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Towards an “Asian Faction” in International Law?: On Third Worldism and Contingent Eurocentrism Since the Second Hague Conference of 1907

RYAN MARTÍNEZ MITCHELL*

Writing in 1950 about the Second Hague Conference of 1907, Carl Schmitt remarked on the event’s completely different “atmosphere and ambience” as compared with its predecessor. The first conference of 1899 had been, for all intents and purposes, “still purely European” (noch rein europäisch). But when its successor was convened eight years later, “those who ought to have been carried out the door now already stood before it” (die Füße derer, die sie hinaustragen sollten, standen schon vor der Tür).[1] For Schmitt, this was evidence that the erstwhile “public law of Europe” had by then already fallen into an irreversible trajectory of decline.

Another comment on the conference, touching on its significance in strikingly similar terms but from a completely different standpoint, was that of the Chinese diplomat Lu Zhengxiang (a/k/a Lou Tseng-Tsiang), who had gone to the First Hague Conference as a junior delegate before serving as the co-head of the 1907 Qing delegation. Subsequently reflecting on the experience in January 1908, Lu wrote in a memorial to the penultimate Qing Emperor that “there was an invisible atmosphere among the delegations to the effect that, while there has been an ‘American faction’ and a ‘European faction’ [at the Hague conferences] there was originally no ‘Asian faction’; however with the emergence of the topic of extraterritorial consular jurisdiction, the Persian and Siamese delegates were closely aligned with us, and so an ‘Asian faction’ was formed during the meetings.”[2] Going forward, Lu and other diplomats suggested, China should both modernize and seek to build on this nascent solidarity by working with other weak states towards goals such as abolishing extraterritorial consular jurisdiction and reclaiming policy autonomy.

In my recent article on China’s participation at the Second Hague Conference, which appears in the Asian Journal of International Law, I examine in detail the early expressions of Third World solidarity at the conference as well as the event’s impact on China’s domestic legal initiatives. While coalition building with other weak states did not advance much in the near term, work towards China’s own construction of a “modern” nation-state along the lines of Meiji Japan was greatly accelerated by its up-close encounter with Great Power international legal rulemaking in 1907.

The notion of establishing an “Asian faction”—yazhou zhi pai, also translatable as “Asian school”—in international law settings was still quite novel when Lu made this proposal. The international law field as a globalized profession or “invisible college” engaged in continuous activities of research, legal practice, and self-reproduction was itself a recent phenomenon.[3] Meanwhile, explicit Eurocentrism was a central organizing idea in the self-constructed identity of the field, and a major part of its growing imprint on politics and intellectual life in the West. While some international law advocates put more emphasis upon shared Christian heritage and values, and others upon the extension of free markets,[4] cosmopolitan duties,[5] and political liberalism, the general consensus of the field’s leaders had by the 1870s coalesced around a “standard of civilization”—defined largely in terms of obedient acceptance of Western economic penetration and religious proselytism—as the metric for membership in the global community.

The extension of international law ideas and structures to East Asia had been carried out in large part via what would later be called “unequal treaties”: agreements with asymmetrical obligations imposed through the use or threat of force. By the time of the First Hague Conference in 1899, however, Meiji Japan had managed to overcome most of the formal features of subordination. This had been accomplished by the rapid adoption of Western legal, political, and commercial forms, along with the extension of geopolitical power—at China’s expense, particularly after the watershed First Sino-Japanese War of 1894-1895 founding Japan’s claim to Great Power status on terms approaching parity with the West.[6]

By the time Lu made his suggestions for Asian solidarity in 1908, he could only note with regret that the opportunity for cooperation on equal terms with the rising Great Power Japan had been missed decades earlier. A yazhou zhi pai at meetings like the Hague Conferences would thus have to operate, at least for the time being, in competition with Japan’s influence as well as that of Western powers. Yet both the exigencies of domestic state-building and the limitations of international legal forums would get in the way of such efforts.

Lu’s reflections long predated the era of post-World War II decolonizations that gave birth to what has been described as the first generation of “Third World Approaches to International Law” (TWAIL) as a movement and polycentric professional network. The explicitly Eurocentric global international law profession of his time was not amenable to such initiatives. Even in China itself, moreover, such ideas would largely fade in relevance by the interwar period, as competing domestic regimes became ever more reliant on foreign (Western, Soviet, or Japanese) backers for arms and credit. In the wake of the Paris Peace Conference of 1919-1920, moreover, Japan turned towards explicit emulation of the United States’ Monroe Doctrine as a model for local hegemony, thus further associating discourses of pan-Asianism with its own aspirations to dominance. As I detail in an article recently published in the TWAIL Review, these efforts put Chinese diplomats and lawyers on the defensive against regionalist initiatives, a stance they would maintain for decades, despite sporadic interest in a broader solidarity agenda.

Only after the world had been transformed both materially and ideologically by the end of the Second World War and the beginnings of both the Cold War and the era of decolonizations would Chinese officials truly return to regional aims. While Chinese delegates at the Dumbarton Oaks Conversations and San Francisco Conference founding the United Nations emphatically defended both sovereign equality and cosmopolitan institutions such as the International Court of Justice, internal proposals regarding possible initiatives such as a “Pacific Charter” or even a “United Nations of the Pacific” (Taipingyang Lianheguo) ultimately never saw the light of day. In a monograph forthcoming with Cambridge University Press, Recentering the World: China and the Transformation of International Legal Order, I detail these and other episodes in Chinese engagements with international law since the 1850s.

As the book shows, the most proactive pursuit of Third World solidarity undertaken by a Chinese government was the process by which Zhou Enlai and Jawaharlal Nehru in 1954 developed the “Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence” framework that soon formed the basis for the Final Communiqué of the Asian-African Conference at Bandung. Though a moment of great historical and intellectual importance, Bandung, too, would ultimately prove to be limited in its capacity to produce systemic alternatives to Eurocentric legal order. Especially after China itself “returned” to both Western legal forums and global capitalism, from 1971 and 1978 respectively, its erstwhile revolutionary role was largely cast aside.

Today, as China launches vast initiatives of trade and investment it largely replicates extant practices and relations of production and exchange,[7] rather than overturning them. The contributions to a recent symposium on China and the International Legal Order coordinated by the Harvard International Law Journal, Yale Journal of International Law, and the organizers of the University of Oxford’s “China, Law and Development” project, for example, detail various aspects of this growing position of centrality and (conditioned) agency.

Returning to the Second Hague Conference, we might ask: Were early expressions of non-Western organization and solidarity like those of 1907, then, little more than “dead circuits” or “non-events”?[8] Certainly, Lu’s actual proposal was to have few practical consequences in terms of international law doctrine or structures. Nonetheless, the experiences of 1907 and other such moments marginalized in traditional Western international legal history are worth studying for a number of reasons. China’s role at the Second Hague Conference was of course important as an early tactile encounter with international law and its possibilities that pointed in the direction of the above-mentioned, later Third World developments.

Meanwhile, the event also marked a genuine, practical shift in which relatively weak and “minor” powers in general began to exert meaningful checks on the projects of Great Powers and their legal architects. At the Hague, Lu’s delegation had mainly joined with Latin American states to oppose the novel, hierarchical great power initiatives in these areas. Together, they had struggled against hierarchically-conceived innovations such as a permanent international court whose judiciary was to be organized along lines explicitly intended to reflect relative geopolitical power. The shared commitment to a more robust sense of sovereign state equality emerged early on as a common denominator for Latin and Asian (and, later, African et al.) states’ ambitions in reforming global order.[9]

However, it is also precisely in this aspect that this early experience shares with much later iterations of TWAIL features that some in today’s TWAIL milieu find troubling. First, as noted, both the rhetoric and the practical proposals introduced on behalf of this “resistance” of marginalized actors were firmly centered on the rights of sovereign states. Statist positivism, with its various implications for internal power hierarchies and modes of economic relations, was not challenged as such. For some TWAIL writers today, embrace of a purportedly “Eurocentric epistemology” of statehood precludes real resistance to Eurocentric legal order.[10] Second, although the Asian-Latin American (and some European) “weak state” delegates did manage to defeat several isolated proposals of the great powers, they did not manage to turn this moment of coalition into any lasting organizational forms of influence on international law’s future development. A recurring lack of real-world impact, or at least failure to realize grandly-conceived initial objectives, has not infrequently been reiterated in Third World legal projects ever since.

The mixed legacies of events like the Second Hague Conference, Versailles, San Francisco, and Bandung all raise questions of necessity versus contingency. Were delegates of marginalized states fated to rely primarily on the notion of state sovereignty to articulate resistance to great power hierarchies? Or, could some other common ethos and nexus of cooperation, such as a more robust notion of self-determination, have been equally effective? Could early moments of solidarity like that of 1907 have turned into more lasting forums and institutions, if not for interruption by wars and revolutions? These and other counterfactuals emerge naturally from a close consideration of these key transitional moments in the history of international legal order.

While explorations of China’s international legal history cannot definitively answer these questions, I believe that TWAIL scholars and others interested in overcoming the inherited Eurocentric frames of international legal thought and practice (or aspects thereof) may benefit by further pursuing them. Meanwhile, rather than dwelling on 1907 or any other contingent episode as a sentimental “founding moment” for Third Worldism, I hope that, by studying in context the prototypes and early expressions of later causes, critical international lawyers today can better understand our own “atmosphere and ambience” in terms of its diverse genealogies and, perhaps, similar difficulties being translated into action.

What might it take for those “who ought to be carried out the door” of today’s global legal order—states outside of the remnant developed-world Cold War security alliances, indigenous peoples, the global economic precariat, victims of built-in inegalitarianism in today’s structures for managing world trade, health crises, climate change, et al.—not just to make sporadic, conditional entries through that door, but rather tear it from its hinges?

[1] Carl Schmitt, Der Nomos der Erde im Volkerrecht des Jus Publicum Europaeum 205 (1950).

[2] Zhongguo Di Er Lishi Dang’an Guan 中國第二歷史檔案館, Lu Zhengxiang Chuxi Haiya Baohehui Zouzhe Liangjian 陸徵祥出席海牙保和會奏摺兩件 [Two Memorials of Lu Zhengxiang Regarding Participation at the Hague Peace Conference], Minguo Dang’an 民國檔案, no. 2, 2000, at 37–42.

[3] See, e.g., Martti Koskenniemi, The Gentle Civilizer of Nations: The Rise and Fall of International Law 1870-1960 71–73 (2001); cf. Martti Koskenniemi, To the Uttermost Parts of the Earth: Legal Imagination and International Power 1300-1870 965–67 (2021).

[4] See Ntina Tzouvala, Capitalism as Civilisation: A History of International Law 56–67 (2020); cf. Gerrit W. Gong, The Standard of Civilization in International Society (1984).

[5] See, e.g. Andrew Fitzmaurice, King Leopold’s Ghostwriter: The Creation of Persons and States in the Nineteenth Century 420–434 (2021).

[6] On 1895 as a turning point specifically for the institution of extraterritorial consular jurisdiction in Sino-Japanese relations, see Pär Kristoffer Cassel, Grounds of Judgment: Extraterritoriality and Imperial Power in Nineteenth-Century China and Japan 160 (2011).

[7] For an argument that international law should be studied as a reflection of and means of regulating relations of production (rather than either morally fetishized or nihilistically condemned as a mere smokescreen for power relations), see generally Bhupinder Singh Chimni, International Law and World Order: A Critique of Contemporary Approaches (2nd ed., 2017).

[8] Compare Fleur Johns, On Dead Circuits and Non-Events, in Contingency in International Law: On the Possibility of Different Legal Histories 25, 40–58 (Kevin Jon Heller & Ingo Venzke eds., 2021), with Samuel Moyn, From Situated Freedom to Plausible Worlds, in Contingency in International Law: On the Possibility of Different Legal Histories, supra, at 517, 532–41.

[9] Arnulf Becker Lorca, Mestizo International Law: A Global Intellectual History 1842-1933 158–68 (2014).

[10] See, e.g., Mohsen al Attar, Subverting Eurocentric Epistemology: The Value of Nonsense When Designing Counterfactuals, in Contingency in International Law: On the Possibility of Different Legal Histories, supra note 8, at 145, 160–76. For a perspective focusing on how the state, like other legal forms, can serve as a site of “relative autonomy” reflecting struggles over agency and distribution between social actors, see Umut Özsu, The Necessity of Contingency: Method and Marxism in International Law, in Contingency in International Law: On the Possibility of Different Legal Histories, supra note 8, at 60, 75–92.

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* Ryan Martínez Mitchell is an assistant professor at the Faculty of Law of the Chinese University of Hong Kong. He holds a B.A. from The New School, a J.D. from Harvard Law School, and a Ph.D. in Law and Archaia Qualification in the Study of Ancient and Premodern Societies from Yale University. His research focuses on the history and theory of international law, legal history, and Chinese law, and is reflected in publications in a number of leading academic journals. His monograph Recentering the World: China and the Transformation of International Legal Order is forthcoming from Cambridge University Press. He is on Twitter @zeguoqiang

Content, Online Scholarship, Perspectives

Expanding the Jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court: Articles by Parliamentarians for Global Action in Cooperation with HLS Advocates for Human Rights

International Criminal Law (“ICL”) has been the branch of Public International Law that saw the most impressive developments in the last 30 years. The International Law & Human Rights team at Parliamentarians for Global Action (“PGA”) joined forces with a group of students from the Harvard Law School Advocates for Human Rights (“Advocates”) to launch a project that identifies some of the most innovative ideas and proposals that could further contribute to the progressive development of International Criminal Law. The project’s current focus is on expanding the International Criminal Court’s jurisdiction in the following areas: development of the Court’s jurisdiction on environmental crimes and human trafficking; the expansion of the Court’s personal jurisdiction to corporations; and the creation of an additional procedural avenue through a hybrid chamber.

In times of change for the ICC, this project amplifies the voices of young students and practitioners, as well as more seasoned lawyers and experts. In the words of a former student of Harvard Law School, Ben Ferencz, who became a Prosecutor at the Nuremberg trials when he was 27 years old and, years later, played a crucial role in the establishment of the ICC, the incorporation of the crime of aggression into the Rome Statute, and the activation of the Court’s jurisdiction over the same, “Never give up. Never give up. Never give up.” Like Mr. Ferencz who continues to develop ICL at the age of over 101, students and contributors to this project wish to advance international criminal justice to combat impunity in the face of atrocity crimes which pose a global threat to humankind.

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Harvard International Law Journal has published the following articles drafted by PGA and international law experts, building on research provided by Advocates:

Making the Case for a Hybrid Chamber at the ICC

David Donat-Cattin & Philippa Greer

Taking Down One of the World’s Largest and More Profitable Criminal Industries: Trafficking in Persons (Part I)

Romina Morello & Frederika Schweighoferova

Taking Down One of the World’s Largest and More Profitable Criminal Industries: Trafficking in Persons (Part II: Libya and Central America)

Frederika Schweighoferova

ICC Personal Jurisdiction on Corporations for Criminal Liability and/or Civil Liability for Reparations

Juan Pablo Calderón Meza

If the Shoe Fits, Wear it (and Codify It as a Crime Against the Environment)

Anthony Abato

Ecocide Law: The Use of Hard Law to Complement Soft Law

Shirleen Chin

Content, Essays, Online Scholarship

Decolonization of the Legal Code: The End of Colonial Laws in Rwanda and a Model for Other Post-colonial Societies

By: Agnes Binagwaho and Richard Freeman[*]

 

[Click here for PDF]

Introduction

Communities around the world are organizing to confront structural violence and its enduring consequences. As the COVID-19 pandemic, caused by a deadly respiratory virus, disproportionately affects historically oppressed communities, protestors rally around cries of “I can’t breathe,” the dying words of black men and women killed by police.[1] In Africa and in Europe, the global movement has found expression in the struggle against unresolved injustices of colonial and post-colonial violence. Activists worldwide have converged on a common tactic, as they topple statues and monuments that honor racist historical figures. Symbolic in nature, the powerful action carries real import: it transforms the space, norms, and discourse within which we accept to live together.

For post-colonial societies, this article demonstrates Rwanda’s experience in extending the movement beyond the realm of symbolism and into substantive policy reform. The country has taken the unprecedented step of systematically eradicating the legal roots of historic inequality and structural violence at the very heart of post-colonial society. Rather than toppling statues, Rwanda toppled its colonial statutes.

In a previous article published in this Journal, we advocated for Rwanda to initiate a public debate and to take bold action to abolish the barriers that colonial laws still presented to health, human rights, and development.[2] Staying true to its trailblazer reputation, Rwanda acted swiftly. As it commemorated 25 years since the end of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi—the culmination of European colonial divisionism—Rwanda laid down a new milestone in the liberation of its legal institutions.

Namely, on July 15, 2019, the Parliament historically proclaimed an end to all colonial laws:

All legal instruments, brought into force before the date of independence of Rwanda, are repealed.[3]

That is a victory for social justice. As discussed in our previous article, the persistence of colonial laws, originally designed to oppress, continued to exert harm. These legal vestiges can jeopardize the rule of law, causing delays in policy implementation and unjust outcomes.[4] In health policy, the consequences can mean the difference between life and death.[5] Especially today, at a time of a global pandemic, when every moment counts to control the spread of a highly lethal infectious disease, there is no room for interference from the ghosts of colonial oppressors.

