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[Dr. Paul R. Williams is the Rebecca I. Grazier Professor of Law and International Relations at American University and the co-founder and President of the Public International Law & Policy Group and Roushani Mansoor is a former Fulbright-Clinton Fellow who worked in Dhaka, Bangladesh as a Special Legal Assistant for the Ministry of Law, Justice, and Parliamentary Affairs (on issues unrelated to the Tribunal). She is currently a Law Fellow at the Public International Law & Policy Group.]

Cheers met the first verdict of the International Crimes Tribunal of Bangladesh, which sentenced Abul Kalam Azad to death in absentia.  Less than a month later, shouts of “ami, tumi, Bangalee, Bangalee” – meaning “me, you, Bengali, Bengali” – echoed in the streets of Dhaka in reply to another, less popular Tribunal verdict.  The Tribunal had handed down a life sentence to Abdul Qader Molla, a punishment many Bangladeshis felt did not match the severity of Qader Molla’s crimes.  The Tribunal, mandated to try alleged war criminals from the 1971 Liberation War, aimed to bring closure to Bangladesh’s bloody birth.  These moments were not just responses to justice served, but demonstrated a transformation in the Bangladeshi national identity – a transformation in which the Tribunal, as a mechanism of justice, is playing a crucial part.

The Liberation War pitted Bengali Freedom Fighters against the Pakistani Army and local collaborators from anti-liberation groups.  These collaborators aided the Pakistani Army, executing attacks and massacring villagers.  The nine-month war secured independence for Bangladesh, but at a huge cost.  Estimates range from 300,000 to 3,000,000 killed often in gruesome ways; countless more were tortured.  Over 200,000 women were subject to rape, and as many as 10 million fled their homes towards India to escape the violence.  Over forty years later, the Tribunal operates as a domestic exercise of justice aimed at trying atrocities committed during the war.  It strives to erase the attitude of impunity and deliver justice – however delayed – to victims and victims’ families still healing from horrific conflict.

The Liberation War fought for the independence of Bangladesh, and a brand new Bangladeshi national identity was born out of this conflict, largely grounded in this struggle.  The generations who lived through the Liberation War had to fight and sacrifice for their national identity but they earned the right to call themselves Bangladeshi.  Generations born after the war are certain they are Bangladeshi – it is their birthright.  These generations, however, are struggling with the meaning of being Bangladeshi.  They are undergoing their own fight for a national identity, one that is predominately based on a war they did not witness.

The one war-related relic these generations have to hold onto is the Tribunal.  As a legacy of that liberation struggle, the Tribunal has been intrinsically intertwined with the Bangladeshi national identity.  Demand for the creation of the Tribunal began immediately after the Liberation War, and legislation creating the Tribunal was passed in 1973.  Subsequent natural disasters, political assassinations, and military coups in Bangladesh prevented the government from actually constituting the Tribunal.  However, popular support for the Tribunal did not waver.  The hope for a Tribunal was given new life during the 2008 elections where the Awami League campaigned on the promise that if elected, it would constitute the Tribunal during its term.  Winning an absolute majority in Parliament, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina vowed to constitute the Tribunal and bring closure to the bloody birth of Bangladesh after over 40 years of waiting.

