages of its negotiations over the “Trans Pacific Partnership” (TPP) with Asia and the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP) with Europe because it allows the President to submit his negotiated trade agreements for a “fast-track” up and down vote that Congress cannot amend.

Because of congressional opposition, the new trade promotion bill has a provision that looks a lot like a “legislative veto” that allows a resolution passed by a majority vote by one House of Congress to withdraw the “fast-track” authority.   Here seems to be the key language.

(A) IN GENERAL.—The trade authorities procedures shall not apply to any implementing bill submitted with respect to a trade agreement or trade agreements entered into under section 3(b) if during the 60-day period beginning on the date that one House of Congress agrees to a procedural disapproval resolution for lack of notice or consultations with respect to such trade agreement or agreements, the other House separately agrees to a procedural disapproval resolution with respect to such trade agreement or agreements.

(B) PROCEDURAL DISAPPROVAL RESOLUTION.—(i) For purposes of this paragraph, the term ‘‘procedural disapproval resolution’’ means a resolution of either House of Congress, the sole matter after the resolving clause of which is as follows: ‘‘That the President has failed or refused to notify or consult in accordance with the Bipartisan Congressional Trade Priorities and Accountability Act of 2015 on negotiations with respect to ____ and, therefore, the trade authorities procedures under that Act shall not apply to any implementing bill submitted with respect to such trade agreement or agreements.’’, with the blank space being filled with a description of the trade agreement or agreements with respect to which the President is considered to have failed or refused to notify or consult.

Am I missing something? Even if (as the provision seems to say), a resolution of both houses is needed to withdraw fast track authority, the joint resolution doesn’t satisfy the presentment (to the President) requirement in the Constitution that the Supreme Court has repeatedly upheld in cases like INS v. Chadha and Clinton v. City of New York.  Unless the President has an opportunity to veto the “procedural disapproval resolution,” I doubt this law is constitutional.  I think the only saving grace is that the resolutions  withdrawing fast track can only be invoked if the President fails to notify or consult rather than on the merits.  But I am still very doubtful this difference matters. I haven’t carefully examined all of the legislation’s provisions, but this does strike me as an issue worth discussing.  Comments welcome!

The States Continue to Exist in Foreign Affairs: Implementing Treaties

by Julian Ku

Among my many hobby-horses is a  fascination with the role of the individual American states in the interpretation and implementation of international law within the U.S.  In past work, for instance, I have argued that states can individually implement treaties via guidance from Uniform Laws. I had a few examples of this phenomenon in my article, and I think it will be an increasingly common way for the U.S. to carry out its treaty obligations for those matters that are handled by state governments under American law.

So I was glad to run across this article about controversy over a bill in Idaho to conform to the 2008 Amendments to the Uniform Intercountry Child Support Act. The controversy stems from the fact that the 2008 Amendments require states to recognize and enforce child support orders from countries that are members of the Hague Convention on Child Support and that lawmakers in Idaho are concerned that states applying Sharia law might have their orders enforced by Idaho courts.  Putting this controversy aside for a moment, it is worth noting that states ultimately have a choice whether or not carry out U.S. obligations under the treaty, even though the U.S. has obligations under international law.  The federal government has decided to encourage states to carry out the treaty obligations via the spending clause by tying federal funds to adopting the 2008 amendments.  But states like Idaho can choose to not take the funds, and essentially refuse to comply with the treaty.

So it is worth noting, and perhaps celebrating, this continuing trend of relying on states to carry out US treaty obligations.  I think this trend is likely to continue.

Book Symposium: Interpretation — An Exact Art

by Philip Allott

[Philip Allott is Emeritus Professor of International Public Law at the University of Cambridge.]

Interpretation of any text – religious, political, historical, scientific, literary, artistic, legal – raises profound philosophical problems. Interpretation of a legal text is in a class of its own, because it can have direct and substantial social effects, determining people’s lives. The philosophy of legal interpretation is the philosophy of a fundamental aspect of social existence.

The philosophical problems of interpretation stem from the fact that interpretation is a re-presentation of a presentation of reality contained in the text, a reality which is already an interpretation by the mind of some aspect of human experience, and the interpretative re-re-presentation then itself becomes part of that reality. The circular problem of the presentation of reality in language and symbols that modify reality has traditionally been seen as a problem of epistemology – How do we know anything? What is that we know when we think that we know something?

When a text is in a moral context (what does this text say that I or we should do?), it may have a personal effect beyond the social effect. Interpretation may generate a sense of obligation.   When a text is in a legal context, it may have more dramatic effects, personal and social. It may give rise to legal relations – rights, duties, powers, freedoms, etc.   And legal relations switch on specific and powerful social mechanisms in the making and the application and the enforcement of law.

It is a familiar fact that translation into another language can never produce a perfect re-presentation of a text in that other language. But such an ideal may dominate the mind of the translator, involving an underlying respect for the intention of the author of the text. In the case of interpretation, the originating premise is that the interpretation will be something different from the text interpreted.

A speculative or imagined intention of the author of the text may be a relevant element in interpretation, but the interpretation may properly take into account an unlimited number of other considerations. The interpretative context is, in principle, unlimited. It is for this reason that an attempt to lay down general legal rules of interpretation, as in the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, is futile, not least because those rules must themselves be interpreted.

Thus all forms of interpretation involve a succession of acts of creation, supplementing the creative act that produced the original text. The original text becomes the nucleus of an ever-growing living-body of interpretations, each interpretation digesting the work of its predecessors. The text comes to be what it has been made to become through interpretation.

In all forms of interpretation, there may be a sense of proper limits to freedom of interpretation, an implied and unspoken deontology of interpretation. A religious text, centuries later, may have only slender connections with its original form. A Greek tragedy is its bare text plus centuries of thought about it. A work of art is overlaid with veneers, layer after layer, of thought about the work. The only controlling obligations in such cases seem to be a duty to preserve a continuing coherence of interpretation, a sense of respect for the author, a sense of changing social and cultural contexts to which interpretation should respond.

In the case of legal interpretation, the controlling deontology is an integral part of the justification of law itself as a social phenomenon. Law is a violation of human freedom inherited from the social past, taking effect in the social present, determining the social future. Law needs a lot of justifying. Lawyers are aware of this, especially judges and leading practising lawyers, and legal academic writers. Arbitrary interpretation would be a violation of the social responsibility of the lawyer, an abuse of social power. Lawyers know that they must justify their legal interpretations in the same ways that law in general and public authority in general are justified – through respect for a whole array of contextual social and moral standards and understandings, and an ultimate duty to find and to serve the common interest.

Interpretation of International Law is in a very different situation. There are no established contextual social and moral norms and understandings of the kind that dominate advanced national societies.   The overriding international ethic is the use of crude power and diplomatic power to serve nationally determined interests, with only a weak sense of a common interest.   The systems of law-making and law-application and law-enforcement are rudimentary and haphazard.   An international legal text is a happy-hunting-ground for the extreme ingenuity and duplicity that enlightened self-interest, and the subtle minds of lawyers, can generate – and an inexhaustible source of wealth for some.   Practical examples of this abound in the torrent of legal texts created and interpreted and applied in the vast expansion of the scope of International Law since 1945.

The future of international legal interpretation will be better if the future of International Society is better – and if International Lawyers acquire a more sophisticated understanding of the nature and the problems and the responsibilities of all forms of interpretation, and especially of legal interpretation. Interpretation in International Law is an art and a game and a field of battle. It is an ultimate art of the possible, and the possible includes a better kind of law for a better kind of international society.