Category Archives: ICC

Short post on ICC Presidency underwhelming decision in relation to the Judge Ozaki imbroglio

Yesterday, the Presidency of the ICC issued a decision relating to various requests filing by the Ntaganda Defence following the decision of the plenary of Judges to allow Judge Ozaki to continue to sit on Trial Chamber VI during the deliberations of the case, while taking up a position as Japanese Ambassador to Estonia.

I just wanted to share a few quick thoughts:

1/While I understand it procedurally, I find the distinction between fitness to be a Judge generally and fitness to be a Judge on a particular trial somewhat artificial. The Presidency suggests in its decision that only the latter can be raised by the Defence in a particular case, because general unfitness does not necessarily entail bias in particular proceedings. But if a Judge is unfit to be a Judge at all, how is that not something that can be raised by a Party to a specific case? It does not make sense to me practically.

I also note that the decision considers that determining whether a Judge is fit to be a Judge (independent, impartial, etc) is a purely “administrative” function. This bothers me, because such a determination is at the heart of the judicial process and someone should be accountable for it. Another victory for managerialism?

2/ I find the harsh criticism of the Defence filing strategy, which is accused of obfuscating things and creating unnecessary delays wholly inappropriate. It is not unreasonable for the Defence, faced with an unprecedented scenario, to take all necessary measures to make sure that no procedural mistake is made. But it seems it is always a lose-lose situation for the Defence. If they had gone straight to TC VI with a disqualification request, they might have been told to address the Presidency. Or they might have been told that they lack a factual foundation for the request. If they go to the Presidency with a request for disclosure in order to support their subsequent request, they are told that they are wasting time. The bad faith here is breathtaking.

All the more breathtaking,  given the Judges’ collective failure to avoid this mess in the first place, therefore putting the Defense in this difficult situation.

In that respect, the setting of a strict deadline for the Defense to file a disqualification motion before TCVI (par. 24) is frankly incomprehensible. There is no legal basis given for that and there is no reason the Presidency (an administrative body, by its own admission) should be setting deadlines for Parties in a particular case instead of the Trial Chamber to which the case has been assigned. This is wholly inappropriate. The disposition of the decision even goes further as to also set a deadline for any response by the Parties as well as a deadline for Judge Ozaki to respond.

A footnote (fn 30) tells us that “One Judge was of the view that the Presidency could not impose a deadline for the filing of a request for disqualification”. Thank you for letting us know, but it would have been nice to have some insight in what actually justifies this legally.

3/ On the disclosure of information, the Presidency continues to refuse to disclose any information relating to the process that led to the Plenary decision in the first place. I do not understand the lack of transparency here, especially given the storm the decision created. The Presidency cannot hide behind the fact that this is an administrative decision because, as noted above, such a decision goes at the heart of the judicial function of the Court and should be subject to public scrutiny, if only by the Parties to the proceedings.

Apparently, “One judge expressed a contrary view and, rather, would have favoured partial disclosure of information (other than the records of deliberations amongst the judges) as necessary to safeguard the human right to defence of Mr Ntaganda including the right to ask and receive information required to properly exercise his right to a defence” (par. 29). I agree with this anonymous Judge that the Defence should be given an opportunity to access relevant information that might be relevant for any disqualification motion.

My guess is that ultimately, this whole process will go nowhere and will not end with the disqualification of Judge Ozaki. But in the meantime, the whole procedure continues to give us invaluable insight in how the current Judges at the ICC think, and think of themselves, and this is fascinating.

Guest post: The Appeals Chamber’s Chastisement of PTC II for its Article 87(7) Referral Gameplaying

[Hemi Mistry is an Assistant Professor in Law at the University of Nottingham, where she researches and teaches in the area of international criminal justice. Her current research focuses upon how judicial procedure before international courts and tribunals affects how those institutions pursue their mandates. She wishes to thank Dov Jacobs for hosting this guest post.]

It’s a been a fiery time in the world of ICL: first, the decision by Pre Trial Chamber (PTC) II not to authorise an investigation into the situation in Afghanistan situation and second, this week’s bumper decision by the Appeals Chamber (AC) in Al Bashir, concerning Jordan’s non-cooperation in the execution of the arrest warrant for Omar Al Bashir and – more widely – the matter of immunities under customary international law. With the judicial division of the ICC seemingly intent upon institutional (self-)immolation, the international legal Blogosphere and Twittersphere have watched on (and fanned the flames) in horror. Amidst the flames, I wish to highlight one important aspect of Monday’s AC decision which represents a positive development in the Court’s caselaw. Specifically, this post concerns the Appeal Chamber’s reversal, by majority, of PTC II’s decision under Article 87(7) to refer Jordan’s non-cooperation in the arrest and surrender Omar Al Bashir to the UN Security Council and ICC Assembly of States Parties. Against the backdrop of the bigger ‘immunities’ question (for first of what will likely be many takes, see Jacobs and Akande) and the post-Afghanistan decision ‘crisis’, the corrective issued by the AC may at first glance appear to be a case of fiddling while Rome burns. However, as I will argue, this aspect of the AC decision represents an important attempt by the Chamber to reign in, or at least draw a line under, one of the most problematic and (excuse the pun) unruly traits in recent PTC decision-making. But first, a lot has happened, so to understand the significance of this week’s decision it is necessary to go back to basics…settle in for a story…