No doubt, Parliament’s bold stroke will surface some questions about how to interpret certain laws, or how to adjudicate in the absence of certain now-abolished statutory rules. But the country’s modern legal institutions are resilient; they have the tools and capability to resolve those questions. These challenges are minor when compared to the malignancy that has finally been excised from the code. As Rwanda moves into the future on a more just and dignified legal foundation, it now has an opportunity to inspire other post-colonial countries in Africa and beyond to consider doing the same.

I. A World Ready To Dismantle Colonialism: From Statues To Statutes

Globally, societies have mobilized to reject historic instruments of oppression. What began as nationwide protests against institutionalized racism in America, especially its manifestation in police brutality against black civilians, has ignited a wave of actions across the world. While Americans tear down statues of Confederate generals who fought for the institution of slavery in the country’s south, elsewhere in the world protestors have set their sights on “statues glorifying men made famous or rich by the slave trade and colonialism.”[6] In Europe and Africa, the movement has revived an overdue reckoning with the unfinished business of decolonization. Rwanda’s reform coincides with this global context of introspection, activism, and change.

Among these international reactions, a public debate has emerged around Belgium’s violent colonial legacy—the same evil past that continues to haunt communities in both Europe and Africa, including Rwanda. Across Belgium there has been “a wave of support for the removal of all monuments built to honour [King Leopold II,] the former king, who brutalised Congolese people.”[7] In a particularly powerful instance, a fourteen year old boy of Congolese descent launched a viral petition demanding the City of Brussels remove all statues of Leopold II.[8] As the sixtieth anniversary of the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s independence approached last year, monuments to Belgian colonialism were removed in Antwerp, Ghent, and Ixelles.[9] Even as far away as Western Australia, on July 3, 2020, the local government changed the official name of the King Leopold Ranges to the aboriginal name, Wunaamin Miliwundi Ranges, finally rejecting the tyrant’s “grievous atrocities, brutal oppression and the enslavement of African people.”[10] The response is not unique to the Belgian colonial legacy: other European communities have also toppled monuments to their own slave traders and colonialists too.[11]

To its credit, the Belgian government has also taken a few steps. It invited experts from the United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (“U.N. Human Rights”) to visit Belgium for an independent assessment of concerns about human rights and racism.[12] In 2019, their report concluded that the “public discourse does not reflect a nuanced understanding of how institutions may drive systemic exclusion” and inequity.[13] The experts “note[d] with concern the public monuments and memorials that are dedicated to King Leopold II and Force Publique officers.” But, looking deeper, they also advised “finally confront[ing] and acknowledg[ing] King Leopold II’s and Belgium’s role in colonization and its long-term impact on Belgium and Africa.”[14] As the expert report recognized, removing statues is important, but true healing must reach institutional reforms.

A year later, on July 17, 2020, Belgium’s Chamber of Representatives responded: it established a special commission to examine King Leopold and the Belgian state’s colonial past in Congo, Rwanda, and Burundi, including the role of the Catholic church and other non-state actors.[15] The commission will not only assess “symbolic actions” to promote reconciliation – such as “the withdrawal . . . of statues honoring or having honored the protagonists of colonization”[16]—but it is also charged to advise Parliament on substantive policy options.[17] This is a positive step, but to result in change, the commission must be well constituted, it must produce constructive guidance, and the government must finance and implement appropriate recommendations. Otherwise, it will risk falling short of the urgent mandate to reform the institutional legacy of colonialism.

In Africa, the Black Lives Matter movement has also found expression in the anticolonialism struggle, in former colonies of all stripes. Ugandan feminist, Rosebell Kagumire, describes how “[p]rotests ignited by Black Lives Matter action have gone beyond solidarity to put a spotlight on the work that remains unfinished at home.”[18] In some instances, such as the #EndSARS movement in Nigeria, the call for social justice has demanded an end to police brutality in African societies too. But as in other parts of the world, many actions have targeted symbolism and discourse.

For example, Kagumire cites an initiative to rename Ugandan streets bearing the names of colonizers, which attracted little attention in 2017 but which now is gaining traction,[19] and petitioners seeking to remove colonial monuments in Cabo Verde.[20] Indeed, long before the Black Lives Matter movement arrived, African activists were calling for the removal of colonial monuments. Students at the University of Cape Town in South Africa, after lengthy protest, achieved the removal of the school’s iconic statue of Cecil Rhodes in 2015.[21] Further north, a Cameroonian activist, André Blaise Essama, told the press, “I have decapitated Leclerc’s head seven times and toppled the statue at least 20 times.”[22]

However, as scholars of contested monuments note, in the “long-term, the question remains: what does the removal or erasure of a statue or monument accomplish? . . . Without structural changes in justice, policing, social, and educational systems, removal will be a Pyrrhic victory, a purely symbolic act.”[23]

As post-colonial societies explore avenues for channeling the movement into something deeper, targeting structural change, they may take interest in Rwanda’s recent legal reform. Few others have addressed Belgian colonialism so profoundly. To be sure, law is not the only source that perpetuates colonial injury: some of the structural damage is also embedded in persistent economic inequality and harmful social norms. But the laws and institutions designed by colonial regimes remain in place in many countries. Those legal malignancies should also be excised.

This past year, Rwanda offered the world an example of a bold step. With a single wholesale repeal, the country once colonized by Germany and Belgium abolished all colonial laws that remained in force.

II. Rwanda’s Path to Legal Emancipation and Its Achievements

A. The Context: Persistent Legal Barriers to Health, Human Rights, and Development

In our article, The Persistence of Colonial Laws, we made a case for repealing all colonial laws in Rwanda.[24] Drawing upon first-hand experience, we described a number of ways in which these entrenched tools of the former oppressor perpetrate injustices against all citizens. Specifically, they perpetuate inequality through both the discriminatory policies that such laws were crafted to promote and their real discriminatory effects in practice.[25]

We pointed out colonial laws’ wide-ranging deleterious effects on health, including a history of problematizing the public health response in outbreaks.[26] This is not a surprise—laws governing health were no exception to colonialism’s perverse motives and prioritized a deliberate policy to subjugate, divide, and control African societies over their actual health and well-being. As described by Anne Cornet, a historian of Belgian colonialism, “the activities that were rolled out for a real health objective at the same time converged toward the colonial system’s control, as a whole (State, missions, private sector), over the local populations.”[27] They reflected a racist occidental vision of African society, “a world where whites and blacks lived in parallel, but not together, a world where African society was essentially perceived as divided into social and ethnic groups.”[28]

Colonial health laws continued to interfere in governance through recent years. For example, we described how they delayed the Ministry of Health’s ability to implement international recommendations to address malnutrition, which in turn perpetuated harm to the health of people living in Rwanda.[29] We also detailed how they impaired the rule of law and separation of powers in Rwanda’s government by inviting officials to selectively enforce some colonial provisions but not others, damaging the health of the country’s modern institutions.[30]

We described the extraordinarily onerous task of locating antiquated laws, which would be impossible for some.[31] Especially in a post-conflict setting, obscure, hard-to-find laws are only accessible to people with the greatest resources, further reducing access to justice for the poor.[32] And we also highlighted the broader normative problem of building a more just system on a legal foundation that is discriminatory, incomplete and scattered.[33] Perhaps most importantly,

[a]s a matter of social justice, human rights, and due process, no Rwandan should ever be subjected to a decree of a colonial governor or even wonder if she might be. Even if a court correctly refuses to enforce a colonial law, the damage is already done: no citizen … should be subjected to the indignity of standing before a judge to defend herself against a colonizer’s decree, brought into the court by a creative opponent.[34]

In addition to the public policy concerns, we addressed legal problems presented by these colonial vestiges. “Across the board, every colonial law . . . is in conflict with certain provisions of Rwanda’s Constitution,” including problems relating to the country’s independent sovereignty; unconstitutional objectives promoted by colonial laws; discriminatory effects of keeping such laws on the books; the unconstitutional effect on the rule of law; and procedural defects inherent to laws not promulgated in accordance with the mechanisms permitted by the Constitution.[35]

Contemporaneously, the Chief Justice of Rwanda at that time, Professor Sam Rugege—a supporter of law reform in the country—also lent his voice to the cause. In his speech to open the new judicial year on October 10, 2017, he urged the government to consider the issue:

It is not normal that after more than fifty years of independence, we still have on our statute books, laws promulgated by the King of Belgium and the Governor of Rwanda-Urundi which are obviously not in sync with the times and which sometimes are used capriciously in our courts. Competent institutions should examine whether it is not high time that Rwanda discarded these laws.[36]

To resolve this, we proposed several options to remove colonial statutes.[37] The country could wait for a revised code of Rwandan law to be completed, though lengthy delays were certain with that approach.[38] Alternatively, a task force could be created to review only the obsolete health laws, singled out as uniquely problematic, but we noted the costs and inefficiencies associated with that incomplete solution. We suggested that the most ambitious and effective approach would be a wholesale repeal of all colonial laws—a view supported by the Chief Justice as well.[39] Under that scenario, we noted the option to enumerate specific exceptions that might be saved. Finally, if legislative efforts fail, we identified grounds on which the Supreme Court could invalidate all colonial laws at once.

Rwanda went for the most ambitious option. In fact, the government did not even advocate for any enumerated savings.[40] If the law was imposed by a colonizer, it was out – no exceptions.

B. The Rwanda Law Reform Commission Takes on the Fight Against Colonialism

The Rwanda Law Reform Commission (“RLRC” or the “Commission”) coordinated the effort to topple colonial laws. The Chairman of the Commission at that time was Aimable Havugiyaremye. A legal academic who frequently lectures at the University of Rwanda, Havugiyaremye once led the country’s training programs for legal practitioners as the rector of the Institute of Legal Practice and Development. But as a former investigator of the Gendarmerie Nationale, who today serves as the country’s Prosecutor General, he would prove to be a formidable protagonist for prosecuting the case against the laws of Rwanda’s former oppressors.[41]

Havugiyaremye dispatched a team led by Alain Songa, Head of the Department of Research and Reform, to dig up all of the colonial laws they could possibly find. Well before the pandemic, the team donned face masks to descend into the dusty chambers of the Ministry of Justice’s basement. They emerged from the excavation having unearthed over 1,000 pre-independence laws.[42] Indeed, the Commission confirmed that “some [were] still being used in court, like the law of 1888 related to contracts and conventions.”[43]

Despite the Commission’s extensive efforts, the lawyers could not verify that there were no colonial laws they may have missed; more could be lurking in other basements, in a Belgian archive, or even in the Stanford Law Library’s depository in the United States.[44] “It was difficult,” Havugiyaremye recalls, “you could find a list of the title of the laws, but . . . could not find the content.”[45]

This became an important consideration in Havugiyaremye’s decision to prepare a wholesale repeal of all pre-independence laws, rather than recommending that Parliament only repeal the list of laws that were retrieved.[46]Havugiyaremye later recounted, “the reason we had to repeal all colonial laws is that even though we were able to identify [over a thousand] colonial laws, the list is not exhaustive.”[47] For example, “because the colonial powers subjected Rwanda to all criminal laws in Congo Belge, there could still be more laws that one could invoke and say [they are] applicable in Rwanda, even though we are not even aware of [them].”[48]

Nevertheless, drafting the repealing law without saving any exceptions was a daring decision, especially as some stakeholders felt that colonial statutes were still of value. Legal advisors for the Ministry of Health, for example, were hesitant and had informed RLRC that they would like to retain several colonial-era laws.[49] The Commission decided not to endorse such requests, preferring to encourage ministries to propose new or revised laws wherever colonial rules were in use.[50] Asked why RLRC recommended a categorical approach, leaving no exceptions behind, Havugiyaremye shared that a primary motive was because “Rwandans were not the ones to pass those laws, so we don’t even know what was the intention behind [them].”[51] Further, he explained, “we have to find our own solutions to our own problems, instead of relying on others’ thinking about how we should solve our problems.”[52]

“Most of the matters that were provided for by colonial laws are now provided for by recent new laws,” the Law Reform Commission determined; therefore, any “gaps in terms of written laws are really very few.”[53] In any event, as we had argued before and as Havugiyaremye agreed, if statutory “gaps” appear, the system has an ability to handle them: “we do have a legal basis for filling the gaps . . . when something is not provided for by written laws. The basis for that is the provision in the civil code.”[54] Indeed, where a matter is not addressed in a parliamentary statute, Rwandan procedure allows judges to decide cases based on “the rule they would have enacted, had they to do so, guided by judicial precedents, customs and usages, general principles of law and written legal opinions.”[55] In an interview with The New Times, Havugiyaremye described the Commission’s view that “our legal system now has sufficient legal instruments to regulate both civil and criminal matters,” citing judges’ ability to employ “logic, legal precedents, and common sense” to interpret the law where a statute may be silent.[56] In the event that such solutions would be needed, the Commission even saw a potential benefit for the further development of Rwanda’s hybrid legal system:

In the civil law system, it’s as though nothing can be done if there isn’t a written law behind it. Now judges will have to develop their legal thinking instead of only applying the law that is written . . . Laws should be considered as tools that can help you to solve problems or to render justice, but they aren’t the only ones. There is [also] equity, in terms of what is just for society.[57]

Once the Commission prepared the draft law, it was presented to the President’s cabinet, which approved its submission to Parliament. The public debate began.

C. The End of Colonial Laws

With the cabinet’s endorsement, local media reported: “​​It is here that the interesting debates will occur, as interested parties battle for complete removal of some laws. In other countries, such a process to repeal colonial laws has seen heated debates especially on laws of free expression and assembly, and women rights.”[58] A local outlet, The Chronicles, laid out the stakes: “Rwanda will either be still in bondage” or freed from the “legacy of the ‘colonialists’—often accused of setting in place the infrastructure that led to the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi.”[59]

The Rwanda Law Reform Commission found that feedback from lawyers, in general, was less disturbed by the law’s colonial legacy. “[Lawyers] were used to citing even entire books of law,” without questioning the integrity of what lay within, Havugiyaremye says, describing how some attorneys broadly cite “‘civil law book one,’ but when you look at the actual law itself, you realize it was a [colonial] royal decree. Which means we were somehow blind.”[60] He suggests that full emancipation also requires a transformation in legal education so that lawyers are taught to think more critically about legal institutions, both those they inherit and those they themselves develop: “The way we were taught laws, lawyers kept a colonial mentality.”[61]

On the other hand, the Commission found that “the [general] population . . . couldn’t even believe that we . . . still use the colonial laws,” and most “comments and responses [expressed] surprise that we had not already repealed these laws.”[62]

In an editorial published in The New Times, the Rwandan newspaper warned, “[from] a legal point of view, the country could be sitting on a ticking time bomb. An example is the zoning law that reserved some neighbourhoods for whites only. Therefore, there is legal ground to evict some of the residents of upper Kiyovu.”[63] The press highlighted “[a]nother ridiculous law . . . enacted in 1930 [that] forbade bars from selling alcoholic drinks on credit,” which if enforced, could leave the proprietor with “no legal recourse in case someone defaulted.”[64] The paper cautioned that some colonial laws may “seem harmless, but it is prudent not to leave any loose ends . . . repealing all those colonial laws and orders is long overdue.” [65]

The media also cited a commonly discussed example: the Catholic Church’s “massive land grab,”[66] which made it “the biggest landowner in Rwanda” under a 1943 Belgian law transferring large tracts of land to its control.[67]Notwithstanding this expropriation, the Rwanda Law Reform Commission clarified that the Church is not obliged to surrender its property in Rwanda, “an acquired right under the country’s laws.” But RLRC identified the example to illustrate that colonial laws were not enacted with Rwandans’ interests in mind: “[they] were enacted in favour of some colonialists themselves or missionaries.”[68]

The proposed repeal came before the parliamentary standing committee on political affairs and gender in the Chamber of Deputies, the first step before being considered by the full Chamber. There, the State Minister for Constitutional and Legal Affairs, who at that time was Evode Uwizeyimana, exclaimed: “These are not laws that we should be proud of keeping.”[69]

Unsurprisingly, one Belgian legal advisor to the former genocidal regime (which had retained the colonial laws), responded by writing to a Rwandan newspaper to dispute the repeal. He even encouraged keeping some of the colonial laws. He admonished that “it would be wise to review them one by one” and better to wait to “replace them by new legislation if and where necessary.”[70]

That approach had already been considered and rejected by the Commission. RLRC wanted to avoid what had happened in India.[71] In 2014, the Indian government renewed a stalled process to identify and review colonial laws one-by-one before repealing them. The process led to delays over many years.[72] India’s inefficient and torpid approach attracted a great deal of public criticism, including in the international press, which drew attention to colonial laws that were still being enforced in Indian courts during the multi-year, protracted reform process.[73]

On July 15, 2019, the final debate took place in the Lower House of Parliament. The chairperson of the Political and Gender Equality Committee (the “Committee”), Emma Furaha Rubagumya, advocated on behalf of the Committee to lead the attack against “legal colonialism.”[74] Rubagumya, a first-term Member of Parliament, was born in Tanzania in 1967, after her parents had fled ethnic violence in Rwanda.[75] Safeguarding her education, her family reportedly sent her to school over her grandfather’s conservative objections.[76] Now recognized as part of a generation of women lawmakers fighting for equity and progress,[77] Rubagumya took aim at the colonizer. She argued that so long as these laws remain on the books, Rwandans “are in an endless colonialism.”[78] She then pointed to examples of other jurisdictions that had already enacted a wholesale repeal of all pre-independence laws.[79] “[T]he best option,” she argued, was that “used . . . in other countries such as the United States of America, [where] Virginia . . . and New Jersey . . . repealed all the laws enacted by the British using one law.”[80]