[Dr. Janina Dill is a Hedley Bull Fellow at the Department of Politics and International Relations and Research Fellow in Politics at Merton College, Oxford] I am very grateful to Gabby Blum and Chris Kutz for their thoughtful comments on my paper. We agree on the fundamental challenge: killing combatants in accordance with the principle of distinction under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) is morally problematic. In my paper I engage the preferred remedy of a growing number of philosophers, which is to distinguish between individuals who are liable to being killed and those who are not. I show why it is impossible for IHL to regulate warfare accordingly. Nonetheless, I accept such an individual rights-based approach to justifying killing as morally appropriate in war. Professor Blum disagrees on the grounds that “killing in battle is not designed to be an execution”. That is, of course, true. Acts in war are an appropriate means to mete out neither moral nor legal punishment. But can we therefore dismiss as irrelevant the moral status of the individuals whose deliberate killing IHL sanctions? The impetus behind Blum’s own proposal is the conviction that combatants’ lives are no less valuable than others’. From this acceptance that all human life is of prima facie equal value generally springs the notion that individuals have a right to their own life that they can forfeit only through their own conduct. Blum holds that in war posing a threat is enough to be subject to the threatened combatant’s right to (presumably lethal) self-defense. It has to be an actual, immediate threat, not the kind of presumed potential threat that IHL is satisfied with, but it “does not matter if someone threatening is also morally guilty, because we have a right to defend ourselves even against the morally-innocent attacker,” or so Blum argues. I do not have the space to problematize the terms innocent and guilty here, but even if the would-be defender had no involvement in bringing about the situation in which he is threatened, his right to use lethal force against a likewise completely innocent attacker would at least be questionable. Crucially, this innocent threat/innocent defender scenario is rarely encountered in war. What if the would-be defender was guilty himself of posing a threat? The likeliest case in war is that the combatant supposedly exercising self-defense at the same time poses a threat to his attacker. Normally, in this case we decide who actually has a right to self-defense by making a judgement about the difference in moral status. That the victim of an assault uses force to fight back does not give her attacker a moral right to defend himself. If we refuse to take moral status into account and insist on the symmetry between combatants on both sides, such cases of “mutual self-defense” reduce the principle to absurdity. I do not argue that we should change IL either to reflect the liability approach or to challenge the symmetry between belligerents. Moreover, I wholeheartedly agree with Blum that it would be legally and morally preferable if IHL allowed the killing of fewer combatants and demanded that those who can be are spared. While such proposals have met with criticism by military practitioners, they certainly raise fewer concerns of practicability than distinction according to individual liability. Yet, they do not solve the problem this paper grapples with: the fact that IHL does not and, I argue, cannot vouchsafe the protection of individual rights in war. In his considered engagement with my paper Professor Kutz raises two questions that, in the kindest possible way, query my grasp on reality.