Article 87(7) represents one of the limited number of tools available to the ICC to respond to failures by its States Parties to comply with their obligations under the Rome Statute and to provide cooperation to the Court in the forms requested by its organs. It reads:

Where a State Party fails to comply with a request to cooperate by the Court contrary to the provision of this Statute, thereby preventing the Court from exercising its functions and powers under this Statute, the Court may make a finding to that effect and refer the matter to the Assembly of States Parties or, where the Security Council referred the matter to the Court, to the Security Council.

Article 87(7) determinations of non-cooperation and referrals to the Security Council have become a standard response to the failure by States Parties to arrest and surrender Omar Al Bashir upon his presence within their jurisdictions. The first three ‘referrals’ of non-cooperation by PTC I of Sudan in Harun and Ali Kushayb and of Kenya and Chad in Al Bashir, all issued in 2010, were not technically referrals under Article 87(7), but the exercise rather a summarily-claimed inherent power to ‘inform’ the Security Council of the accused’s presence upon the territory of a State Party, or the situation-State. However since then, PTC II, initially configured as PTC I, made three Article 87(7) referrals of Sudanese non-cooperation in violation of its obligation to cooperate with the Court established under Security Council Resolution 1593: two in Al Bashir (here, and here) and one in Hussein (here). Further to this, Chambers have issued non-cooperation decisions against eight States Parties for their failures to arrest and surrender Al Bashir upon his presence within their respective jurisdiction: Chad (2011, and 2013),  Malawi (2011), Nigeria (2013), the DRC (2014), South Africa (2015), Uganda (2016), Djibouti (2016), and Jordan (2017). In all but two instances (Nigeria (2013) and South Africa (2015)) of these instances of non-cooperation the Chamber went on to refer that non-cooperation to the Security Council and the Assembly of States Parties. Monday’s AC decision, however, reverses the PTC’s decision to refer Jordan’s non-cooperation to the Security Council.

PTC II’s caselaw on Article 87(7) is characterised by two themes: 1) Its growing frustration with the failure of states to engage with – even acknowledge – their obligations to cooperate under the Rome Statue, and 2) the PTC’s growing frustration with the Security Council and its failure to do anything to follow up on the Chamber’s referrals once they had been made. These frustrations manifested themselves in a number of ways. One way has been the gradual escalation in the language and detail with which the Chamber exhorts the responsibility of both States Parties and the Security Council to cooperate with and support the Court. Another way this frustration has manifested is the Chamber’s attempt to leverage whatever coercive tools it has within the Rome Statute toolkit to nudge States Parties towards increasing constructive engagement with the Court around the matter of cooperation, with the ultimate goal being fulfilment of cooperation requests. One such tool is the discretionary component of Article 87(7).

The early jurisprudence in Al Bashir adopted a straightforward interpretation of Article 87(7). The permissive, or discretionary, nature of the power to determine non-cooperation and refer was not acknowledged and, instead, once the Chamber had established the State Party was under an obligation to cooperate and two had failed in fact to provide that cooperation, the referral of that finding of non-cooperation was automatic (see, for example, Chad (2011, and 2013),  Malawi (2011)). In these early decisions the Chamber was presented with quite straightforward non-cooperation: the states in question simply did not engage with or acknowledge their obligations under the Statute, asserting instead the immunity of then-President Al Bashir. With non-cooperation findings and referrals stacking up and gathering dust untouched by the Security Council, in 2013 the Chamber was presented with a new situation when, for the first time, it was presented with non-cooperation by a State Party – Nigeria – which did, at least, acknowledge and accept its obligations under the Statute, which professed its commitment to fulfilling those obligations and which provided explanations for its failure on that occasion meet the Court’s cooperation request. In response, for the first time the PTC acknowledged the permissive ‘may’ in Article 87(7) and in doing so emphasised the discretionary nature of its powers under Article 87(7) (para.10). Although it appeared to implicitly acknowledge that Nigeria’s failure to arrest and surrender had been a breach of its obligations to cooperate, the Chamber did not make a formal finding to that effect. Instead, after ‘taking note’ of the explanation offered by Nigeria for its inaction, it concluded simply that ‘it is not warranted in the present circumstances to refer the matter’ (para.13).