Rubagumya advanced a broadside attack against the entire system of colonial laws, arguing that such “laws are inconsistent with the principles set out in the Constitution of the Republic of Rwanda as some of those laws are found to be based on discrimination.”[81] She acknowledged the impracticality of enforcement of some colonial laws that would now be deemed unconstitutional.[82] Rubagumya also maintained that the Constitution leaves no room for “laws enacted for the territory called Rwanda-Urundi or Belgian Congo” and “no sound justification . . . for application in a fully independent nation.”[83] She conveyed that the Rwanda Bar Association had confirmed “that these laws are outdated and do not address issues faced by Rwandan citizens.”[84] The Committee found additional reassurance from the Private Sector Federation, which “indicated to [the Committee] that, as private operators, they do not see any problem in repealing [the colonial] laws.”[85]

To assuage doubts about potential gaps in the statutory law, the Committee pointed to the civil procedure provisions that “grant[] the judge the power to adjudicate according to the rules that he/she would establish if he/she had to act as a legislator for matters not provided for by the law,” as a means for resolving issues “not . . . provided for by the laws enacted after . . . Independence.”[86] The Committee also pointed to the tools described by Havugiyaremye to manage any potential gaps, such as “the possibility to rely on case law (precedents), customs, general principles of law and doctrine” to interpret statutes or to reach equitable solutions.[87]

As the parliamentary debate unfolded, it primarily centered around the possible unintended effects that a wholesale repeal might have on the legal system. Parliamentarians considered whether there could be a destabilizing effect on the larger statutory regime in which colonial laws were integrated, on settled jurisprudence, or even on matters of international law. Those arguments were ultimately defeated by counterarguments that either refuted the risk of such hypothetical, unintended consequences or that asserted normative and deontological principles that the dignity of a sovereign society outweigh any possible negative effects of the repeal.[88]

Specifically, the debate ultimately focused on four concerns. First, one Member of Parliament questioned repealing all colonial laws when the inventory of retrieved laws was not exhaustive. He suggested additional laws “[could] be found in countries that once colonized Rwanda if only sufficient time had been [taken] . . . [T]hey must be hidden somewhere.”[89] Encouraging an extraterritorial expedition to find laws still enforceable in Rwanda, he cautioned, “we may find ourselves having repealed legal instruments that could be of certain importance to the country.”[90] Rubagumya responded that the difficulty of accessing such laws was precisely the reason why the Committee recommended a wholesale repeal: “because there is no method of accessing all those laws . . . [that] is now the reason” for “using one law to repeal [them] all.” The Committee made clear that it indeed had considered but rejected the MP’s proposed approach of reviewing laws one-by-one, noting the inefficiency other countries faced using that method.[91]

The then State Minister for Constitutional and Legal Affairs, Evode Uwizeyimana, pointed to the arguments that enforceable colonial laws are in tension with the rule of law because they are not readily accessible, except for the privileged few who have the resources to scour the earth. He noted the absence of a reliable database or repository of the primary texts that had once been imposed in African colonies.[92] He challenged the MP, “what is then the point if those laws are not available? Where does the person using those laws get them from?” Defending the need to abolish (rather than search for and exhaustively inventory) “any law that the colonialist took with him [or] her in his [or] her bag,” the former State Minister went on, “[h]e may still be keeping it in Belgium and will later come back. If ever he comes back, it is our duty to tell him that the law is among those we have repealed.”[93]

Second, another Member of Parliament, Deputy Nyirarukundo, questioned the impact that repealing colonial statutes would have on prior judicial opinions, issued in reliance on those laws.[94] Uwizeyimana asserted that jurisprudence would not be invalided just by virtue of the fact that the laws it addressed were repealed, because the decisions were issued by lawfully constituted courts of an independent Rwanda.[95] Furthermore, he assured Parliament, “anything that was done pursuant to the law in force at that time” will remain valid even if Parliament subsequently repeals the law.[96] To illustrate the example, he argued: “[M]ost of you may have attended . . . the former National University of Rwanda,” which has been replaced by the University of Rwanda; “Should we say that degrees of those who attended the National University of Rwanda are not valid these days? The answer is simply no.”[97]

Third, Deputy Nyirarukundo also suggested, in passing, that some of the colonial laws may be harmless. The comment inspired a forceful refutation from those in favor of wholesale repeal. Rubagumya cited the example of land reform that had been considered during the development of the legislation.[98] When a new land law was promulgated several years ago, one of the issues it had to resolve was a colonial holdover from a 1920 law which assigned ownership to whomever held title to the land, even when such title had been obtained through fraud. Uwizeyimana added, “[T]hose who worded the article are the very ones who came and obtained ownership title, but . . . citizens at that time were not aware.”[99] Though Parliament had already done away with that particular land provision, Rubagumya and Uwizeyimana took aim at the whole lot.[100] Uwizeyimana argued, “these laws pose a serious problem because they take us back into the colonial era. Of course they cause a problem . . . because we are a sovereign country . . . that recovered its political independence and . . . [enjoys] legislative autonomy.”[101] He elaborated:

We have royal decrees which are in force in a country which has no kingdom, but [in] a country with a republic. I do not think anyone has an explanation [for] this . . . As of today, what does “Ruanda-Urundi territory” stand for? As of today, what does “the Belgian Congo territory” stand for? Who rules over this territory? . . . We should not even start a debate over these issues because we would even feel ashamed to see committee clerks taking minutes of debates over those issues![102]

Fourth, the debate addressed questions about the effect on international law in Rwanda. One MP sought clarification as to whether international treaties previously ratified would be affected by the repeal of colonial laws.[103] Another raised concerns about territorial integrity. Pointing to “the Berlin Conference of 1885, which established boundaries,” the MP asked if, by repealing pre-independence laws, “we would be removing boundaries.”[104] The Committee reassured the Chamber that international treaties would not be affected because they are excluded from the definition of repealed “legal instruments.”[105] Additionally, Rubagumya responded that “issues related to repealing international treaties, are channeled through another process . . . conducted with the assistance of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”[106] The country’s boundaries would not be affected, she asserted, because they are also defined by Rwanda’s constitution.[107] Uwizeyimana concurred: “[T]his issue is beyond the jurisdiction of this Parliament . . . [which] cannot remove those boundaries.”[108]

Parliament’s debate about the persistence of colonial laws depicts a moment in the country’s history where society grappled with questions about its modern identity. As Rwanda marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of the genocide that had once torn it apart, its elected representatives continued to reach further back in time, taking aim at the colonial roots of the country’s past conflict. They emerged from the debate with a resounding decision that those relics have no place in Rwanda’s future: with 56 votes in favor and no votes against, the law repealing all colonial laws passed.[109]

The repeal was signed into law by the President of the Republic on August 22, 2019, and on September 23, 2019, the Official Gazette published Law Nº 020/2019 of 22/08/2019 Repealing All Legal Instruments Brought into Force Before the Date of Independence.[110] The many dangers outlined in The Persistence of Colonial Laws were finally laid to rest: There would be no more searching high and low for missing statutes. No more wondering how to adapt the law’s written references to the colonial gouverneur général or to les indigènes.[111] No more ministers or prosecutors contemplating whether or not to enforce this one or that one. No more time spent postulating the intention of a policy behind the colonizer’s law. No one in Rwanda ever again asked for her defense against King Leopold’s decree.

D. The Path Ahead

With the repeal executed, the anticipated trade-offs will now become real. Courts will need to consider how to resolve conflicts that were once governed by a colonial rule that no longer applies. Reliance on other applicable rules, precedents, or even considerations of equity may need to provide a bridge to new rules. With time, if any such new rules crystalize, once established they should become easier to anticipate.

So far, there have not been formal complaints related to how to fill “gaps”; the legal system seems to be adapting. No doubt, some will express frustration by the uncertainty of the new approach. One question that has already arisen in legal circles in the months following the repeal is a question about how to interpret laws that were enacted after independence, but which refer to colonial laws. For example, Law N°45/2011 of 25/11/2011 Governing Contracts provides that the Decree of 30/07/1888 on contracts or conventional obligations applies for certain “no[n-]contractual obligations, special contracts, civil liabilities, [and] limitations.”[112] Legal practitioners have expressed uncertainty about how to understand the “gap” left by abrogation of the colonial decree.

For statutory interpretation problems such as these, other law reforms that are underway may help. The RLRC has been working to identify and fill any statutory gaps in need of new legislation. A planned interpretation act may also help: Draft Law N°………. Of ……….. Governing Interpretation of Laws had already been prepared by the Commission prior to repealing the colonial laws. If it is eventually passed, that draft law provides basic rules for interpreting references to repealed or substituted laws.[113] It would also codify a general savings provision, which would preserve accrued rights and obligations when laws are repealed (much like the rule the Commission’s statement referenced regarding land the Church expropriated).[114]

Conclusion: An Example for Other Post-Colonial Countries

Rwanda’s action may have come just in time. Eradicating all colonial public health laws just a few months before the emergence of the COVID-19 pandemic, Rwanda may have spared itself from costly delays. Liberated from having to navigate through any colonial rules, Rwanda has been able to respond with remarkable agility to a public health emergency of international concern. Gone are the days when government agencies had to seek presidential-level decisions to supersede the obsolete minutiae of colonial decrees, such as those once required by the Ministry of Health to implement international recommendations to combat malnutrition.[115] The old morass of laws, which had to be circumvented in modern times, had even provided for discriminatory treatment between white Europeans and black Africans when imposing quarantine and isolation rules.[116] Describing the country’s COVID-19 epidemic response to the World Health Organization, the Minister of Health acknowledged, “[a]ny health system is only as strong as its weakest link.”[117] That includes its legal underpinnings. Rwanda’s effective response has even attracted international media attention, as some ask what other countries might learn from it.[118]

By contrast, in India—where the country has undertaken a prolonged investigation into colonial laws before repealing them in piecemeal fashion—not only has the approach been criticized for the reasons described above, but despite the noble effort, the colonial laws continue to impact health. While the government urgently fights an outbreak that has expanded into one of the world’s largest COVID-19 epidemics, critics have argued that a colonial law, the Epidemic Disease Act of 1897, may be hindering the central government’s ability to implement and enforce control measures.[119] The law, which has been described by critics as “the most draconian colonial legislation,” was originally enacted by British authorities to combat an outbreak of bubonic plague. On one hand, some claim it does not allow the central government sufficient authority to coordinate an agile and effective response to the pandemic.[120] On the other hand, it is also criticized by those who feel that it hands unchecked power to state governments, failing to account appropriately for human rights and civil liberties.[121]

Other post-colonial countries might find a valuable example in Rwanda’s experience. For example, colonial mental health laws, vagrancy laws, and witchcraft laws are among the many relics across the region that perpetuate structural violence and even abusive policing. Some have already taken notice.

In another part of Africa, in Côte d’Ivoire, one presidential candidate in the recent election initiated the debate in that country, citing Rwanda’s repeal as an inspiration for Côte d’Ivoire to consider doing the same[122]:

I applauded last month when I saw President Kagame of Rwanda denounce, and commit to change, a thousand laws that had been issued during the colonial period. That’s enormous for Rwanda. A thousand laws that defined everything and they were still there [in the country] after the colonizers departed, and [those laws] continued to preserve the colonial system. That’s what we are doing here [in Côte d’Ivoire] . . . [w]ith monetary affairs, as well as with property affairs, military affairs, educational affairs, administrative affairs, judicial affairs, socio-cultural affairs, sporting affairs, and we should look at these texts and throw all that away and conserve those texts which match our needs, which match our orientation, which match the direction that we want to take. And that is what will bring independence . . . it’s with that rupture that we should truly commit to our independence.[123]

Moreover, even if the suggestion is raised by a politician, it does not need to become a partisan one. Rwanda’s experience shows that colonial laws can be abolished without unwinding all rights previously accorded to one group or another.[124] If disagreements happen to arise about specific laws that some groups wish to preserve—especially any which may be particularly sensitive in the national context—then compromising to save a list of exceptions need not stand in the way of removing all the rest. Those few exceptions could be managed later, through different reform processes, and on their own timeline. In the meantime, to confront inequality and structural violence in post-colonial societies, the general validity of colonial legal instruments, in aggregate, deserves to be debated as an important normative and non-partisan matter.

Alice Wairimu Nderitu, an expert on the Kenyan National Committee for the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, War Crimes, Crimes Against Humanity and All Forms of Discrimination, applauded Rwanda’s decision to “repeal[] laws left over from German and Belgian colonial rule era, designed with one central purpose to separate the races, particularly the white and black people, and to subjugate the latter.”[125] She too has encouraged others to do away with laws “designed to subjugate Africans [that] still lurk in some African statutes.”[126]

However, like Aimable Havugiyaremye,[127] Nderitu also points to education reform as an essential component of achieving emancipation from colonial law. She suggests “[t]he thoroughness of the colonial enterprise’s educational systems forms part of the reason post-independence governments are not getting rid of colonial laws.” Such reform, she argues, is necessary for future generations to “challeng[e] hateful beliefs” embedded in colonial laws, which can “lead to targeted violence[,] such as understanding the importance of not only knowing why almost one million people were killed in the Rwandan Genocide Against the Tutsi [sic] but more importantly, why ordinary people were convinced it was okay to kill.” [128] Indeed, the story of Rwanda’s reform shows that scholarship can contribute to supporting real world changes.

Education and scholarship will also be essential for Rwanda and other countries to more fully heal from those harms that cannot be resolved by eradicating the colonial laws. Though legal reform is important to remove the harms lurking in old laws, education and scholarship is necessary to prevent the next generation of policymakers from inadvertently perpetuating colonial objectives through the recycling of the same colonial policies in newly drafted laws.[129] In addition, education and scholarship is necessary for understanding what, if any, prior practices and solutions were destroyed through colonial legislation but which might warrant restoration in today’s context.[130]

Reflecting on Rwanda’s experience, Aimable Havugiyaremye says, “sovereignty should be understood even in the context of making laws. We are a sovereign country, we know our problems, we should be the ones to solve our problems. In the process of making laws, you are addressing your issues, so you should be the one to make those laws. [Our experience] should even be a lesson for other countries.”[131] As communities continue to challenge institutional violence and racism all around the world, perhaps other post-colonial countries will find inspiration in Rwanda’s decision to not only topple the monuments, but to also tear down the legal structures of past oppression.

[hr gap=”30″]

[*]       Agnes Binagwaho, M.D., M(Ped), Ph.D. is a pediatrician, Senior Lecturer in the Department of Global Health and Social Medicine at Harvard Medical School, Vice Chancellor of the University of Global Health Equity in Rwanda, and Adjunct Clinical Professor of Pediatrics at Dartmouth College’s Geisel School of Medicine. She served for 14 years in senior government positions in Rwanda’s health sector and served as Rwanda’s Minister of Health from 2011 to 2016. Richard Freeman, J.D., M.P.P. works in Rwanda as an Advisor of the Rule of Law Program at Stanford Law School.

[1]        See Mike Baker et al., Three Words. 70 Cases. The Tragic History of ‘I Can’t Breathe.’” N.Y. Times (June 29, 2020), https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/06/28/us/i-cant-breathe-police-arrest.html [https://perma.cc/446Z-NR6Y] (“Mr. Floyd’s dying words have prompted a national outcry over law enforcement’s deadly toll on African-American people, and they have united much of the [U.S.] in a sense of outrage that a police officer would not heed a man’s appeal for something as basic as air . . . Over the past decade, The New York Times found, at least 70 people have died in law enforcement custody after saying the same words—‘I can’t breathe.’”).

[2]       See Agnes Binagwaho, Richard Freeman & Gabriela Sarriera, The Persistence of Colonial Laws: Why Rwanda is Ready to Remove Outdated Legal Barriers to Health, Human Rights, and Development, 59 Harv. Int’l L. J. Online 45 (2018), https://journals.law.harvard.edu/ilj/2018/06/the-persistence-of-colonial-laws-why-rwanda-is-ready-to-remove-outdated-legal-barriers-to-health-human-rights-and-development/ [https://perma.cc/4XAN-FG3X] [hereinafter Persistence of Colonial Laws].

[3]       Law Nº 020/2019 of 22/08/2019 Repealing All Legal Instruments Brought into Force Before the Date of Independence, Art. 3 (Rwanda), https://www.rlrc.gov.rw/fileadmin/user_upload/LawsofRwanda/Laws%20of%20Rwanda/1._Fondamental/1.1.%20National%20Instruments/1.1.12._Repealing_laws_adopted__before_the_independence/1.1.12.1._Repealing_Laws_of_before_independance_Law_no_020_of_2019.pdf [https://perma.cc/5FR6-RECJ] [hereinafter Law Repealing All Legal Instruments Brought into Force Before the Date of Independence].

[4]       See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 45.

[5]       See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 45.

[6]       John Campbell & Jack McCaslin, George Floyd’s Murder Revives Anti-Colonialism in Western Europe, Council on Foreign Rel. (June 16, 2020), https://www.cfr.org/blog/george-floyds-murder-revives-anti-colonialism-western-europe [https://perma.cc/A5K3-2D9B].