[Christopher L. Kutz is a Professor of Law at University of California, Berkeley, and is the Director of the Kadish Center for Morality, Law and Public Affairs] Janina Dill has written a smart and provocative paper, providing a powerful argument against what one might call “naive moralism” in the ethics of war.  In this, she is responding to a body of recent and influential work, of which American philosopher Jeff McMahan’s writing forms the core, which has offered an individual-centered moral analysis of the rules of war, meant to supplant the state-centered view of classical Just War Theory (JWT).  Against some of the natural conclusions one might draw from a moralized theory, Dill argues that the essentially collective nature of the ethics of war should be preserved, on epistemic grounds.  In particular, the collective liability of combatants, and immunity of civilians, is best explained by the difficulty of refining a moral analysis in many plausible cases of conflict. According to classical JWT, the ius ad bellum and the ius in bello are strictly separated, in the sense that the legality or legitimacy of the war as a whole rides independently of the liability of the individual participants in the war.  On this view, whether or not a belligerent state (and its leaders) are fighting a legal or illegal war, soldiers of those states are liable to be targeted just in virtue of their membership in the armed forces; by contrast, civilian non-combatants are immune from deliberate targeting whatever political support they have manifested for even an aggressive war.  Thus, in World War II, British and Wehrmacht soldiers stood on the same legal footing (attackable, and only liable for individual war crimes), as do pacifist British citizens and Nazi-supporting German civilians (immune from attack).  This collective, status-based approach to targetability is notably different from the individualized assessment of liability to attack that characterizes the criminal law, in which individuals are only targetable when they present particular threats to the lives or vital interests of others; and the permission to use lethal force is only granted to those defending vital interests (of themselves or others), and often not when that defense is the result of the defendant’s own wrongdoing (p. 8). In a number of recent books and papers, Jeff McMahan has argued that there are no plausible direct moral foundations for JWT, because on any compelling moral analysis — that is, any analysis sufficiently compelling to make claims about liability to lethal attack plausible — liability must be determined by individual culpability.  And when we take individual culpability into account, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that many individual soldiers — namely those permissibly defending themselves and others — are not so liable, while many non-combatants are.  McMahan himself avoids any direct action-guiding conclusion from his analysis, because of the prospect that absent clear rules of collective distinction, too much horror will result from an attempt by combatants to make the relevant distinctions. Dill accepts the McMahanian moral analysis, but she rejects the revisionary conclusion, that we should seek to tune our doctrines of war to more individualistic determinations.  Instead, she looks to alternative moral foundations for the collective character of war. To my mind, the most interesting aspect of a very interesting and perceptive article is her working through these alternatives.  She considers first the idea that war might nonetheless be given a consequentialist justification: that the gross principle of distinction, if applied in good faith by just and unjust belligerent nations alike, would be a “lesser evil” resulting in net fewer unjustified deaths.  But as she argues, there is no reason to think the material outcomes of current JWT do a better job than any alternative in minimizing unjustified deaths, since military victory is a consequence of material rather than moral factors.  More importantly, an individual moral analysis would result in the conclusion that aggressor soldiers should simply “keep still,” and cease presenting any threat to others.  Whatever one might say on behalf of JWT, one cannot think it approximates an outcome whose ideal case is the sudden pacifism of all of one side’s combatants, plus all of the others who are no longer at risk. The conclusion she draws is subtle.  Dill treats as central the “epistemically cloaked” nature of the choices presented by war, where the fog of war makes individual liability determinations implausible, and the tendency of even aggressors fighting (wrongly) in good-faith belief of permissibility makes war inevitable.  In such cases, when nations turn to war, IHL properly guides actors towards morally superior outcomes, even if it does not make those outcomes defensible in absolute terms. As she says, if something is indefensible, it cannot be made defensible by epistemic considerations.  But the benefits of a rule-of-law approach to war, with over- and under-inclusive bright lines, may itself be morally valuable, in serving to constrain the overall enterprise while recognizing its systematic, i.e. Collective, character.  This is, essentially, a Razian analysis of the value of using non-moral norms to coordinate a complex multi-personal enterprise, rather than the sort of full-bore collectivist analysis that some of us have gestured at.  Regular war is less evil than irregular war, but this is a distinction to tolerate, not to celebrate. I am in great sympathy with Dill’s discussion and conclusion, but might raise a couple of questions. 

[Gabriella Blum is the Rita E. Hauser Professor of Human Rights and Humanitarian Law at Harvard Law School.] In her rich and sophisticated essay, Janina Dill takes on the principle of distinction in international humanitarian law (IHL). She finds that while the principle obscures questions of justness (or unjustness) of cause or individual contribution to the war effort, and thus digresses from an ideal moral vision which accords each individual her dues, it is the best practicable principle in times of war. A more morally just targeting doctrine may have distinguished just combatants from unjust combatants or else ignored the combatant/civilian distinction altogether and just focused on individual contribution to the war. Yet, (un)justness of cause is mired in uncertainty (what Dill terms “an epistemically-cloaked forced choice”) and the complexity of the battlefield makes it impossible to determine individual contribution to the war. Consequently, any attempt to design a more nuanced doctrine of targeting will end up being impossible to administer and too vague to offer real guidance for belligerents, thereby violating the rule of law – a moral principle of its own. The simple principle of distinction under IHL thus ends up being, in Dill’s view, morally just on its own terms. Dill’s arguments engage with some long-standing debates within the law and ethics of armed conflict, successfully navigating the disciplines of philosophy and law, seeking coherence within each while reconciling their potential conflict. It is impossible to do justice to the many nuances and moves in her argument in this short commentary. Instead, I will attempt to defend my own proposal for amending the distinction principle within Dill’s framework, thereby engaging with her arguments.

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