Yet, the following year, when the DRC argued that the Chamber should not refer its non-cooperation in materially similar circumstances to Nigeria and having made similar representations as to its good faith commitment to its obligations under the Rome Statute, the Chamber refused to follow its Nigeria decision. Rather, it did two things. First, it appeared to distinguish DRC’s non-cooperation on the facts: referring in its dispositive paragraphs to the ‘deliberate’ refusal of the DRC to arrest and surrender Al Bashir, and elsewhere in the decision it described the DRC’s explanation for its non-cooperation as ‘unconvincing’ (para.13). With no objective difference between the motives of, and explanations provided by, Nigeria and the DRC respectively, it would seem that this distinction on the facts was made on the basis of a subjective assessment of the good faith credentials of the relevant parties. The exercise of discretion on this basis is not itself problematic – indeed the value of judicial discretion is in its ability to allow judges to be responsive to the circumstances of the decision at hand. However, the Chamber’s refusal to be convinced by the DRC’s explanation for its non-cooperation is itself difficult to accept given that the previous year it was ready to accept on face value that same explanation when offered by the Nigerians. That aside, the most problematic aspect of the Court’s decision in the DRC case is the second thing it did: it introduced a new and additional obligation, the obligation to consult with the Chamber in accordance with Article 97 of the Statute. On the basis of two findings – 1) the ‘deliberate’ failure to arrest Al Bashir (which was no more deliberate than Nigeria’s failure) and 2) the DRC’s failure to engage in Article 97 consultations, the Chamber referred the DRC’s non-cooperation to the Security Council, even though no mention of Article 97 was ever made in the previous Nigeria decision. It is this manoeuvre by the Court – the moving of the goalposts for the exercise of its judicial discretion – that is difficult to accept as legitimate.

Up until now, the structure of the Chamber’s analysis under Article 87(7) had been broadly the same. Notwithstanding the implicit acknowledgement of Nigeria’s factual non-cooperation, in all cases, the Chamber swept together the non-cooperation finding and the referral of that finding. However, in 2015, PTC II once again departed from its caselaw, confronted now by a state – South Africa – whose own Supreme Court had determined that it had failed to provide cooperation to the Court, contrary to its obligations under the Statute. Yet, not only did South Africa itself advance this Supreme Court ruling as evidence of its commitment to its obligations under the Statute and – more broadly to the rule of law – it had gone further, and had engaged the process of consultations under Article 97 which the Chamber had, in its DRC decision, identified as a decisive factor in the exercise of judicial discretion. Thus, the Chamber was forced to uncouple the non-cooperation finding and the referral: it made the finding of fact that South Africa had failed to cooperate in accordance with its obligations under the Statute, but nevertheless it decided not to refer that finding to the Security Council.

Having moved the goalposts once in the DRC decision, and having exhausted the (very limited) panoply of obligations under the Rome Statute that it could add to the justifications for the exercise of its discretion in South Africa and in doing so move the goalposts again, the PTC II had – it appeared – exhausted the leveraging potential of its discretion under Article 87(7). Yet, when it came to address Jordan’s failure to arrest and surrender Al Bashir in 2017 although Jordan had objectively overcome all the hurdles set out by the PTC II in Nigeria, then DRC and South Africa, the PTC refused to follow its decision in South Africa. Instead, it determined that what Jordan claimed was engagement with the consultation process in Article 97 was not, in fact, engagement with the consultation process (para.46-49). It further argued that Jordan could not have engaged in consultations for the purpose of Article 97 because the obstacle impeding cooperation that it advanced as the subject of those consultations – i.e. the question of immunities – had been addressed, resolved and removed in the course of the consultations on the same matter undertaken by South Africa (para.54-55). Now, therefore, it would seem that if Jordan wished to invoke the consultation procedure to qualify for the Chamber’s consideration of not to refer its non-cooperation, it needed to have come up with a novel obstacle to cooperation to consult over. Yet again, the goalposts were moved. This manoeuvre was one step too far and, on Monday, the AC reversed the PTC’s decision to refer Jordan’s non-cooperation. Not only did the AC conclude that the PTC made an ‘error’ in mischaracterising Jordan’s attempts to engage the Article 97 consultation process, but that the differential treatment of Jordan and South Africa constituted ‘an abuse of judicial discretion’ (para 210-211).

This aspect of the AC decision, and especially the strongly worded rebuke of the PTC’s conduct, should be welcomed. On one hand, the Chamber’s experiment with leveraging its discretion to refer non-cooperation to the Council to influence the behaviour – even if it is just the argumentative behaviour – of States Parties was partly successful. The DRC – rather than not engaging with the cooperation obligation – acknowledged, like Nigeria did, its obligation under the Rome Statute, stated its commitment to its Rome Statute obligations, but explained the practical impediments to its ability to discharge those obligations at the case at hand. Similarly, Jordan sought to engage the same consultation process under Article 97. Even though, as the Chamber itself pointedly observed, the Council has consistently failed to act upon its referrals – such that there is little ‘hard’ consequence from such a referral – States Parties, first the DRC and more recently Jordan, have taken steps to align their non-cooperation with that of Nigeria and South Africa to avoid a referral to the Security Council. Whereas PTC I has argued that the referral under Article 87(7) are meant to be ‘value neutral’ and ‘not designed to sanction or criticise the requested State’ (para.33) (in the same breath, however, it appeared to concur with PTC II in characterising the referral power as a tools ‘“to use at a certain point in time as a last resort measure or as part of a comprehensive strategy to promote cooperation (para.24)), it would seem that PTC II has had some success in persuading States Parties that a non-referral is a ‘carrot’ worth striving (or at least arguing) for.