[7]       Maïthé Chini, Burned Leopold II Statue Removed from Antwerp Square, Brussels Times (June 9, 2020), https://www.brusselstimes.com/all-news/belgium-all-news/115940/burned-leopold-ii-statue-moves-to-antwerp-museum/ [https://perma.cc/Z4MD-RJHT].

[8]       See Enlever toutes les statues Léopold II – Alle Léopold II standbeelden verwijderen [Remove all Leopold II statues], Change.org, https://www.change.org/p/ville-de-bruxelles-enlever-toutes-les-statues-en-hommage-%C3%A0-l%C3%A9opold-ii [https://perma.cc/Q972-E3UQ]; Scott McClean & Sebastian Shukla, Belgium’s King Leopold II Has a 21st Century Nemesis. He’s 14 Years Old, CNN (June 25, 2020), https://edition.cnn.com/2020/06/25/europe/belgium-king-leopold-statue-petition-colonialism-intl/index.html [https://perma.cc/4FMG-A2X7].

[9]       In early June 2020, local authorities removed one such statue from the marketplace in Antwerp, after protestors had burned it. See Chini, supra note 7; Monika Pronczuk & Mihir Zaveri, Statue of Leopold II, Belgian King Who Brutalized Congo, Is Removed in Antwerp, N.Y. Times (June 9, 2020), https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/09/world/europe/king-leopold-statue-antwerp.html [https://perma.cc/5GPM-LQ3D]. Days later, on June 30, 2020, the city council of Ghent removed a bust of King Leopold II from a park. See Leopold II Bust Removed in Ghent on Congo’s Independence Day, Brussels Times (July 1, 2020), https://www.brusselstimes.com/all-news/belgium-all-news/119467/leopold-ii-bust-removed-in-ghent-on-congos-independence-day/ [https://perma.cc/MT4N-DH7C]. The mayor of Ixelles announced that the municipality would remove a monument to Leopold’s general, Émile Storms. See Gabriela Galindo, Ixelles Will Remove Bust of Leopold II’s ‘Ruthless’ Colonial General, Brussels Times (July 1, 2020), https://www.brusselstimes.com/belgium/119374/ixelles-will-remove-bust-of-leopold-iis-ruthless-colonial-general/ [https://perma.cc/D8NV-QVPL] (“Doulkeridis first announced the removal of the statue in May, as decolonisation activists in Belgium, galvanised by massive anti-racism protests in the US, renewed calls for the removal of colonial monuments in Belgium, and namely of statues to Leopold II.”). Unfortunately, not all authorities have followed this movement. Some local Belgian authorities have even continued to clean and restore Leopold monuments that protestors repeatedly deface with graffiti. See, e.g., Leopold II statue defaced again after clean-up, Brussels Times (June 22, 2020), https://www.brusselstimes.com/brussels/117936/leopold-ii-statue-defaced-again-after-clean-up-trone-stop-cleaning [https://perma.cc/V2S6-YLBW].

[10]     Gov’t of W. Austl., Media Statement: King Leopold Ranges Renamed to Honour Aboriginal Culture (July 3, 2020), https://www.mediastatements.wa.gov.au/Pages/McGowan/2020/07/King-Leopold-Ranges-renamed-to-honour-Aboriginal-culture.aspx [https://perma.cc/R5K8-TZGD].

[11]      For example, in England, “a bronze statue of Edward Colston, a 17th-century slave trader, was toppled into Bristol Harbor . . . And a statue of Robert Milligan, an 18th-century slave trader, was taken down in London.” Pronczuk & Zaveri, supra note 9. See also Mark Lander, ‘Get Rid of Them’: A Statue Falls as Britain Confronts Its Racist History, N.Y. Times (June 8, 2020), https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/08/world/europe/edward-colston-statue-britain-racism.html [https://perma.cc/G8WJ-BY2P] (“[W]hen these demonstrators dumped the monument of Colston into Bristol Harbor with a splash, they also forced Britain to consider how to confront its racist history at a moment when many of the same questions are being asked in the United States . . . Colston’s ignominious fate may not bode well for a statue of Cecil Rhodes that sits uneasily at the Oxford University college where he studied. Students have campaigned for years to pull down the statue of Rhodes, whose white supremacist views are considered by some to be a precursor to apartheid.”).

[12]      See U.N. Off. of the High Comm’r for Hum. Rts., Statement to the Media by the U.N. Working Grp. of Experts on People of Afr. Descent, on the Conclusion of Its Off. Visit to Belgium, 4-11 Feb. 2019 (Feb. 11, 2019), at ¶¶ 1-3 [hereinafter U.N. Hum. Rts. Statement], https://www.ohchr.org/EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=24153&LangID=E [https://perma.cc/8SXC-PNJ5].

[13]      Id. ¶ 13.

[14]     Id. ¶ 14; see also id. ¶ 45 (“We welcome the renaming of the former Square du Bastion to Patrice Lumumba Square in June 2018 . . . and encourage . . . the removal of markers of the colonial period.”).

[15]      Belgian Parliament, Chambre des Représentants de Belgique, Doc 55 1462/001, Commission Spéciale Chargée d’Examiner l’État Indépendant du Congo (1885-1908) et le Passé Colonial de la Belgique au Congo (1908-1960), au Rwanda et au Burundi (1919-1962), Ses Conséquences et les Suites qu’Il Convient d’y Réserver [Special Commission to Examine the Independent State of the Congo (1885-1908) and the Colonial Past of Belgium in the Congo (1908-1960), Rwanda and Burundi (1919-1962); Their Consequences, and  Actions That Should Be Taken], §§ 3.1, 3.2 (July 17, 2020).

[16]      Id. § 4.2 (author’s translation).

[17]      See id. § 4.1 (building a more truthful historical record, the promotion of academic research on colonialism, and opening up and improving access to archives of colonialism in Belgium, Congo, Rwanda, and Burundi); id. § 3.6 (communications and trainings for the police and military to reduce racist and xenophobic violence); id. § 4.2 (financial support for related public initiatives, restitution of stolen patrimony, and the inclusion of victims in such processes (including when there are potential legal or financial consequences)).

[18]      Rosebell Kagumire, Black Lives Matter Resonates with Africans Pushing for Decolonisation, Glob. Reporting Ctr., Ideas (June 29, 2020), https://globalreportingcentre.org/ideas/black-lives-matter-resonates-with-africans [https://perma.cc/RS5D-STJ6].

[19]      See id. (“[I]n the wake of Black Lives Matter protests, a petition to change the street names has gained more than 5,000 signatures. It reads, ‘we believe that the removal of visible vestiges of a colonial hegemony from public spaces is a crucial part of a process of decolonisation and ending an era of domination and impunity.’”). See also Kampala, Uganda’s Capital, is Littered with ‘British’ Roads, 55 Years Since Independence, Storyteld, https://storyteld.net/kampala-ugandas-capital-is-littered-with-british-roads-55-years-since-independence/ [https://perma.cc/NU7T-CX5Q] (cited by Kagumire). See, e.g., id. at 1:54 (“55 years on, can we really claim we have independence if our capital city is littered with reminders of our former bosses”).

[20]     See Gilson Varela Lopes, Remoção de monumentos pró-escravagistas e coloniais em Cabo Verde [Removal of pro-slavery and colonial monuments in Cape Verde], Petição Pública, https://peticaopublica.com/pview.aspx?pi=PT100526 [https://perma.cc/XFE2-E7YX] (“[V]enho por este meio, solicitar a Vossa Excia. que se julgar competente na matéria, que ordene a retirada imediata da estátua de Diogo Gomes sita no Plateau, mesmo nas imediações do Palácio da Presidência, bem como os bustos/estátuas de exploradores coloniais como Alexandre Albuquerque (Plateau), Serpa Pinto (Fogo), Sá da Bandeira, Diogo Afonso e Sá da Bandeira em São Vicente (Mindelo).” [“I hereby request that your Excellency, deemed to have authority over the matter, order the immediate removal of the statue of Diogo Gomes located on the Plateau, in the vicinity of the Presidential Palace, as well as the busts / statues of colonial explorers such as Alexandre Albuquerque (Plateau), Serpa Pinto (Fogo), Sá da Bandeira, Diogo Afonso and Sá da Bandeira in São Vicente (Mindelo).”]).

[21]      See UCT Council Votes in Favour of Removing Rhodes Statue, Univ. of Cape Town, Newsroom (Apr. 8, 2015), https://www.news.uct.ac.za/article/-2015-04-08-uct-council-votes-in-favour-of-removing-rhodes-statue [https://perma.cc/CE3P-FTCU] (“UCT Council has voted in favour of removing the Cecil John Rhodes statue from UCT’s upper campus, at a special sitting held on 8 April 2015. This follows a month–long series of protests by UCT students which foregrounded the debate around statues, symbols and the impact these have on the climate of inclusiveness on the UCT campus.”).

[22]     Dickens Olewe, André Blaise Essama: The Cameroonian Waging War Against a French War Hero’s Statue, BBC (July 1, 2020), https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-53148608 [https://perma.cc/XMK5-8744].

[23]     Marie-Louise Ryback Jansen & Steven Stegers, Who Will Deal with the Real Issues Once the Statues Are Out of Sight?, Euroclio (June 11, 2020), https://www.euroclio.eu/2020/06/11/who-will-deal-with-the-real-issues-once-the-statues-are-out-of-sight/ [https://perma.cc/R4SX-F9T4]. See also U.N. Hum. Rts. Statement, supra note 12, ¶ 13 (“Credible efforts to counter racism require first overcoming” the “inequalities [that] are deeply entrenched because of structural barriers that intersect and reinforce each other.”).

[24]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2.

[25]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 57.

[26]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 50.

[27]     Anne Cornet, Politiques de Santé et Contrôle Social au Rwanda: 1920-1940, at 462 (Karthala 2011) (authors’ translation) (“[L]es activités déployées dans un objectif sanitaire bien réel convergeaient en même temps vers des emprises par le système colonial dans son ensemble (État, missions, secteur privé) sur les populations locales.”).

[28]     Id. (authors’ translation) (“La separation des malades en divers groupes lors des consultations, traitements et hospitalisations est rélévatrice de la vision colonial de la société par les autorités médicales occidentales: un monde où la société africaine était elle aussi perçue comme divisée en groupes sociaux et ethniques.”).

[29]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 46.

[30]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 57.

[31]      See, e.g., Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 51-53.

[32]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 56 (“As our team’s hunt for colonial statutes demonstrates, only those who have significant resources can dig up antiquated laws, which are hard to find. A government minister or a Stanford lawyer can deploy the resources to search the world and find one, but that access is not possible for most ordinary citizens. Yet an ordinary citizen could find herself defending against one such law in a court of law, where ignorance of the law is no defense. The effect is discriminatory, as it privileges some people who can cite laws that others cannot access.”).

[33]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 56-57.

[34]     Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 57.

[35]     Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 57-58.

[36]     Chief Justice Sam Rugege, Address Delivered at the Launch of the Judicial Year (Oct. 10, 2017) (Kigali, Rwanda) [hereinafter October Speech] (unpublished translation provided by Chief Justice Rugege, on file with authors).

[37]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 58-62.

[38]     The Chief Justice agreed that “[t]o reform or to replace them through the normal process can take an inordinately long time.” October Speech, supra note 36.

[39]     In his October Speech, the Chief Justice advised, “Rwanda can abrogate them immediately and replace them progressively as the need arises. This path would not create a vacuum because our law provides for what a judge must do in case of nonexistence of a law that deals with a particular issue. This method of getting rid of colonial law was applied in some countries like the United States and Singapore.” October Speech, supra note 36.

[40]    Compare Law Repealing All Legal Instruments Brought into Force Before the Date of Independence, supra note 3, with Application of English Laws, Act § 5.1 (1993) (Sing.) (“Except as provided in this Act, no English enactment shall be part of the law of Singapore”). See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 60 (describing Singapore’s approach, which “repealed all British statutes at once, except for just a few that were expressly singled out for preservation”).

[41]     See Newly Appointed Prosecutor General Commit to Fulfilling Responsibilities, Igihe (Dec. 4, 2019), https://en.igihe.com/news/newly-appointed-prosecutor-general-commit-to [https://perma.cc/QE7T-WQ44].

[42]     Based on the author’s discussions with Alain Songa and Aimable Havugiyaremye in December 2018, Kigali, Rwanda. The retrieved legal instruments are listed in the annex to Law Repealing All Legal Instruments Brought into Force Before the Date of Independence, supra note 3.

[43]     Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, Chairperson, Rwanda L. Reform Comm’n, in Paris, France (July 14, 2019) [hereinafter July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye].

[44]    Based on author’s conversations with the Rwanda Law Reform Commission. See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 51-52 (describing the authors’ discovery of colonial laws in the Stanford Law Library’s off-site depository).

[45]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[46]     Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, Chairman, Rwanda L. Reform Comm’n, in Kigali, Rwanda (Dec. 21, 2018).

[47]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[48]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43; for a brief discussion of merits of repeal despite these supposed “gaps” that could result, see Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 3, at 60-61.

[49]     Based on author’s conversations with the relevant team at the Rwanda Law Reform Commission during their review of the excavated colonial statutes.

[50]     Based on the author’s discussions with Alain Songa and Aimable Havugiyaremye in December 2018 in Kigali, Rwanda.

[51]      July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[52]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[53]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[54]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[55]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 61 (describing Law N° 21/2012 of 14/06/2012 Relating to the Civil, Commercial, Labour and Administrative Procedure, Art. 6, now codified at Law N° 22/2018 of 29/04/2018 Relating to the Civil, Commercial, Labour and Administrative Procedure, Art. 9).

[56]     Eugène Kwibuka, Inside Colonial Laws: Among Other Things, Serving Alcohol for Free or on Credit Was Illegal, New Times (July 1, 2019), https://www.newtimes.co.rw/news/inside-colonial-laws-among-other-things-serving-alcohol-free-or-credit-was-illegal [https://perma.cc/L8X4-6NBH].

[57]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43. Rwanda inherited a civil law tradition from German and Belgian colonizers, but subsequently introduced elements of common law traditions as it has crafted a hybrid legal system of its own design. The judiciary continues evolving in this “hybrid” direction, as the use of common law reasoning becomes more common.

[58]     Rwanda Begins Repealing ALL Pre-Independence Laws, The Chronicles (Apr. 4, 2019), https://www.chronicles.rw/2019/04/04/rwanda-begins-repealing-all-pre-independence-laws/ [https://perma.cc/7CFM-43XV].

[59]     Id.

[60]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43. The Commission also determined that the constitutionality of those laws was suspect: Article 95 of the constitution describes the hierarchy of laws, and it does not mention royal decrees. No such royal decrees were issued pursuant to the process described in the Constitution, and the Constitution did not provide for any such exceptions. See Constitution of the Republic of Rwanda of 2003 Revised in 2015, Art. 95, https://primature.gov.rw/fileadmin/user_upload/documents/Official%20Gazettes/2015%20Official%20Gazettes/Official_Gazette_no_Special_of_24.12.2015.pdf

[61]      July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[62]     July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[63]     Editorial, Editorial: How Did Colonial Laws Survive This Long?, New Times (July 2, 2019), https://www.newtimes.co.rw/opinions/editorial-how-did-colonial-laws-survive-long [https://perma.cc/7XV6-NT82].

[64]     Id. See also Kwibuka, supra note 56 (“Under that law of 1930, alcoholic drinks consumed on the spot of their sale had to be paid for at the bar and traders were not allowed to sell the alcoholic drinks on credit or provide them for free. One of the legal analysts at the Law Reform Commission told this newspaper that since that law on prohibition to sell alcohol on credit was never officially abolished; some stubborn revellers can still drink to their thirst and refuse to pay debts.”).

[65]     Editorial, supra note 63.

[66]     Kwibuka, supra note 56 (“[A] massive land grab by the Church was made possible by a decree.”).

[67]     Editorial, supra note 63; see also Kwibuka, supra note 56.

[68]     Kwibuka, supra note 56.

[69]     Kwibuka, supra note 56.

[70]     Filip Reyntjens, Comment to Editorial, supra note 63.

[71]      See July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43; Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 59-60 (additional comparative examples of other countries’ experiences repealing colonial law). In addition to the comparative examples from other countries that are contained in Persistence of Colonial Laws at 59-60, RLRC’s internal research documents included analysis of how the application of colonial laws was terminated in various U.S. states, Singapore, and Ireland, along with India’s prolonged, piecemeal approach to repealing colonial laws. Materials on file with author.

[72]     See L. Comm’n of India, Obsolete Laws: Warranting Immediate Repeal, at ii (Interim report) (Sept 2014) (acknowledging delays); id. at 4-5 (describing “methodology [for] . . . collating, classifying and . . . grouping [a] huge gamut of laws spread in vast corpus of enactments”); id. at 6 (“253 laws despite having been recommended for repeal in [1998] still exist on the statute-books [in 2014].”); id. at 8 (describing process of examining “more than a thousand statutes,” categorizing them, and then “exhaustively study[ing] the statutes” before identifying “candidates for repeal”). Much as in Rwanda, the Law Commission of India identified discriminatory laws that were still on the books and long overdue to be repealed. See, e.g., id. at 14 (describing the Sonthal Parganas Act, Act 37 of 1855, which referred to a tribal population as an “uncivilized race of people,” language which the Law Commission of India stated “has no place in the modern era” and “runs contrary to the spirit of the Constitution”). See also Anu Anand, Indian Government Plans to Repeal Hundreds of Pre-Independence Laws, The Guardian (Oct. 29, 2014), https://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/oct/29/indian-government-repeal-pre-independence-laws [https://perma.cc/4ZQ7-WSLR] (“If India’s new government has its way . . . legal relics of British rule . . . could soon be repealed in what may prove to be the biggest cull of laws since 1947, when India won its independence. “Some of the laws on our books are laughable. Others have no place in a modern and democratic India,” India’s law minister, Ravi Shankar Prasad, said.”); but see id. (citing one Indian advocate who contends, “The government is simply picking low-hanging fruit to give the perception that they are bringing change. What they should be doing is reforming the penal code.”).

[73]     See Justice in India: Dropping the Scales, The Economist (May 21, 2016) (“[Lawmakers] were arguing that a 156-year-old statute that holds defamation to be a criminal offence is both unconstitutional and a danger to free speech (which it is). The petition failed. A two-judge panel’s 268-page ruling on May 13th upheld the colonial-era law.”); Government Plans to Repeal Archaic Laws Pertaining to MHA, Times of India (Apr. 11, 2016), https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Government-plans-to-repeal-archaic-laws-pertaining-to-MHA/articleshow/51782460.cms [https://perma.cc/789X-LCZP] (describing government’s “embarrassment” when it lost track of its own process, presenting archaic laws for repeal that had already been repealed at its request); Government’s Plan to Repeal Over 1,000 Archaic Laws Stuck in Rajya Sabha, Econ. Times (Dec. 27, 2015), https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/politics-and-nation/governments-plan-to-repeal-over-1000-archaic-laws-stuck-in-rajya-sabha/articleshow/50340866.cms [https://perma.cc/SE2V-33X8] (describing same “embarrassment”); L. Comm’n of India, supra note 72 (describing how “logjam[s]” in the parliamentary process have resulted in prolonged delays for getting multiple, separate repeals enacted).

[74]     Transcript of Parliamentary Debate, Chamber of Deputies of Rwanda (July 15, 2019) (English translation, on file with authors) [hereinafter Parliamentary Debate]; Daniel Sabiiti, MPs to Scrap the Law that Annexed Rwanda to Congo-Belge, KT Press (July 16, 2019), https://www.ktpress.rw/2019/07/mps-to-scrap-the-law-that-annexed-rwanda-to-congo-belge/ [https://perma.cc/GN9F-LS4C] (describing proposal to repeal colonial laws tabled before the Lower House of Parliament and quoting Rubagumya’s denouncement of “legal colonialism”).

[75]     See Biography of Emma Furaha Rubagumya, Republic of Rwanda, Parliament, https://www.parliament.gov.rw/index.php?id=125&width=650&detailId=410 [https://perma.cc/MK26-3D8M] (last visited Aug. 23, 2020); Rania Abouzeid, How Women Are Stepping Up to Remake Rwanda, Nat’l Geographic(Oct. 15, 2019) (describing Rubagumya’s upbringing).

[76]     See Abouzeid, supra note 75 (describing Rubagumya’s upbringing).

[77]     See Abouzeid, supra note 75 (describing Rubagumya as part of a generation of Rwandan women advocating for progress and quoting her vision for the future: “We have the frameworks, we have policies, we have laws, we have enforcement mechanisms . . . We’ve walked a journey, we’ve registered good achievements, but we still need to go further to make sure that at some point we shall be totally free of all imbalances.”).

[78]     Sabiiti, supra note 74.

[79]     See Sabiiti, supra note 74.

[80]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74. See also Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 59 (“One wholesale repeal of all pre-independence statutes would be efficient and definitive. The choice is not unprecedented. The former American colonies continued using British statutes for a period of time after independence, while developing a legal tradition of their own. In time, however, states responded to the growing need for certainty about the body of valid positive law in their jurisdictions. That need led to the repeal of all British statutes that had not been affirmatively re-enacted after independence: in 1788, for example, just 12 years after declaring independence from England, the New York legislature repealed all British statutes. Virginia did the same in 1792. As did New Jersey in 1799. And more followed.”). See also Sabiiti, supra note 74 (“MP Rubagumya defended the proposal saying that similar initiatives have been done in the USA in the states of New Jersey for example and this can happen in Rwanda with a single law decreeing scrapping of colonial laws.”).

[81]      Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74; see also Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 57 (“Across the board, every colonial law, no matter the content, is in conflict with certain provisions of Rwanda’s Constitution, just by virtue of its ignoble provenance.”).

[82]     See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74; Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 57 (describing problems with enforcement of colonial laws).

[83]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74; Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 57 (“[L]aws imposed by foreign sovereigns . . . reflect an unconstitutional infringement on the Republic’s sovereignty by a past colonial power.”).

[84]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[85]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[86]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74. See also Law N° 22/2018 of 29/04/2018 Relating to the Civil, Commercial, Labour and Administrative Procedure, Art. 9 (“A judge adjudicates a case on the basis of relevant rules of law. In the absence of such rules, the judge adjudicates according to the rules that he/she would establish if he/she had to act as legislator, relying on precedents, customs, general principles of law and doctrine.”). See also supra p. 10 and note 48; Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 61 (describing Law N° 21/2012 of 14/06/2012 Relating to the Civil, Commercial, Labour and Administrative Procedure, Art. 6. (Article 9 of the 2018 revision)).

[87]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[88]     See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[89]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (statement of Deputy Nyirahirwa).

[90]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[91]      See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (“As for us, we have [considered] the approach of proceeding with one law after the other which is the approach opted for by the Republic of India and I think [that] country is still using the same approach . . . we have specifically opted [to] us[e] one law to repeal all [colonial] laws” so as not to fail “to repeal certain laws simply because we do not know those laws did exist.”).

[92]     See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (“There is no related database” for colonial legal texts that are hard to locate.); Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 53 (“[I]n the absence of a gazette publication of such law” there remains “a degree of uncertainty” about “the content of the law . . . and about what . . . provisions may otherwise still resurface another day.”).

[93]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74; see also Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 53 (“So long as the colonial era laws continue to be recognized as possibly valid and enforceable, we cannot rule out the possibility that other problematic health laws will emerge at an inopportune moment. Nor can we pronounce with certainty what the body of positive law is that governs health in Rwanda.”). Nevertheless, Deputy Nyirahirwa was among the very few MPs to remain unpersuaded. He continued to insist on the need to first pursue a Sisyphean task of creating an exhaustive inventory of all these hard-to-find colonial laws. Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (statement of Deputy Nyirahirwa) (“This is exactly where we still find the gap because we do not yet know the inventory of those laws.”).

[94]     See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (statement of Deputy Nyirarukundo) (“[I]f a judge cannot invoke a law of that period, he/she shouldn’t either use as a reference, any decision made pursuant to that law. This means that we will also consider repealing those decisions.”).

[95]     See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (“[The] decisions were made by the Courts of Rwanda. These are constitutional courts.”).

[96]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[97]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[98]     See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (“[E]ven after . . . independence and recently, many laws were enacted aimed at addressing issues facing Rwandan society as it is depicted nowadays, such as issues related to privileged use of land.”).

[99]     Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[100]   See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (Rubagumya: “We no longer need laws dating back to the colonial era.”).

[101]    Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[102]   Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[103]   See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (statement of Deputy Nyirarukundo).

[104]   Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (statement of Deputy Mussolini).

[105]   Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (“[Among] terms listed for definitions under this law, the term ‘international treaties’ was not part of the definitions.”); see also Law Repealing All Legal Instruments Brought into Force Before the Date of Independence, supra note 3, Art. 2.1 (defining “legal instruments” as laws, decree laws, decrees, legislative ordinances, law-ordinances, ordinances, ordinances of Ruanda-Urundi, royal orders, decrees of the Governor General, orders of the Resident and Special Resident, regulations, presidential orders, ministerial orders, edicts and declarations”).

[106]   Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[107]   See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (“[T]here is a new law determining boundaries of the territory of the Republic of Rwanda and . . . it is in article five on boundaries of the country which is determined by the Constitution of the Republic of Rwanda.”) (citing Constitution of the Republic of Rwanda of 2003 Revised in 2015, Art. 5).

[108]   Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74.

[109]   See Parliamentary Debate, supra note 74 (“The Law repealing all the laws established before the Independence date is voted for by 56 Deputies, nobody voted against, no abstention, two invalid votes, the law is therefore passed.”).

[110]    Law Repealing All Legal Instruments Brought into Force Before the Date of Independence, supra note 3.

[111]     See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 46 (“This legal arrangement, still in force until 2012, was created by a colonial precedent: prior legal instructions regarding micronutrients had been signed by the Governor of Congo-Rwanda-Burundi in 1940.”).

[112]    Law N°45/2011 OF 25/11/2011 Governing Contracts, Art. 162 (Official Gazette nº 04bis of 23/01/2012), https://gazettes.africa/archive/rw/2012/rw-government-gazette-dated-2012-01-23-no-4%20bis.pdf [https://perma.cc/8G8S-EGHP].

[113]    The text will become available upon passage. See Draft Law N°………. Of ……….. Governing Interpretation of Laws, Art. 39.

[114]    See supra pp. 12-13.

[115]    See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 46-47 (describing the need for the Ministry of Health to seek presidential orders to supersede colonial laws in order to implement changes in vitamin fortification); id. (describing colonial laws that codified discriminatory practices in the control of infectious diseases and outbreak response).

[116]    See Persistence of Colonial Laws, supra note 2, at 50 (describing examples of discriminatory rules for isolation and infection control).

[117]    COVID-19 in Rwanda: A Country’s Response, World Health Org.: News Story, (July 20, 2020), https://www.afro.who.int/news/covid-19-rwanda-countrys-response [https://perma.cc/K34T-5BNY].

[118]    Such successes are of course not attributable only to legal reforms alone; importantly, there have been concerted investments in strengthening the health system over many years. See, e.g., Why Rwanda Is Doing Better Than Ohio When It Comes to Controlling COVID-19, Nat’l Pub. Radio, at 00:04 (July 15, 2020), https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2020/07/15/889802561/a-covid-19-success-story-in-rwanda-free-testing-robot-caregivers [https://perma.cc/W3BB-R6DE] (“[O]ne country on the [African] continent, Rwanda, has managed to keep the virus in check”); id. at 03:34 (suggesting Rwanda’s response can serve as “an example to other low-income countries.”); How Rwanda Is Successfully Dealing with Coronavirus, CNN, at 00:01 (July 22, 2020), https://edition.cnn.com/videos/world/2020/07/22/rwanda-africa-coronavirus-covid-19-pandemic-testing-tracing-technology-busari-lkl-intl-ldn-vpx.cnn [https://perma.cc/KV3G-7CEB] (“Although Rwanda is the mostly densely populated country in mainland Africa, with limited resources as a low income country, it is emerging as one of the few nations that has effectively managed coronavirus and contact tracing”). See also COVID-19 in Rwanda: A Country’s Response, supra note 117 (describing control measures).

[119]    See Shantanu Nandan Sharma, How India Is Fighting Coronavirus with a Colonial-Era Law on Epidemics, Econ. Times (Mar. 22, 2020) https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/politics-and-nation/how-india-is-fighting-coronavirus-with-a-colonial-era-law-on-epidemics/articleshow/74752473.cms[https://perma.cc/WDR5-7V74] (“The main legal weapon the government possess today is the Epidemic Disease Act of 1897, a hurriedly drafted short legislation to stonewall the bubonic plague that devastated life in Bombay in 1896 . . . [T]he law does not bestow the [central government] any power beyond issuing advisories and coordinating. It cannot even regulate the transfer of biological samples.”); Gov’t of India, Nat’l Disaster Mgmt. Auth., National Disaster Management Guidelines: Management of Biological Disasters, § 3.1 (July 2008) (“The Epidemic Diseases Act was enacted in 1897 and needs to be repealed . . . It has to be substituted by an Act which takes care of the prevailing and foreseeable public health needs including . . . cross-border issues, and international spread of diseases. It should give enough powers to the central and state governments and local authorities to act with impunity, notify affected areas, restrict movement or quarantine the affected area, enter any premises to take samples of suspected materials and seal biological sample transfer, biosecurity and biosafety of materials/laboratories.”). But see Rituraj Tiwari et al., Covid-19: Antique Laws Return to Fight a Modern Disease, Econ. Times, (Mar. 21, 2020),https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/politics-and-nation/covid-19-antique-laws-return-to-fight-a-modern-disease/articleshow/74741315.cms [https://perma.cc/P63N-ZJMG] (“The Covid-19 outbreak has breathed life into antiquated laws, including a 19th century colonial statute that gives [state-level] authorities extraordinary powers to do just about anything to anybody to combat a contagious disease while offering no legal remedy . . . The 1897 law, introduced by the British to combat Bubonic Plague, has been described by historians as the most draconian colonial legislation.”).

[120]   See, e.g., Sharma, supra note 119.

[121]    See, e.g., Tiwari et al., supra note 119.

[122]    Mamadou Koulibaly, a presidential candidate, proposed the reform during a web address on October 10, 2019. See Mamadou Koulibaly, Jeudi, c’est Koulibaly! Le Bon Tyran et l’Abrogation des Lois Coloniales, YouTube, at 05:33 (Oct. 10, 2019), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5K5WMX2VMnk[https://perma.cc/DBP5-V53X]. See also Mamadou Koulibaly, Appelle à l’Abrogation des Lois Coloniales en Côte d’Ivoire, Abidjan.net (Oct. 10, 2019), https://news.abidjan.net/h/664558.html [https://perma.cc/XF7P-XEL4] (“L’opposant ivoirien Mamadou Koulibaly a appelé jeudi à Abidjan les autorités ivoiriennes à abroger ‘complètement’ toutes les lois colonials encore en vigueur dans le pays, estimant que ‘nous avons eu l’indépendance sans rompre avec le droit colonial’”) [“The Ivorian opposition candidate, Mamadou Koulibaly, on Thursday called on the Ivorian authorities in Abidjan to ‘completely’ repeal all the colonial laws still in force in the country, arguing that ‘we had independence without breaking with colonial law’”].

[123]    Koulibaly, Jeudi, c’est Koulibaly!, supra note 122, at 05:33 (authors’ translation) (“J’ai applaudi le dernier mois quand j’ai vu le Président Kagame du Rwanda dennonçait et s’engageait à modifier un millier de lois issues de la periode coloniale. C’est énorme pour le Rwanda. Mille lois qui definissaient tous et puis ils étaient là dedans depuis les colons sont partis et eux continuaient à persévérer le système colonial. C’est ce que nous faisons ici . . . Aussi bien pour les questions monétaires, les questions foncières, les questions militaires, les questions scolaires, les questions administratives, les questions judiciaires, les questions socio-culturelles, les questions sportives, et [il nous faut] regarder ces textes et puis virer tout ça et conservoir des textes correspondants à nos besoins, correspondants a notre oreintation, correspondants à la direction que nous voulons prendre. Et c’est ça que sera l’indépendance . . . c’est avec cette rupture que nous devons vraiment engager notre indépendance.”).

[124]   See supra p. 13; text accompanying supra note 66 (describing the rationale to not revoke the Catholic Church’s historic “land grab” and other property rights accrued under colonial laws).

[125]    Alice Wairimu Nderitu, None But Ourselves Can Free Minds from Mental Slavery, East Afr. (Oct. 10, 2019), https://www.theeastafrican.co.ke/tea/oped/comment/nderitu-none-but-ourselves-can-free-minds-from-mental-slavery-1429086 [https://perma.cc/QN36-UXKR].

[126]    Id.

[127]    July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

[128]    Nderitu, supra note 125.

[129]    For example, scholars have pointed to how the colonial authorities’ eugenics agenda has been carried over into modern legislation on mental health. See, e.g., Mohamed Ibrahim & Marina Morrow, Weaning Off Colonial Psychiatry in Kenya, J. Ethics Mental Health (Special Theme Issue I), at 2-3 (June 17, 2015), https://jemh.ca/issues/v9/documents/JEMH_Open-Volume_Article_Theme_Colonization_Weaning_June2015.pdf [https://perma.cc/7SZA-VT7Y], (describing eugenics policies carried over into Kenya’s 2014 Marriage ACT and Mental Health ACT of 1989).

[130]   See, e.g., id. at 3 (“The French doctors saw Moroccan midwives as a threat to their privilege and power over the dominance of women bodies . . . [The French colonial administration] regulated and disbanded the traditional Moroccan midwifery practices and finally outlawed them.”).

[131]    July 2019 Interview with Aimable Havugiyaremye, supra note 43.

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Ecocide Law: The Use of Hard Law to Complement Soft Law

Editorial note: This article is part of a series of blog posts on critical subject-matters for the progressive development and codification of International Criminal Law. 

By: Shirleen Chin[*]

Hard Law versus Soft Law

Unlike hard law, soft law is voluntary and imprecise. It is indicative of having a preference. Therefore, soft law does not impose hard obligations. Many multilateral environmental agreements (“MEAs”) are considered “soft”. In other words, MEAs are subject to discretionary implementation, weak enforcement, and different levels of compliance by states, which often leads to ineffectiveness. When MEAs are violated, amicable, non-judicial solutions are often sought, and state accountability does not always pass down to other non-state actors, either legal or natural. In contrast to soft law, hard law is seen as possessing binding and enforceable qualities. Hard obligations that are violated can be met with punitive measures—something that soft law instruments lack. Within (hard) international criminal law, affirmative justice is sought collectively by the international community in an effort to deter against conduct that causes or contributes to one of the four atrocity crimes recognized at the International Criminal Court.