On the other hand, having achieved that, the Chamber’s refusal to treat like cases alike and its frustration of the legitimate expectation of states, simply, reeks of bad faith. One of the fundamental tenants of the rule of law is the expectation that, under the rule of law, like cases will be treated alike. It is one if not the factor that distinguishes the politics of legality from those other – less desirable – forms of politics that legality exists in opposition to (Shklar 1964). It is through the giving of reasons that legitimate expectations are created and stability and predictability in the exercise of judicial discretion are guaranteed. In the face of the considerable political, diplomatic and – indeed – legal controversies arising out of the Al Bashir arrest warrant, it was reasonable for states to look to the PTC’s caselaw for guidance and to rely upon that caselaw. The development of – and adherence to – stable and predictable principles might do little to incentivise the kinds of changes in state behaviour (i.e. the movement towards cooperation) that the strategy of leveraging its discretion has been aimed towards. Arguably, for this reason, the experiment with decoupling of the non-cooperation determination and the referral to leverage the referral discretion was always doomed to folly. However, PTC I has also accepted the decoupling of the non-cooperation determination and the Security Council referral, having characterised non-cooperation findings as value neutral objective assessments of fact (Al Islam 2014 at para.23) and referrals as ‘one of the tools available to the Court “to use at a certain point in time as a last resort measure or as part of a comprehensive strategy to promote cooperation”’ (Al Islam 2014 at para.23). As such, the discretionary nature of the referral determination is likely here to stay and, going forward, Chambers need to develop transparent principles to guide that discretion if they are to rebuild some of the trust of States Parties. In the face of the failure of the Security Council to take political action in response to PTC, the manoeuvring of the goalposts for the Article 87(7) non-referral was clearly a proactive attempt to enhance the effectiveness of the Court. However, judicial chambers are not the Security Council or the Assembly of States Parties; they are judicial bodies, not political bodies. With the composition of PTC II now changed, this week’s decision by the AC reminds the new crop of judges that – going forward – if they too wish to engage in politics, they must play the game of legality and abide by the basic rules of that game.

You have just entered Narnia: ICC Appeals Chamber adopts the worst possible solution on immunities in the Bashir case

This morning, 6 May 2019, the Appeals Chamber issued its Judgment on the Appeal filed by Jordan against an 11 december 2017 decision by Pre-Trial Chamber II whereby it was found that Jordan failed to comply with an order to arrest and transfer Bashir to the ICC because Bashir did not benefit from Head of State immunity in the context of a UNSC Referral. As a consequence, Jordan’s non-cooperation was referred to the UNSC and the ASP.

It was a long-awaited decision, touching upon fascinating issues of public international law, treaty interpretation, customary international law, effects of UNSC resolutions, etc. The process that led to the Judgment was itself fairly novel, the Appeals Chamber having invited and received amicus briefs from the AU, the Arab League and a dozen law professors, who, in addition to their written briefs, were heard and questioned by the Chamber at length over several days in September 2018.

This is a really difficult blog post to write, because the Judgment comes at the conclusion of 8 years of debates (since the 2011 Malawi decision), with many sub-plots and twists. Explaining comprehensively why this is a terrible decision therefore would ideally require some prior knowledge of what the stakes are and would require me to fill way too many pages for a blog.

Therefore, for a comprehensive overview of the issues and explanations of why the reasoning of the Appeals Chamber is not convincing, I simply refer you to the innumerable blog posts I’ve written on the topic (particularly my initial reaction to the Malawi decision back in 2011, which is relevant here given the fact that the Appeals Chamber dug it up from nowhere) and my comprehensive chapter on the issue (an earlier draft of which you can find here).

What I will do here is simply pick and choose some particular problematic or noteworthy aspects of the Chamber’s reasoning.

First of all, at the heart of the Appeals Chamber’s reasoning is the conceptual idea that there exists a concept of “international tribunal” that is not simply the “pooling” of the exercise of jurisdiction by States (see par. 115 of the Judgment). These “international tribunals” would have a different nature and would therefore not be subject to the same rules of international law than States are, which allows the Appeals Chamber to say that while Head of State immunity continues to apply between States, it does not apply before international tribunals. However, this reasoning is very problematic. Indeed, it relies on a moral, rather than legal basis, as seen in the claim that “international tribunals” act in the name of the “international community as whole” rather than individual States. But what is the “international community” as a whole from a legal perspective? It is of course never defined in the Judgment.

Moreover, where does the “pooling” of jurisdiction end and the “international tribunal” start? For example, if France and Belgium, who separately would not be able to arrest and prosecute a foreign head of State, create an “international tribunal” through a bilateral agreement, would that new institution be able to prosecute that same Head of State? I doubt it, because States cannot grant to an IO a power they do not possess. This is basic common sense. You can’t just avail yourself of this simple rule by essentially claiming the moral high ground. Also, what arrogance to claim that you are acting in the name of the “international community as a whole”, especially when you see in practice the opposition that exists to the ICC (whether it is justified or not is another issue).