This blog post is written in support of an amendment to the Rome Statute, the governing document of the ICC, giving the Court’s jurisdiction over a fifth atrocity crime; namely, crimes against the environment or as some would call, ecocide. In particular, we will explore the need to complement the gaps found in MEAs by using international criminal law or the crime of ecocide to galvanize preemptive governmental responses to potential transborder humanitarian crises with environmental origins.

Humanitarian Crises: COVID-19 and the Climate, Biodiversity, and Ecological Crisis

The success of a governmental response to any humanitarian crisis requires not only resource capacity but the ability to “prevent”, “respond” and “recover”. In particular, where the humanitarian crisis could potentially extend beyond national borders, the international community has an interest in these three aspects: prevention, response, and recovery. Below are two examples of humanitarian crises that we are currently struggling with, which could use the above approach.

COVID-19

COVID-19 is a humanitarian crisis that could have been prevented. While China has presumably managed to “recover” from the COVID-19 outbreak, it was not without a panic “response” and a hindsight that may have “prevented” a global spread. In February 2020, as one of their panic responses to the global spread of the novel coronavirus, China issued an immediate ban on the trade and consumption of wild animals (“Decision on Completely Prohibiting the Illegal Trade of Wild Animals, Eliminating the Bad Habits of Wild Animal Consumption, and Protecting the Health and Safety of the People”). This ban, while welcomed, is purely reactive and is not sufficient.

China is a party to the Convention on the International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (“CITES”), an MEA with a membership of 183 countries. This convention aims to prevent specific species from becoming endangered or extinct as a result of international trade. Unfortunately, CITES continues to struggle with the persistence of the illegal trade in wildlife, a multi-billion dollar industry. One of the reasons is that, although parties are obliged to implement the framework convention, national laws take precedence, and they do not always ensure a vigilant monitoring of the illegal trade. COVID-19 has exposed the flaws in CITES implementation and enforcement locally. One could contend that the poor enforcement of illegal wildlife trade everywhere else in the world, and the soft law approach of CITES can increase the risk of a global pandemic as demonstrated by Ebola and SARS in the past.

Climate Change

Climate change is a global humanitarian crisis in waiting. The topic has been negotiated for more than a quarter of a century and calls are getting louder from citizens worldwide about the failure of governmental action against the climate, biodiversity, and ecological crisis that is already taking place. In 2015, the world welcomed the so-called legally binding Paris Agreement, a multilateral treaty that seeks to prevent a 1.5 Celsius degree rise in temperature without which would inevitably bring about cataclysmic change to the world. Regrettably, the only significant binding element of the Paris Agreement is the submission of Nationally Determined Contributions (“NDCs”) every 5 years by all signatories. Five years on, it is clear to see that the Paris Agreement is failing. At the time of writing (note by author: September 2020), only five countries have sent in their NDCs (Andorra, Moldova, Marshall Islands, Norway, and Suriname).

The stalemates that play out year after year at the United Nations (“UN”) Climate Conference of the Parties (“COP”) have certainly failed to keep up with increasing emissions as well as the devastating effects of erratic weather and climate events. The implementation of MEAs such as the Paris Agreement is left to the state signatories, and they have been criticized by many, including UN Environment, for their weak enforcement. Despite having an international treaty on climate change, it is evident that most countries in the world, especially the most vulnerable, do not and may not have the ability to fully “prevent, respond[,] and recover” a climate-induced humanitarian crisis.

“Both [COVID-19 and climate change] demand early aggressive action to minimise loss,” said climate scientist, Kim Cobb. The difference between the global response to COVID-19 and climate change is rivalled only by the “sudden-death” factor of the former. The common thread that holds COVID-19 and climate change together is human activity— practices that result in serious loss, damage, or destruction of our ecosystems. Whilst COVID-19 is a consequence of unregulated and illegal animal trade or a by-product of human encroachment on the forest, climate change is a cumulation of decades of unsustainable carbon-emitting practices attributable to big, industrial, human activity. Like the COVID-19 pandemic, fast, devastating crises brought about by sudden climatic and environmental events require responses that will ensure the biggest chance of recovery for humankind.

The discretionary nature of the implementation and enforcement of soft law instruments such as CITES and the Paris Agreement leaves too much room for mistakes, and the failure to act or actions by those in power can lead to humanitarian crises that can result in the loss of many lives. A hard, international crime, such as ecocide, should exist in parallel to soft international law to prevent and to attribute individual responsibility where it is missing. Even theoretically, having a crime of ecocide sends out a strong signal that decision makers should avoid jeopardizing our ecosystem, the ecosystem that equilibrizes the survival of humankind. It is time to consider the beneficial effects of criminalizing harmful acts to the environment.

Ecocide

In 2010, the late Polly Higgins submitted the following definition for ecocide to the International Law Commission for consideration:

the extensive destruction, damage or loss of ecosystem(s) of a given territory, whether by human agency or by other causes, to such an extent that peaceful enjoyment by the inhabitants of that territory has been severely diminished.

Here, the premise was based upon protection of the ecosystem that sustains the lives of every human being. Our ecosystems have not been sufficiently protected. This is made evident by the widespread, unconscionable deforestation that endangers the lives of indigenous peoples or that becomes a catalyst of modern-day outbreaks, the excessive release of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere that perpetuates the impacts of climate change, the dumping of poisonous chemicals in rivers that downstream communities depend on, or highly polluting mining activities that endanger human, animal, and plant lives.

During the formation of the Rome Statute, crimes against the environment was considered and discussed amongst twelve other crimes. Although it was not called ecocide then, the crime was described as “wilful and severe damage to the environment”. Unfortunately, after some internal debate amongst states, the crime was excluded from the final draft without a vote. The only semblance of ecocide in the Rome Statute exists in Article 8(2)(b)(iv) under war crimes. No one has ever been charged under this provision.

Conclusion

Persons at the highest level of the structure within both government and corporate structures should be held to a higher duty of care standard when it comes to the environment. By introducing accountability for ecocide, a crime of international concern, we may be able to curtail the impacts of humanitarian crises with environmental origins because then we would have the required diligence or policing, prioritization of capacity, investigation-led data and judicial enforcement. Otherwise, decisions taken at the highest levels can cumulatively and through a series of related events, lead to dire crises such as COVID-19 and climate emergencies. The current global economic model is unsustainable and will continue to harm our ecosystems unless the crime of ecocide is introduced to complement the toothless MEAs.

Recognizing the crime of ecocide not only “prevents”, but will dictate how well we “respond” to future environmental-humanitarian crises and from there ensure the best chance to fully “recover”. It is hard law in its highest form. The introduction of the crime of ecocide parallel to soft international law can send a strong signal that man-made activities that are extensive and damaging to the environment can no longer be tolerated and as such will bolster currently weak environmental governance. Preemptive governmental responses can then be planned to minimize inevitable losses in the economy, lives, and nature. As aptly put by the UN’s chief of biodiversity, “if we don’t take care of nature, it will take care of us.” Calls for the crime of ecocide have come from environmental movements such as Extinction Rebellion, Greta Thunberg, Pope Francis, Dr. Jane Goodall, groups of indigenous people in the Amazon, scholars, celebrities, royalties, and even countries like France, Belgium, the Maldives, and Vanuatu.

COVID-19 is a humanitarian tragedy that has crippled the world’s economy, everyday life and killed too many innocent people. The mechanisms that were in place failed to deploy preemptively and thus effectively prevent a global pandemic. Related crises like the climate and ecological crises have shown to have the same crippling effect and should be prevented at all cost. The crime of ecocide is a legal avenue that will ensure the best chance of survival for the most vulnerable and can encourage positive and much-needed shifts multilaterally.

Isn’t it about time to create a legally binding duty of care towards the Earth?

***

The “Stop Ecocide: Change the Law” campaign that Polly Higgins started advocates for the international recognition of ecocide as a fifth atrocity crime, at par with war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocide, and crime of aggression. Since her passing in April 2019, a team of eco-warriors close to her have been carrying on the advocacy campaign, working to mobilize people on the ground as well as working with the highest level of decision making: governments worldwide. Over the course of 2020, the campaign has gained much political traction and at the time of writing, an expert drafting panel co-chaired by Prof. Philippe Sands QC and Dior Fall Sow is working on the legal definition of ecocide. The ecocide campaign is also made in collaboration with Harvard Law School students on a research project on an amendment of the Rome Statute to include the crime of ecocide.

[*] Shirleen represents Stop Ecocide Foundation as their legal/diplomatic focal point for the Pacific. She has nearly ten years of advocacy experience working for NGOs and was featured in Vogue (Spain) in 2020 as one of seven female environmentalists to watch. Shirleen is also involved in a sub-group chaired by the co-deputies of the expert drafting panel on ecocide.

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More articles from the series:
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Content, Online Scholarship, Perspectives

If the Shoe Fits, Wear it (and Codify It as a Crime Against the Environment)

Editorial note: This article is part of a series of blog posts on critical subject-matters for the progressive development and codification of International Criminal Law. 

By: Anthony Abato

The student advocates’ report on environmental crimes in The Future of International Accountability is a very important contribution to the decades-old campaign to criminalize harm to the environment under international law. As the students have highlighted, that campaign experienced a renaissance in 1991 with the International Law Commission’s Draft Code of Crimes Against the Peace and Security of Mankind. In the Draft Code, the Commission considered “wilfully caus[ing] or order[ing] the causing of widespread, long-term and severe damage to the natural environment” as a new, autonomous crime.[2] Christian Tomuschat, member of the Commission, prepared a report on this proposal.[3] Before setting out to write this blog, I read his report and reflected on the arduous task that advocates have had since the concept of an international criminal law of the environment was introduced.  It is my intention to consider some of the challenges advocates have faced and to discuss why the campaign for environmental crimes may have lost its place in a policymaker’s agenda.

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At the time of his report, Mr. Tomuschat was an academic with many publications on the subject of human rights in the German language. Mr Tomuschat’s report was colored with his experience as a human rights advocate, and it was calibrated very carefully to his audience. Cleverly, he focused his report on demonstrating that causing harm to the environment met the criteria that had been generally identified as characterizing crimes against the peace and security of mankind. He identified “seriousness” as one of the important criteria, which could be deduced either from the nature of the act itself or from the magnitude of its effects.[4] He then illustrated brilliantly the “seriousness” of environmental damage and the need for a prohibition at the international level.

However, as Mr. Tomuschat noted in his report, the Special Rapporteur’s view was that governments showed a lack of support for the proposal to include a separate provision on environmental crimes. The Special Rapporteur himself indicated that the time was not yet ripe to go beyond the framework developed at Nuremberg, and he recommended deleting the provision. Despite its persuasive force and its appeal to reason, common sense, and emotion, Mr. Tomuschat’s report did not succeed. The draft provision on crimes against the environment was deleted in whole, and the drafting committee was tasked only with including damage to the environment as a war crime.[5] After many modifications, the draft Code became the language of the founding treaty of the International Criminal Court. Therein, environmental damage is subsumed under war crimes committed during international armed conflict, and it is not recognized as an autonomous crime.[6]

Nevertheless, Mr. Tomsuchat’s report helped to develop the dialogue regarding a full-scale prohibition of environmental crimes because it recognized that the campaign will not be won only by wielding astonishing facts and figures. In spite of the quantifiable loss of ecosystems and species, it is clear from Mr. Tomuschat’s assessment of the opposition voiced during the negotiations of the draft Code that governments were not at the time comfortable with the “seriousness” that may be posed by threats to the environment. After his report, and subsequent to the completion of the Code, similar concerns have been voiced over the years in the United Nations (“UN”) General Assembly and by states’ delegates during the travaux préparatoires for the Statute of the International Criminal Court (“ICC”).

Indeed, only “serious” crimes are prosecuted at the international level. The clever advocate will succeed in unshackling harm to the environment from the laws of international armed conflict only once the international community is convinced that it is by its nature serious enough to warrant full-scale criminal prohibition.[7] A prepared and diligent advocate must directly address this deficit by demonstrating that crimes against the environment are like other autonomous international crimes in that i) they affect certain accepted humanitarian interests (things of value that the international community has decided to preserve) and ii) they carry a certain moral opprobrium.

As to the former, there is now consensus within the international community that certain humanitarian interests are worthy of the full-scale protection of penal law. Criminal law applicable during armed conflict protects civilians, prisoners of war, humanitarian aid personnel, and child soldiers, for example. Irrespective of armed conflict, the law against genocide protects against the destruction of national, racial, ethnic, and religious groups capable of being so defined, and the prohibition of crimes against humanity protects against the persecution of virtually any identifiable group. The consensus within the international community also extends to certain things, in addition to groups. Religious buildings, cultural monuments and institutions, hospitals, and civilian property are protected by penal law applicable during armed conflict. Finally, albeit slightly less tangible, state sovereignty is protected by the prohibition of the crime of aggression.

The Preamble to the Statute of the ICC affirms that infringements upon the groups or things mentioned above may constitute the most serious crimes of concern to the international community as a whole. It cites the need for a permanent international criminal court in part “for the sake of future generations.” But international criminal law still has not expressly acknowledged that many of the same humanitarian and state interests are confronted when human beings inflict severe damage to the natural world. Like the acts committed during a campaign of genocide or persecution, crimes against the environment have the potential to cause the destruction of groups expressly protected by international criminal law. For example, environmental degradation disproportionately affects groups such as indigenous and tribal peoples and agrarian societies. Climate change impinges upon the sovereignty of island nations and coastal communities,[8] and its long-term effects disproportionately threaten today’s youth.[9] Lawsuits for contribution to climate change have been launched by classes of children, farmers, and fishermen, and on behalf of cities and whole political regions.[10]

Thus, policymakers need not look any further than the values expressed in the Statute of the ICC itself to be convinced of the importance of environmental conservation. And if the concern for such groups and things was somewhat abstract and unrealized at the time of Mr. Tomuschat’s report, it has become increasingly more concrete with the decades of cooperation and enforcement that have followed. So much of the budget of member states and the Trust Fund for Victims has been put towards the preservation of indigenous and tribal communities, youth education and development, and natural resource infrastructure. Moreover, so much prosecutorial capital has been invested in crimes directed at ethnic communities. For their part, environmental advocates have the opportunity to rally the support of humanitarian organizations and NGOs already interested in international justice and reparations for vulnerable groups.

Indeed, if at the time of Mr. Tomuschat’s report there was an apparent discomfort felt among policymakers regarding the relationship between environmental degradation and humanitarian interests, that discomfort has been eased. There is an emerging recognition within the international community that the effects of environmental damage are not unlike those of other international crimes. One of the key similarities is inherent in the prohibition of crimes against humanity, which recognizes that certain outrages against personal dignity must be prevented irrespective of whether they take place during armed conflict. The effects of environmental damage are not unlike those of crimes against humanity in this regard. They directly concern fundamental individual rights. There is a growing body of international human rights jurisprudence affirming that the effects of prolonged environmental degradation may violate the right to life as protected by human rights conventions. In particular, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights has determined that the conditions required for a decent life include adequate access to water, food, and health. These conditions have a significant impact on the right to a decent existence and the basic conditions for the exercise of other human rights.[11] There is also a close relationship between the right to life and the right to personal integrity, and human intervention in the natural world may violate both fundamental rights.

Environmental advocates must capitalize on this development by spelling out the link between the right to a healthy environment and access to justice for the victims of environmental harm.[12] It is perplexing, given the human rights norms at play, that human rights groups do not throw their support behind criminalizing harm to the environment at the international level.

But, finally, “seriousness” is not determined solely on the pervasiveness of damage. The international community has made the “seriousness” of a crime a more relativistic assessment, with a view to seeking out and bringing to justice individuals who would otherwise enjoy impunity. Corruption, greed, and aggression at the highest levels of the state and societal apparatus create a sense of injustice and powerlessness felt by ordinary people. And we have countenanced intervention in the affairs of a sovereign state almost invariably when that state has surrendered its jurisdiction or is otherwise not in a position to take sufficient action against the powerful and corrupt perpetrator. These prevailing circumstances underpin the concept of “impunity” expressed in the Statute of the ICC, and they are a prerequisite for an international crime. In the campaign to make crimes against the environment part of the arsenal of full-scale international crimes, it is imperative that policymakers appreciate the perniciousness of the underlying misconduct. And it is the role of the advocate to demonstrate that such misdeeds are morally reprehensible.

Corruption, greed, and aggressive force are at the heart of the destruction of our natural environment,[13] and there is growing recognition of the moral bankruptcy suffered by the individuals behind such misconduct. The student advocates’ assessment of the current landscape demonstrates that perpetrators can no longer hide behind a color of right or a business motive, but are criminals in the eyes of the international community. Countless multilateral instruments call on states to criminalize various forms of harm to the environment.[14] The Council of the European Union (“EU”) has, in the Directive on the Protection of the Environment through Criminal Law, identified the need for criminal penalties for transborder environmental offenses that reflect a “social disapproval of a qualitatively different nature compared to administrative penalties or a compensation mechanism under civil law.”[15] Severe punitive damage awards in U.S. lawsuits involving environmental torts implicitly demonstrate the need not only for compensation but also for behavior modification and punishment. The case can and must be made that impunity abounds, and this warrants a collective response.

As recently as one year ago, one could still have found a sense of apathy in the general public regarding the importance of a collective response to the degradation and abuse of our natural world. The Covid-19 pandemic has no doubt created a renewed sense of awareness about the mutual interdependence of governments. Some have very astutely pointed out that the current health crisis that we face foreshadows the future climate crisis, and there are very close parallels between the two in the need for cooperation and enforcement of preventative measures.[16] There should be no doubt now that our survival as a species depends on such cooperation and collective action. But equally, we have been forced to take stock of the importance of societal norms and rules and the effect that nonconformance can have on our fellow citizens. For those who may feel outrage when they read the headlines about individuals who are not keeping their distance, taking unnecessary risks, and even demonstrating against public safety measures—this outrage is a result of an expectation that individuals act responsibly and cooperate to prevent harm to the wider community.

There has never been a better time to talk about the moral responsibility of individuals to preserve the environment for future generations. Just as we wonder whether our neighbor will receive a penalty for breaking quarantine and putting the community at risk, we should also expect our neighbor who dumps toxic waste and contributes to the destruction of the planet’s ecosystems to be shamed and penalized. This moment must be seized by advocates for environmental crimes before our focus once again shifts inwards and our attention is consumed by some domestic high-profile sex scandal or murder trial.

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At present, the volume of scientific research is immense and the international community of scientists is clear on the effects of climate change and loss of species. But there is a chasm that exists between the scientific research and the international community of criminal lawyers and policymakers. Advocacy needs to recognize the skepticism held by these latter groups and cater to their interests if there is to be any success in persuading them to adopt new, collective measures. It is unacceptable that since Mr. Tomuschat’s 1996 report, discussions about criminalizing harm to the environment have not taken place at a high level. Almost 25 years later, the environment is still novel, on the lips only of progressives and visionaries. Activists are not power wielding policymakers, but leaders of poorly-funded, “fringe” NGOs. The debates about criminalizing environmental damage are not central to UNGA and ICC governance agendas, but rather, take place at side events and student conferences.

As the Harvard student advocates have revealed in their research, there has been a palpable change in societal attitudes towards the environment and its degradation over the last few decades. The criminalization of environmental harm at the international level represents a logical, incremental step, carried by the tune of the larger environmental movement. Criminalization at the international level would represent merely an expression of the norms already held. The bottleneck is at the policy-making level, and in response, the focus of the campaign must now shift from research to advocacy.

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[1] The views expressed herein are those of the author alone and do not necessarily reflect the views of the International Criminal Court. The author would like to thank the following individuals who, as students at Harvard Law School contributed to the research and drafting of this blog: Justin Fishman, Samantha Lint, Emma Broches, Celeste Kmiotek, Matthew Farrell, and Jung Min (Jasmine) Shin.

[2] Int’l Law Comm’n, Draft Code of Crimes Against the Peace and Security of Mankind, at 9 (1996).

[3] Christian Tomuschat (Member of the Commission), Document on Crimes Against the Environment, U.N. Doc. ILC (XLVII)/DC/CRD.3 (Mar. 1996).

[4] Id. at ¶14.

[5] A. Gauger et al., University of London, Hum. Rts. Consortium, Ecocide is the Missing 5th Crime Against Peace 10 (2013).

[6] As the student’s report points out, there is already consensus within the international community that attacks against the environment are prohibited by international criminal law provided that i) the damage is long term, widespread and severe, ii) the damage occurs in the course of an international armed conflict, and iii) the attack against the natural environment is intentional.

[7] “Full scale” prohibition, hereinafter, refers to crimes that occur in the context of conflicts not of an international character and in peace time.

[8] H. E. John H. Licht (Ambassador of the Republic of Vanuatu to the European Union), General Debate of the 18th Session of the Assembly of States Parties to the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, at 3, (Dec. 2–7, 2019), https://asp.icc-cpi.int/iccdocs/asp_docs/ASP18/GD.VAN.2.12.pdf.

[9] See Juliana v. United States, 947 F.3d 1159, 1175 (9th Cir. 2020) (Though unsuccessful in securing standing, the youth Plaintiffs in Juliana v. United States made a “compelling case that action is needed.”).

[10] Umair Irfan, Pay Attention to the Growing Wave of Climate Change Lawsuits, Vox (June 4, 2019, 11:13AM), https://www.vox.com/energy-and-environment/2019/2/22/17140166/climate-change-lawsuit-exxon-juliana-liability-kids.

[11] The Environment and Human Rights, Advisory Opinion OC-23/17, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) No. 23, ¶ 109 (Nov. 15, 2017).

[12] See U.N. Dept. of Econ. and Soc. Aff., Sustainable Development Goal 16, https://sdgs.un.org/goals/goal16.

[13] To combat wildlife and forest crime, for example, the UN Office on Drugs and Crime has organized training and education specifically to stamp out corruption and strengthen member States’ tools for law enforcement. See, e.g., U.N. Off. on Drugs & Crime, Scaling Back Corruption: A Guide on Addressing Corruption for Wildlife Management Authorities (2019), https://www.unodc.org/documents/corruption/Publications/2019/19-08373_Scaling_Back_Corruption_ebook.pdf; U.N. Off. on Drugs & Crime, Rotten Fish: A Guide on Addressing Corruption in the Fisheries Sector (2019), https://www.unodc.org/documents/Rotten_Fish.pdf.

[14] Des écocrimes à l’écocide: le droit penal au secours de l’environnement 31 (Laurent Neyret ed., 2015).

[15] Council Directive 2008/99, 2008 O.J. (L 328) (EC).

[16] See Renee Cho, What Can We Learn from COVID-19 to Help with Climate Change, State of the Planet (Mar. 26, 2020), https://blogs.ei.columbia.edu/2020/03/26/covid-19-lessons-climate-change/.

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More articles from the series:
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Content, Online Scholarship, Perspectives

ICC Personal Jurisdiction on Corporations for Criminal Liability and/or Civil Liability for Reparations

Editorial note: This article is part of a series of blog posts on critical subject-matters for the progressive development and codification of International Criminal Law. 

By: Juan Pablo Calderon Meza[1]

It is no longer surprising to find influential corporate actors involved in different human rights violations around the world. Nonetheless, corporate actors rarely face justice for those acts. The international fora in charge of enforcing human rights      exclusively have jurisdiction over states, although      states may be liable for the acts of non-state agents.[2] Yet, this implies a gap in the possibility to hold corporations directly accountable for human rights violations before an international human rights court. And even when those violations may amount to crimes for which individuals and corporations could be investigated domestically, often times, when it comes to corporations operating transnationally—multinational corporations (“MNCs”)—both the “host” and “home” states may be unwilling and/or unable to investigate them and their affiliated individuals—also known as industrialists. For one, host states may not have the capacity or may actually be involved in the crimes.[3]  For the other, home states may not see the need to test the scope of their extraterritorial jurisdiction for the activities of their corporations or nationals abroad.[4] MNCs thus benefit from this gap.

1. Closing the Gap at the ICC: the Chiquita Case

The International Criminal Court (“ICC”” or “Court”), with the mandate to “put an end to impunity” for perpetrators of the most serious crimes,[5] could close the gap by investigating industrialists. Article 25(1) of the Rome Statute restricts the personal jurisdiction of the ICC to natural persons. However, Article 25(1) does not prevent investigation and prosecution of industrialists for their role in directly or accessorily participating, as per Article 25(3), in crimes under ICC jurisdiction. This would be in keeping with the post-Nuremberg precedent of Zyklon B, where the accused were agents of the company that supplied poison gas to the Nazi concentration camps.[6] The accused in that case held different positions in the company—Tesch was the owner and Weinbacher was the second in the chain of command, while Drosihn was merely a technician.[7] The court acquitted Drosihn,[8] and held both Tesch and Weinbacher liable after hearing the Judge Advocate’s reasoning that knowledge of the use given to the gas, together with a position to influence or prevent the transfer of gas, were the main criteria to assess liability.[9] The Judge Advocate highlighted that Tesch and Weinbacher were “both competent business men, were sensitive about admitting that they knew at the relevant time of the size of the deliveries of poison gas to Auschwitz.”[10]

At the ICC, the Office of the Prosecutor (“OTP”) has hinted at possibilities to investigate and prosecute industrialists. In its “Policy Paper on Case Selection and Prioritisation,” the OTP noted that it would prioritize the investigation and selection of cases whose manner of commission and impact may include crimes affecting vulnerable communities, by grabbing their land and/or destroying the environment.[11] Moreover, the OTP has included crimes allegedly committed by, inter alios, industrialists within its preliminary examination in Colombia. In its 2012 report, the OTP noted that the Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia (“AUC”) allegedly committed crimes against humanity in Colombia.[12] In 2017, the OTP received an Article 15(2) communication from the Harvard Law School’s International Human Rights Clinic, reporting that some executives from Chiquita Brands International (“Chiquita”) approved payments that Chiquita’s Colombian branch made to the AUC from 1997 through 2004.[13] It reveals memoranda of Chiquita indicating that an executive believed the payments were, in his own words, the “[c]ost of doing business in Colombia.”[14] The communication further reports that when alerted to the mass crimes to which the payments were contributing, one of the executives said, “Just let them sue us, come after us.”[15] In its 2018 report on preliminary examinations, the OTP noted within its examination of Colombia, the domestic investigation into 13 executives of Chiquita and its subsidiary, Banadex.[16] The OTP also referred to investigations on other industries that supported the AUC, for “contributions of cattle breeders, flour makers, merchants and some businessmen allegedly linked to the sugar industry operating in Colombia.”[17] In its 2019 report, it observed that the indictment against 10 out the 13 Chiquita executives was confirmed.[18] The OTP continued to follow up the Chiquita investigation in its 2020 report.[19]

It is alleged that some of the Chiquita executives who have been left off the investigation, and thus off the hook, are not Colombians but precisely foreigners who had power of decision.[20] The question is thus who of the Chiquita executives, who are under investigation, as well as those who are not under investigation, had both knowledge of the crimes and decision-making power.

Cases such as Chiquita pose the question whether the factors leading corporate executives to be involved in mass crimes, putting profit over people’s lives, are rather structural within some corporations. If that is the case, prosecuting an industrialist might have the following effects: (i) if convicted and imprisoned, the executive would be incapacitated, and (ii) this could deter further executives from similarly making wrong decisions. Instead, they would resign and leave the corporation. Yet, the structure will continue and while some might too prefer to resign, another person will eventually be promoted to make the same wrongdoings. In addition to the prosecution of industrialists, either domestically or before the ICC, incapacitation or rehabilitation on a more collective level within the corporation would be an effective intervention to prevent industrialists from engaging in criminal activities again and again. To that end, individual liability could be complemented with corporate liability.

2. Rome Statute Travaux Préparatoires on Corporate Liability

The travaux préparatoires of the Rome Statute show that the original wording of Article 25 would have allowed prosecution of corporations as well as individuals. Article 17(5)–(6) of the Working Group on General Principles of Criminal Law’s draft of April 1, 1998  included personal jurisdiction over legal persons, other than states “when the crimes committed were committed on behalf of such legal persons or by their agencies or representatives.”[21]  It added that “criminal responsibility of legal persons shall not exclude the criminal responsibility of natural persons who are perpetrators or accomplices in the same crimes.”[22] Article 23(5)–(6) of the draft of July 3, 1998 placed the necessary condition for corporations to be tried only if the natural person who controls the legal person is convicted and the Prosecutor included in the charges against that natural person that he/she was in control of the legal person and acted under “consent” of the latter.[23]  This would have allowed the prosecution of both industrialists and MNCs.

However, paragraphs (5) and (6) were not included in the final wording of Article 25. Drafters such as Ambassador Scheffer notes that some delegations indicated that their jurisdictions lacked legislation on criminal liability of legal persons, thereby having a barrier to prosecute them domestically as per the complementarity principle.[24] Ambassador Per Saland, who was the Chairman of this discussion during the Rome Conference, noted that “[t]ime was running out” to include corporate liability within the Rome Statute.[25]

3. Momentum to Amend the Rome Statute to Include Corporate Liability

Today, the international community may be prepared to address this proposal. The concerns over lack of domestic legislation on corporate accountability to fulfil the complementary obligations to investigate and prosecute domestically may have been attenuated. Different jurisdictions currently provide for criminal liability of corporations under domestic law.[26] In recent years, corporate liability has been included in various criminal codes[27], and a civil claims to collect damages from corporate actors have also been incorporated in some jurisdictions.[28] As indicated by the International Commission of Jurists, “[i]n the majority of those jurisdictions that already recognize the potential criminal responsibility of companies, companies can be held responsible for […] crimes under international law.”[29] Additionally, civil society and states have shown their interest in regulating corporate accountability in the international level. In 2011, the United Nations adopted the Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights,[30] and in 2014, the Human Rights Council established a working group to create an international legally binding instrument on business and human rights.[31] With these changes in the international policymaking community, it is time to reconsider corporate accountability at the ICC.

a. Amendments to Incorporate Criminal Liability of Corporations

The Rome Statute could be amended according to the proposals of the Rome Conference. That is, Article 25 could be amended to incorporate paragraphs (5) and (6) of the draft of July 3, 1998.[32]

Alternatively, Ambassador David Scheffer has made the following proposal to amend Article 25 of the Rome Statute:

Amend Article 25(1) to read: ‘The Court shall have jurisdiction over natural and juridical persons pursuant to this Statute.’

Amend the second sentence of Article 1 to read: ‘It shall be a permanent institution and shall have the power to exercise its jurisdiction over natural and juridical persons for the most serious crimes of international concern, as referred to in this Statute, and shall be complementary to national criminal jurisdictions. Any use of ‘person’ or ‘persons’ or the ‘accused’ in this Statute shall mean a natural or juridical person unless the text connotes an exclusive usage.’

Either way would provide the necessary provisions to prosecute corporations in addition to industrialists. The political will required to achieve such an overhaul of the Rome Statute would admittedly be considerable but not impossible to obtain.

b. Alternative Amendment to Incorporate Civil Liability of Corporations

The draft of April 1, 1998 indicated that there was a middle ground as to the divergence regarding criminal liability of corporations:[33]

Some delegations hold the view that providing for only the civil or administrative responsibility/liability of legal persons could provide a middle ground. This avenue, however, has not been thoroughly discussed. Some delegations, who favour the inclusion of legal persons, hold the view that this expression should be extended to organizations lacking legal status.[34]

It is the time to explore this possibility. Inspired in the partie civile system,[35] victims could implead corporations in reparations proceedings against convicted industrialists.[36] This would require that Articles 75 and 77 of the Rome Statute be amended.

Article 75(2) could be amended as follows:

2. The Court may make an order directly against a convicted person specifying appropriate reparations to, or in respect of, victims, including restitution, compensation and rehabilitation. If the convicted person is a member of a group of persons as provided for in Article 25(3)(c)-(d) or an organization as provided for in Article 7(3)(a), the victims of the crime may attach civil claims for damages against that organization or group of persons. Where appropriate, the Court may order that the award for reparations be made through the Trust Fund provided for in article 79. (New language emphasized)[37]

Additionally, Article 77(2) could be modified to include the corporation’s vicarious liability for civil damages, in addition to fines levied on individuals, as follows:

In addition to imprisonment, the Court may order:

(a) A fine under the criteria provided for in the Rules of Procedure and Evidence;

(b) A forfeiture of proceeds, property and assets derived directly or indirectly from that crime, without prejudice to the rights of bona fide third parties.

(c) In a case where the victims have attached a civil claim for damages against an organization, damages are to be paid by the organization to the victims, directly or through the Trust Fund as provided for in Article 79. (New language emphasized)[38]

4. If No Amendment is Possible, the Victims, the TFV, and Even the Convicted Person Could Try Novel Avenues to Seek Contribution for Reparations from Liable Corporate Actors

Lastly, if none of the alternative amendments seem to have any reception among states, the victims, the TFV, and the convicted person could explore novel possibilities to seek contribution from corporate actors who have acted as co-perpetrators and accessories.

a. Impleading Corporate Actors to Appear in Reparations at the ICC

Although it has never been tried, Rule 94(1) of the Rules of Procedure and Evidence (“Rules”) does not prevent a victim to name accessory corporate actors in their request for reparations, so that the Court, under Rule 94(2), “ask the Registrar to provide notification of the request to the person or persons named in the request or identified in the charges and, to the extent possible, to any interested persons.” Corporate actors could be called as impleaders named in the request. Likewise, in proceedings started under the Court’s motion, the Court could call corporate actors as impleaders, considering that Rule 95(1) provides that the Court “shall ask the Registrar to provide notification of its intention to the person or persons against whom the Court is considering making a determination.”