Given the reasoning adopted by the Appeals Chamber on this point, I find it somewhat ironic that the Judges go on the explain that “The law does not readily condone to be done through the back door something it forbids to be done through the front door” (par. 127). Not only is there a slight Judge Dredd feeling about this sentence (who is the “law” exactly? “I am the law!”), but it is exactly what the Judges did to remove immunity in the first place: treaty rules might be a problem? let’s use the back door of the “international tribunal” and magically go through the cupboard into the magical Narnia world when standards rules of international law disappear under the benevolent gaze of the “international community as a whole”…

The key issue should not so much be what an abstract category of “international tribunal” would look like, but rather, in each specific circumstances how a tribunal was created and what effects it might have on third States. This requires no creativity whatsoever, but simply a basic application of public international law rules. In the case of the ICC, as a treaty body, there is simply no reason why it should bind third States and that should be the end of the discussion (the PTC in the Rohinga decision attempted to justify that the ICC could have an effect on third-States as an IO with objective legal personality, but their reasoning was not very convincing either). 

Second of all, as a consequence of the Judgment, Article 98(1) is rendered mostly meaningless. Of course, Article 98(1) does not actually list what immunities need to be respected by cooperating States, but it is somewhat difficult to imagine that if the drafters of the Rome Statute really thought that Article 27 removed all immunities, even in the horizontal relationship between States, as an established rule of customary international law, it would have bothered to introduce Article 98(1) in the first place.

Third of all, the consequences for third States are quite big.

1) this Judgment means that immunities cannot be claimed by nationals of non-State parties, even when the situation is not referred to the Court by the UNSC. In other words, even if a situation is opened through a State referral or a proprio motu decision by the Prosecutor, State Parties would have to arrest and surrender nationals of non-State parties who would otherwise benefit from immunity.

2) This is probably one of the weirdest consequences of the Judgment: because the Appeals Chamber claims the existence of a rule not just in the Rome Statute, but in customary international law, that there are no immunities before “international tribunals”, one could arguably claim that the obligation to arrest and surrender a person would rest not only on State parties but also on non-State parties, because customary law is binding on all States… this is of course a ridiculous proposition, but it shows the absurdity of the Judgment.

Fourth, I note that the AC makes no mention of the Malabo Protocol, which explicitly provides for Head of State immunity. Presumably, by the AC’s standards, the tribunal constituted by the Malabo Protocol would be an “international tribunal”. Therefore, it would be acting in the name of the “international community as a whole”, in claiming that immunities exist before “international tribunals”. Why would this not equally be evidence of a contrary customary international law?

Fifth, I note that the Appeals Chamber mentions in one paragraph that Jordan’s obligation to cooperate would also stem from the Convention against Genocide. This was the position taken in a separate opinion to the South Africa decision by Judge Brichambaut (see my commentary here). I was not entirely convinced by the argument at the time, but at least the Judge made an effort to analyse the Genocide Convention specifically and explain how it would be related to the Rome Statute. Here, there is no such effort and it is impossible to understand what the relevance of the Genocide convention is in the current proceedings. Maybe it was included as a possibility in a earlier draft of the Judgment and someone forgot to remove it, because as it stands, these few lines, which seem to be added as an afterthought, with no explanations, 1 footnote and no references, are completely useless.

Sixth, I don’t have much to add that I haven’t said in the past to the analysis provided by the Appeals Chamber of the “UNSC route”. Just a few quick thoughts:

1) It’s not entirely clear why the AC bothers with this section of the Judgment at all, given that the questions raised become essentially moot given the customary law avenue taken by the Chamber.

2) I do note that the reasoning provided by the AC is interesting when it comes to determine under what sections of the Rome Statute Soudan would be obliged to cooperate with the Court. I must say that on first reading, I am convinced with the argument according to which, given the language of the UNSC Resolution, Soudan would have to respect the cooperation provisions relating to State parties rather than non-State parties. However, this does not automatically mean that Soudan would be bound by Article 27, and on this the Judgment is less convincing.

3) I also note that the AC did not follow my friendly advice: it did not actually asked those States on the UNSC who wrote the referral if in fact they did intend to remove immunities. This would have been all the more interesting as some of these States have made public Statements to the contrary (see here).

Seventh, in relation to the referral of Jordan to the ASP and the UNSC, I remain a bit lost at what the legal framework is. In such discretionary matters, it seems more of a divination exercise than one of legal reasoning, so I don’t have much to say about that. I just wonder, maybe naively, when a referral will ever be justified. Indeed, when the Jordan cooperation issue comes up, there is 7 years of constant (if not consistent) case-law asking State parties to arrest and surrender Bashir. I have all the sympathy in the world for Jordan’s legal position, which I mostly share, but practically, in those circumstances, it is difficult to see Jordan’s non-cooperation as anything else but a clear refusal to comply with a clear order from the Court. How is that not sufficient for a referral? I’m wondering, but this is just me thinking out loud, whether the real issue is to avoid that this discussion be forced on the ASP/UNSC, bodies which might make statements that the Judges would not want to hear. Indeed, it would not look good if the UNSC or the ASP (under the pressure of the AU States) actually came out in defense of Jordan…

Eighth, while I have yet to read the separate opinion (I might blog on it later), I am not sure what to make of its existence. Indeed what are we taking about?  it is a separate concurring opinion which focuses on written by 4 of the 5 judges in relation to the 2  grounds of appeal for which the decision was unanimous. So basically, did the 5th Judge not agree with the content of the separate opinion? because if she had, it would be signed by all 5 judges, concurring with themselves and then this would just be another part of the Judgment… Also, as also noted by Hemi Mistry, there are regular cross-references between the Judgment and the concurring opinion, which raises the question of the exact status of the document. I hope to have more clarity when I actually read it.

In conclusion (for now), I honestly believed that the AC would play it safe and stir away for the Customary Law route. I was wrong. As noted by Dapo Akande, this radical view justifies even more that the AU move for an ICJ advisory opinion on the matter. They have nothing to lose now.

From the perspective of the ICC, the Appeals Chamber has sadly confirmed I was right when I chose “the frog that wanted to be an ox” title, for my book chapter on immunities. This is again a case of the ICC Judges trying to be more (and to make the Court be more) than it actually is. In the fable, the frog actually exploded at the end… it’s of course just a metaphor, but given recent developments at the Court, it’s increasingly becoming a concrete risk for the institution.

 

Gadafi admissibility decision: the ICC probably gets it right on amnesties, but for entirely wrong reasons

Last friday, 5 april 2019, Pre-Trial Chamber I of the International Criminal Court rejected the admissibility challenge filed by the Defence team of Saif Al-Islam Gadafi. I’ll let you read the decision itself to get a full picture of the procedural history, but, in essence, Gadafi is claiming that his case is no longer admissible because he was tried (in abstentia) and convicted for the same conduct which is the subject of the arrest warrant at the ICC. Gadafi also claims he was released on the basis of an 2015 Amnesty law (an English version of the law can be found here).

There are a number of interesting points to discuss in this decision which I’m sure other people will pick up on.

For example, I continue to disagree with the idea that the burden to prove all relevant aspect of the admissibility lies exclusively on the State or person challenging the admissibility of a case. For me, the burden should be split: the challenging party need only prove that the case is being investigated or prosecuted and it is for the Prosecutor to prove the alleged unwillingness or inability of that State.

Another example is the impact of a trial in absentia in relation to the finality of a judgment for the purposes of the ne bis in idem principle. First of all, I find that  the decision is not very clear on this point. On the one hand, the Judges seem to suggest that if the person is finally brought into custody, there is an automatic retrial: “According to the Libyan national law, once the person is arrested, his trial should start anew » (par. 48). On the other hand, the Defence seems to be saying that a retrial is only an option triggered by the Accused himself (see par. 55). Second of all, one can wonder to what extent it is good judicial policy to base the ne bis in idem analysis on hypothetical procedural developments, based on hypothetical future events. The admissibility assessment should be made based on the factual reality at the time of the decision, and the decision can be revisited should this factual reality change. If not, no case will ever be admissible because there will always be a hypothetical risk that something might happen (a revision, a retrial, etc.).

The main point I would like to comment on now is the question of amnesties. I know that academics are often criticised for a sort of egocentric impulse to quote their own work. Generally, I do not understand this criticism. We work hard on our research, on which we are judged professionally. Why should we not refer to it? Moreover, there are times, all too rare, when we develop a theoretical idea which turns out to have a real practical impact. In such cases, referring to our own work becomes even more relevant. And this decision is such a case for me.

Indeed, in 2012, I published a book chapter in a volume edited by Larissa van den Herik and Carsten Stahn (The Diversification and Fragmentation of International Criminal Law) entitled « Puzzling Over Amnesties: Defragmenting the Debate for International Criminal Tribunals » (see here for the first draft on SSRN). In that paper, I analysed the approach taken to amnesties in a number of international tribunals, more particularly international criminal tribunals and proposed two findings which I think are relevant here:

1) Contrary to what a number of commentators were saying at the time and still are today, I claimed that it was highly unlikely that an amnesty would ever be considered a valid reason to find a case inadmissible. Indeed, as a court founded on a criminal justice model, the ICC is for me quasi-ontologically incapable of considering mechanisms other than criminal law mechanisms. Whatever the political and societal benefits that one could see in some amnesties (a position I personally share), the ICC is not a court of political legitimacy (an assessment which the Judges are not equipped to make in any case). This conclusion is confirmed by the actual language of the Statute itself, where complementarity is explicitly defined in relation to « national criminal jurisdictions ». I therefore believe it would take an extraordinary set of circumstances for an amnesty to ever be accepted by the ICC. So, in this sense, I’m not surprised by the outcome of the Gadafi decision itself.

This being said, in my chapter, I had mostly considered amnesties in an isolated manner, not in combination to other procedures, notably the actual conduct of a trial. But I do not think this changes my analysis. Indeed, how is an amnesty following a conviction not literally technically a way of « shielding the person concerned from criminal responsibility »? I’ve seen commentators on twitter lament the fact that the majority confused amnesties and pardons. But I personally don’t see how the technical term used changes anything, so I’d be happy to hear more about this.

2) In my chapter, I explained that international criminal courts are not courts of legality of domestic legislation. They are tasked with determining whether laws enacted by States are in conformity with international law or not. When you apply this to amnesties, it mean that when the issue comes before them, they have to determine to what extent such amnesty is relevant procedurally, not determine whether this amnesty was adopted in contravention to accepted international norms relating to the duty to prosecute. More particularly, in the context of complementarity at the ICC, this means that the only thing that a Chamber needs to do is identify whether an amnesty is opposable to the Court in the context of an admissibility challenge. The advantage here was obvious: have international criminal judges stick to their function. Indeed, a strict finding that such amnesty is not procedurally relevant should require neither a determination that the amnesty was legally problematic neither a finding that the amnesty was politically illegitimate. As I noted in the conclusion of my chapter, it is “entirely possible to ascertain that amnesties for crimes within the jurisdiction of an international tribunal should not be recognized, while still leaving open the question of the validity in international law of that amnesty, or its political legitimacy ».

As a consequence of this, I obviously think that the majority in the Libya decision followed the wrong methodology in assessing the amnesty that Gadafi might have benefited from. They did not need to fill pages upon pages with other decisions that pronounced on the legality of similar amnesties, because that was not relevant for the admissibility assessment.

In the reasoning of the majority, one sentence struck me as problematic: « The Chamber believes that there is a strong, growing, universal tendency that grave and systematic human rights violations – which may amount to crimes against humanity by their very nature – are not subject to amnesties or pardons under international law » (par. 61).

I’ve always been irritated by Judges talking about « tendencies » when it comes to the content of the law (the same goes for other similar expressions, my favourite being that something is a « crystallising » norm). Their job is to determine the content of law as a judicial organ, not comment on a hypothetical law formation process.

You might say that I’m ignoring the very nature of customary law formation by saying this. But the judges themselves never explicitly situate themselves in such a discussion: they never even mention customary law (except in quoted excerpts from other courts and tribunals) and at no point conclude on the customary law status of the alleged prohibition of amnesties.

Instead, they use the very convenient trick of referring to Article 21(3), which asks Judges to interpret the Statute consistently with internationally recognised human rights. However, this is flawed because the Judges are not technically interpreting anything here, let alone the Statute. They are pronouncing on the international legality of a domestic amnesty law. I doubt this is the purpose of Article 21(3).

As a concluding point, I note that the majority’s developements on amnisties would appear all the more theoretical given that there appears to be some confusion about whether Gadafi in fact benefited from the amnesty law at all.

Indeed, the Defence claims he did (admissibility challenge, par. 26). However, the decision itself claims, based on what the Libyan authorities told the ICC, that Gadafi has not in fact benefited from this law because the crimes he was charged with were explicitly excluded from the law. Moreover, nothing seems to indicate in the decision itself that Gadafi benefited from the law for the crimes falling within the ICC arrest warrant. If that is the case, and more importantly, if this is what the majority believes to be true, it’s not entirely clear why they embark in the discussion on the legality of the amnesty at all.

It would not be the first time that Judges at the ICC bring in an irrelevant « sexy » issue in a decision, maybe to make themselves feel like they are contributing to the greater good of international justice rather than being perceived as boring technicians of international criminal procedure. But by refusing to accept what they are, and seeing themselves as something else, some international judges sometimes comes dangerously close to not actually doing what they were elected for, to the detriment of all Parties involved and, ultimately, to the ICC itself.

Some thoughts on the legal consequences of the Philippines leaving the Rome Statute

On Sunday 17 march 2019, the Philippines’ withdrawal from the Rome Statute became effective, without the country’s Supreme Court having ruled on the domestic legality of the withdrawal (see Priya Pillai here and here).

As noted by Kevin Jon Heller last week, we were all waiting to see if the Court would pull another Burundi-type decision on the Philippines, with a Pre-Trial Chamber authorising the opening of a formal investigation before the withdrawal came into effect.

Yesterday, 18 march 2019, the ICC Prosecutor, through the ICC twitter account, issued the following statement:

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First of all, as noted by others, this statement seems to suggest that the OTP has not requested the opening of a formal investigation. It might be interesting to know why this choice was made, but the OTP is unlikely to communicate on this matter.

More importantly, this makes the discussions we were having last year before the Burundi decision on how the withdrawal would affect the Court’s jurisdiction for crimes allegedly committed while the State was still a party to the Statute far less theoretical. Alex Whiting, Kevin Jon Heller, Sergey Vassiliev and myself had all weighted in on the issue.

In relation to that, the Prosecutor claims in her statement that: “Pursuant to article 127.2 of the Statute, and based on prior ICC judicial ruling in the situation in Burundi, the Court retains its jurisdiction over crimes committed during the time in which the State was party to the Statute and may exercise this jurisdiction even after the withdrawal becomes effective.”.

Fatou Bensouda is probably relying on paragraph 24 of the decision to open an investigation in the Burundi situation:

The Chamber finds that the jurisdiction of the Court prior to the entry into effect of a withdrawal must be determined in light of article 127(1), second sentence, of the Statute. This provision stipulates that a withdrawal takes “effect one year after the date of receipt of the notification”. On this basis, a withdrawing State remains, for all intents and purposes, a State Party in the period between the communication of the notification of withdrawal and the end of the ensuing one-year interval. Therefore, by ratifying the Statute, a State Party accepts, in accordance with article 12(1) and (2) of the Statute, the jurisdiction of the Court over all article 5 crimes committed either by its nationals or on its territory for a period starting at the moment of the entry into force of the Statute for that State and running up to at least one year after a possible withdrawal, in accordance with article 127(1) of the Statute.32 This acceptance of the jurisdiction of the Court remains unaffected by a withdrawal of the State Party from the Statute. Therefore, the Court retains jurisdiction over any crimes falling within its jurisdiction that may have been committed in Burundi or by nationals of Burundi up to and including 26 October 2017. As a consequence, the exercise of the Court’s jurisdiction, i.e. the investigation and prosecution of crimes committed up to and including 26 October 2017, is, as such, not subject to any time limit.

There is however a basic problem with this reasoning, which I had already started explaining here: it conflates what are in fact three separate concepts in the Rome Statute:  jurisdiction, preconditions to the exercise of jurisdiction and exercise of jurisdiction. And this distinction, in my view, has consequences on how we interpret the Statute, in particular when it comes to the effect of withdrawal.

  • jurisdiction: this term can be technically applied to three articles in the Rome Statute: Article 5 (material jurisdiction), Article 11 (temporal jurisdiction) and Article 25(1) (personal jurisdiction).
  •  Preconditions to the exercise of jurisdiction: This is Article 12, which relates to two such preconditions: territory and nationality. I know this is somewhat controversial, but technically, territory and nationality are not framed in the Rome Statute as jurisdictional criteria, but as preconditions to the exercise of jurisdiction. In that respect, one can note the difference in language between Article 12(1), which states that a State Party “accepts the jurisdiction of the Court with respect to the crimes referred to in article 5” and Article 12(2), which simply States that to exercise its jurisdiction, the Court must verify that the conduct occurred on the territory of a State party or that the alleged perpetrator was a national of a State party (except in the case of a UNSC referral). There is no question here of a State party accepting any sort of territorial or nationality jurisdiction, contrary to the material jurisdiction of the Court.
  • Exercise of jurisdiction: this is Article 13 and relates to the trigger mechanisms, i.e, referral of a situation by a State, the Security Council or request to open an investigation proprio motu by the Prosecutor.

The consequence of this distinction is the following: while I’m willing to accept that possibly a State which becomes a party to the Rome Statute accepts the jurisdiction of the Court for crimes committed while it was a State party, I do not believe this extends to acceptance that the Court can exercise jurisdiction indefinitely for these crimes, even after a withdrawal. Because the criteria of Article 12(2) (nationality and territory) are preconditions to the exercise of jurisdiction, they need to be assessed at the moment when the Court is considering whether to to exercise jurisdiction. This comes out clearly from the language of the chapeau of Article 12(2): there must first be one of the three trigger mechanism of Article 13, before checking whether territory and/or nationality is an issue. As a result, I would say that verification of whether the conduct was committed on the territory of a State party or was that of a national of a State party happens at the time of the decision, not a the time of the commission of the crime.

One can note that Article 12(2) indicates that the Court can exercise jurisdiction “if one or more of the following States are Parties to this Statute”. The use of the present tense (“are”) seems to suggest contemporaneity with the assessment.

One final argument: the interpretation suggested by the Pre-Trial Chamber, if followed, would have as a consequence to strip of any meaning the last line of Article 127(2) which famously provides that a withdrawal shall not ” prejudice in any way the continued consideration of any matter which was already under consideration by the Court prior to the date on which the withdrawal became effective”. Whatever the interpretation one adopts of a “matter which was already under consideration by the Court”, what would be the point of such a provision in the first place, if at any time after the withdrawal, the Court could initiate an investigation into crimes allegedly committed prior to the withdrawal?

On balance, I therefore believe that the reasoning given in the Burundi decision and on which the Prosecutor relies on here is based on an unconvincing reading of the Rome Statute and is once again an ill-conceived attempt by the Court to extend its jurisdiction to situations which are beyond its reach.

As a side note, given the complexity of the manner, I would expect more professionalism from the CICC which simply claims that “According to the ICC’s treaty, the withdrawal will not impact any on-going consideration of alleged crimes committed before the withdrawal entered into force.” This is neither the language of the Rome Statute, nor the language of the Burundi decision. This is a situation where advocacy slides dangerously into the realm of misinformation in my view.