Certainly, neither rule limits the interpretation of the terms “person or persons named in the request” and “person or persons against whom the Court is considering making a determination” to natural persons, let alone to the convicted person. Either the victims in their request or the Court on its own motion could thus call companies or, at the very least, industrialists to appear as impleaders in the reparations proceedings. This would of course require that their liability as contributors to the harm caused by the crimes can be proved. The victims could do so to secure that the payment of the award against the person convicted be paid by either the convicted person or the corporate actors so impleaded.

b. Seeking Contribution of Corporate Actors at Local Courts

Another possibility that has not yet been tried either is to seek contribution from corporate actors that are jointly liable for the harm caused by the crimes of which the convicted person is liable. It is a common rule in several jurisdictions that a party who is held jointly liable to pay the entirety of the award can seek contributory damages from other liable parties. As Judge Simma found in the ICJ case Oil Platforms case, the principle of joint liability for multiple tortfeasors is a general principle of law.[39] Several jurisdictions furthermore provide that a party who is held jointly liable to pay the entirety of the award can seek contributory damages from other liable parties. On the basis of domestic legislation from 24 jurisdictions, Professor Alford notes, “It is the very general rule that if a tortfeasor’s behaviour is held to be a cause of the victim’s harm, the tortfeasor is liable to pay for all of the harm so caused, notwithstanding that there was a concurrent cause of that harm and that another is responsible for that cause.”[40] According to Professor J. E. Noyes and Professor B. D. Smith, principles preventing unjust enrichment across jurisdictions explain that “the availability of contribution does make a system of joint and several liability more palatable.”[41]

Although the forum to seek contributory damages from tortfeasors would be the domestic courts that have jurisdiction over the other liable parties, either the convicted person or eventually the TFV could seek contribution from corporate actors, corporations, and/or industrialists, that contributed to the harm caused by the crimes. In the case of the convicted person, he or she could seek contribution from other liable individuals or corporations. As for the TFV, in cases where the convicted person lacks funds, the reparations order is made against the convicted person but the TFV disburses money to pay the award.[42] Having done so, the TFV could subrogate and seek contribution from the liable corporate actors that also participated in the harm caused by the crimes.

In fact, judging from the TFV’s submissions, it does not seem to oppose the idea to subrogate for the money it pays to the victims. In support of Victims V01’s appeal in Lubanga, the TFV submitted in Lubanga that it “reiterates its legal opinion that a reparations order has to be directed against the convicted person regardless of his or her financial situation” and that it “plays only an intermediary role to implement the order against the convicted person.”[43] Importantly, the TFV noted that an order against the convicted person “remains liable even if reparations were advanced by the Trust Fund” and did not discard the possibility that, “even at a later stage, the convicted person fulfils this part of the Court’s order,” serving reconciliation purposes.[44] The Appeals Chamber observed:

In cases where the convicted person is unable to immediately comply with an order for reparations for reasons of indigence, the Appeals Chamber agrees with the parties and participants’ submissions that were made before the Trial Chamber, namely that the Trust Fund may advance its ‘other resources’ pursuant to regulation 56 of the Regulations of the Trust Fund, but such intervention does not exonerate the convicted person from liability. The convicted person remains liable and must reimburse the Trust Fund.[45]

In situations where companies are involved in crimes for which the convicted person was held liable for reparations but was declared indigent or has not paid the award, the TFV could pay and thus subrogate to seek payment from co-perpetrators or accessories. This could be feasible through civil litigation in fora with personal jurisdiction over the companies or their assets. The fact that this subrogation action exists or is actually filed might furthermore serve as collateral for the TFV to seek funding, and it might give some security to people who want to invest in the TFV.

5. Conclusion

In an effort to close many of the loopholes that have allowed some corporate actors to escape accountability for their role in atrocity crimes, this blog summarizes proposals that have been the fruit of research conducted by Harvard Law School’s student organization, Advocates for Human Rights. For one, corporate accountability could be implemented through statutory amendments providing for criminal and/or civil liability of corporations. In any event, if the time had not yet come to table such amendments, the Rome Statute and the Rules could be interpreted to allow the victims or the convicted person to implead corporate actors, both natural and juridical persons who have co-perpetrated or contributed to the crimes, to appear as impleaders in the reparations stage at the ICC. Otherwise, with a reparations order issued against the convicted person in such cases, the convicted person himself could seek contribution from jointly corporate actors before local courts. In cases where the TFV pays for the reparations award, it could subrogate on the convicted person’s rights to seek contribution from such jointly liable corporate actors.

In memoriam of Felipe Michelini, former Head of the Board of Directors of the Trust Fund, it is worth recalling the words he told the students who were working on this project when they told him about his novel ideas. As per the student’s notes of their interview with Mr. Michelini, he “mentions that the history of the ICC itself is defined by pushback from States’ but ‘the environment around the Court has changed significantly in recent years.”[46] Regarding corporate accountability, “Michelini reasons that in order to improve corporate accountability, the Court could interpret “organizations” in the category of crimes against humanity as including corporations.”[47] Similarly, Professor Nerlich is of the view that “language of Article 7(2)(a) ICC Statute appears to be sufficiently broad to encompass any type of organization and therefore could also cover business corporations.”[48]

While there may still be some skeptical views regarding corporate liability at the ICC, one thing is true: There is an emerging interest on the matter and a lot to be discussed. This blog and the abovementioned project want to resume that conversation.

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[1] The views expressed herein are those of the author alone and do not reflect the views of the International Criminal Court. The author would like to thank the following individuals who, as students at Harvard Law School, contributed to the research supporting the footnotes of this blog: Johanna Lee, Rebecca Tweedie, Celeste Kmiotek, Samantha Lint, Emma Broches, Isha Jain, Stephanie Gullo, Matthew Farrell, and Jung Min (Jasmine) Shin.

[2] See, e.g., UN Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 31: the Nature of the General Legal Obligation Imposed on States Parties to the Covenant, UN Doc. CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.13, 26 May 2004, ¶¶ 8, 10.

[3] Martin-Joe Ezeudu, Revisiting Corporate Violations of Human Rights in Nigeria’s Niger Delta Region: Canvassing the Potential Role of the International Criminal Court, 11 Afr. Hum. Rts. L.J. 23, 27 (2011).

[4] Id. at 44.

[5] Rome Statute, UN Doc. A/CONF. 183/9; 37 ILM 1002 (1998); 2187 UNTS 90, Preamble.

[6] Case No. 9, the Zyklon B, Case Trial of Bruno Tesch and Two Others [1946] Gr. Brit. Military 93.

[7] Id. at 102.

[8] In the case of Drosihn, the Judge Advocate questioned “whether there was any evidence that he was in a position either to influence the transfer of gas to Auschwitz or to prevent it.”  In the Judge Advocate’s view, “[i]f he were not in such a position, no knowledge of the use to which the gas was being put could make him guilty.” Id. at 102.

[9] Id. at 101–102.

[10] Id. at 102.

[11] See Int’l Crim. Court, The Off. of the Prosecutor, Policy Paper on Case Selection and Prioritisation, ¶¶ 40–41 (2016).

[12] See Int’l Crim. Court, The Off. of the Prosecutor, Situation in Colombia: Interim Report ¶¶ 25, 51 (Nov. 2012).

[13] Harvard Law School’s International Human Rights Clinic et al., The Contribution of Chiquita Corporate Officials to Crimes Against Humanity in Colombia. Article 15 Communication to the International Criminal Court ¶ 1 (May 2017).

[14] Id. ¶¶ 21–43.

[15] In re Chiquita Brands International, Inc., Report of the Special Litigation Committee Chiquita Brands International Inc., February 2009, p. 89, fn. 132. See also In re Chiquita Brands International, Inc., Order Granting In Part & Denying In Part Defendant’s Joint Consolidated Motion to Dismiss (1 June 2016) pp. 11–12 (citing Cyrus Freidheim on the “just let them sue us sentiment”).

[16] Int’l Crim. Court, The Off. of the Prosecutor, Report on Preliminary Examinations Activities, ¶ 151 (Dec. 2018): “During the reporting period, the AGO initiated proceedings against businessmen allegedly involved in financing the operations of paramilitary groups operating in different regions of Colombia since at least 2002. In August 2018, the AGO issued an indictment (‘resolución de acusación’) against 13 executives and employees of the company Chiquita brands (Banadex and Banacol branches), for the alleged agreement (‘concierto para delinquir’) to finance the paramilitary front ‘Arlex Hurtado’ which operated in the regions of Urabá and Santa Marta from 1996 to 2004”. See also Int’l Crim. Court, The Off. of the Prosecutor, Report on Preliminary Examinations Activities, ¶ 98 (Dec. 2019) (the OTP further noted that “former executives and employees of the company Chiquita brands (Banadex and Banacol branches), accused by the AGO in August 2018 for the alleged agreement (‘concierto para delinquir’) to finance the paramilitary front ‘Arlex Hurtado’, requested the annulment of the accusation. The Deputy Attorney General rejected the request and continued to pursue the accusation against 10 former employees after considering that there was sufficient evidence to call them for trial.”).

[17] Int’l Crim. Court, The Off. of the Prosecutor, Report on Preliminary Examinations Activities, ¶ 151 (Dec. 2018).

[18] Int’l Crim. Court, The Off. of the Prosecutor, Report on Preliminary Examinations Activities, ¶ 98 (Dec. 2019).

[19] Int’l Crim. Court, The Off. of the Prosecutor, Report on Preliminary Examinations Activities, ¶ 98 Id. at ¶¶ 114-15 (Dec. 2020).

[20] While the Colombian investigation includes two non-Colombian executives, there are allegations against a total of 37 non-Colombian executives, in civil litigation in the United States, where plaintiffs seek civil rather than criminal liability. See In re Chiquita Brands International, Inc., Order granting in part and denying in part defendant’s joint consolidated motion to dismiss, 1 June 2016, p. 7, fn. 10, pp. 8-15; In re Chiquita Brands International, Inc., Plaintiffs’ notice of information supplementing their opposition to defendants’ motion to dismiss on the basis of forum non conveniens, 9 March 2016, No. 08-MD-019116, pp. 5-12; In Re: Chiquita Brands Int’l, Inc., Declaration of Michael Evans, 9 March, 2016, No. 08-MD-019116, paras 6(b), 7(f).

[21] Int’l Crim. Court, Text of the Draft Statute for the International Criminal Court, U.N. Doc. A/AC.249/1998/CRP.9 (1998) at 2. See also U.N. Diplomatic Conference of Plenipotentiaries on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court, Report of the Preparatory Committee on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court. Addendum, U.N. Doc. A/CONF-183/2/Add-1 (Apr. 14, 1998) ¶ 49.

[22] Id.

[23] U.N. Diplomatic Conference of Plenipotentiaries on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court, Working Group on General Principles of Criminal Law, U.N. Doc. A/CONF.183/C.1/WGGP/L.5/Rev.2 (July 3, 1998).

[24] See David Scheffer and Caroline Kaeb, The Five Levels of CSR Compliance: The Resiliency of Corporate Liability under the Alien Tort Statute and the Case for a Counterattack Strategy in Compliance Theory, 29 Berkeley J. Int’l L. 334, 380 (2011).

[25] Roy S. Lee, The International Criminal Court: The Making of the Rome Statute 199 (1999).

[26] See e.g. Law on the Responsibility of Associations (Verbandsverantwortlichkeitsgesetz) of 2005 (Austria); Belgian Criminal Code, Article 5 (Belgium); Law 20.393 (2009) (Chile); Chinese Criminal Code, Article 30 (China); Act No. 151/03 on the Responsibility of Legal Persons for Criminal Offences (Croatia); Guatemalan Criminal Code, Article 38 (Guatemala); Belgian Criminal Code, Article 5 (Belgium); Chinese Criminal Code, Article 30 (China); Criminal Code of Cyprus, Section 4 (Cyprus); Criminal Procedure Law, Sections 46 (1) (b), 72, 95 (Cyprus); Act No. 418/2011 Coll., on Corporate Criminal Liability, §§ 2-3 (Czech Republic); French Criminal Code, Article 121-2 (France); Guatemalan Criminal Code, Article 38 (Guatemala); Hungarian Criminal Code, Section 70(1)(8), (3) (Hungary); Act CIV of 2001 on Criminal Measures Applicable to Legal Persons (Hungary); General Criminal Code of Iceland, Article 19 a-c (Iceland); Law No. 23 of 1997 (Law Concerning Environmental Management), Articles I (24) and 41-48 (Indonesia); Law 31 of 1999 (Eradication of the Criminal Act of Corruption), Article I (3) (Indonesia); Act Preventing Escape of Capital to Foreign Countries (1932) (Japan); Securities and Exchange Act of 2002, Article 207 (Japan); Corporation Tax Act of 2013, Article 163 (1) (Japan); Unfair Competition Prevention Act 2005, Article 22(I) (Japan); Lebanese Criminal Code, Article 210 (Lebanon); Lithuanian Criminal Code, Art. 20 (Lithuania); Moroccan Criminal Code, Article 127 (Morocco); Dutch Criminal Code, Article 51 (Netherlands); Norwegian Civil Penal Code, Chapter 3 a, Article 48 a-b (Norway); Portuguese Criminal Code, Article 11(2) (Portugal); Act on Preventing Bribery of Foreign Public Officials in International Business Transactions of 1998, Art. 4 (Republic of Korea); Romanian Criminal Code, Article 45 (1) (Romania); Senegalese Penal Code (Senegal), Article 163 bis; Spanish Criminal Code, Article 31 (Spain); Swiss Criminal Code, Article 102 (Switzerland); Syrian Criminal Code (Syria), Article 209 (2); United Arab Emirates Penal Code, Article 65 (United Arab Emirates).

[27] David Scheffer, Is the Presumption of Corporate Impunity Dead, 50 Case W. Res. J. Int’l L. 213, 217 (2018), https://scholarlycommons.law.case.edu/jil/vol50/iss1/12/.

[28] Caroline Kaeb, The Shifting Sands of Corporate Liability Under International Criminal Law, 49 Geo. Wash. Int’l L. Rev. 351, 396 (2016).

[29] Int’l Comm. of Jurists, Corporate Complicity and Legal Accountability Volume 2: Criminal Law and International Crimes 57 (2008). See also Danielle Olson, Corporate Complicity in Human Rights Violations under International Criminal Law, 1 DePaul Int’l Hum. Rts. L.J. 1, 5 (2015). But see Wolfgang Kaleck & Miriam Saage-Maaß. Corporate Accountability for Human Rights Violations Amounting to International Crimes,” 8 J. of Int’l Crim. Just. 699, 701 (2010) (“even though criminal liability of corporations has been introduced in several national jurisdictions, there are no known criminal law cases regarding international crimes against corporations as such”); Int’l Comm. of Jurists, Corporate Complicity and Legal Accountability Volume 1: Facing the Facts and Charting a Legal Path 4, 6 (2008) (“as national legal systems incorporate international criminal law into their domestic legislation, they often include legal entities”). Note that in the United States, certain circuits have ruled that corporations can be sued civilly under international law for human rights violations, causing European human rights organizations to pursue similar avenues. See W. Kaleck & M. Saage-Maaß, Corporate Accountability for Human Rights Violations Amounting to International Crimes, 8 J. Int’l Crim. Just. 699, 701 (2010); A. Walker, The Hidden Flaw in Kiobel: Under the Alien Tort Statute the mens rea standard for corporate aiding and abetting is knowledge, 10 Nw. U. J. Int’l Hum. Rts. 119, 123 (2011); Kiobel v. Royal Dutch Petroleum Co., 621 F.3d 111 (2d Cir. 2010).

[30] Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights, https://www.ohchr.org/Documents/Publications/GuidingPrinciplesBusinessHR_EN.pdf  (last visited Apr. 12, 2021).

[31] Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, Open-ended Intergovernmental Working Group on Transnational Corporations and Other Business Enterprises with Respect to Human Rights, https://www.ohchr.org/en/hrbodies/hrc/wgtranscorp/pages/igwgontnc.aspx (last visited Apr. 12, 2021).

[32] Int’l Crim. Court, Text of the Draft Statute for the International Criminal Court, U.N. Doc. A/AC.249/1998/CRP.9 (1998), p. 2. See also UNDCPICC, Report of the Preparatory Committee on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court. Addendum, 14 April 1998, A/CONF-183/2/Add-1, para. 49.

[33] Int’l Crim. Court, Text of the Draft Statute for the International Criminal Court, U.N. Doc. A/AC.249/1998/CRP.9 (1998) at fn. 3. See also U.N. Diplomatic Conference of Plenipotentiaries on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court, Report of the Preparatory Committee on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court. Addendum, U.N. Doc. A/CONF-183/2/Add-1 (Apr. 14, 1998) ¶ 49.

[34] Id.

[35] Caroline Kaeb, A New Penalty Structure for Corporate Involvement in Atrocity Crimes: about Prosecutors and Monitors, 57 Harv. Int’l J. 20, 21 (2016).

[36]Id. at 21–22.

[37] Rome Statute art. 75, UN Doc. A/CONF. 183/9; 37 ILM 1002 (1998); The reference to “organizations” in Article 7 has been the subject of some scrutiny by international lawyers, as it suggests that Crimes Against Humanity can be committed by non-state actors, which may facilitate jurisdiction over some business practices in international criminal law. See Volker Nerlich, Core Crimes and Transnational Business Corporations, 8 J. Int’l Crim. Just. 895, 904 (2010). Furthermore, Mr Felipe Michelini “reasons that in order to improve corporate accountability, the Court could interpret “organizations” in the category of crimes against humanity as including corporations”. See Interview conducted on January 2019, p. 9 (in file with the author).

[38] See Rome Statute art. 77, UN Doc. A/CONF. 183/9; 37 ILM 1002 (1998).

[39] In the ICJ case Oil Platforms case, Judge Bruno Simma concluded that the principle of joint and several liability “can properly be regarded as a ‘general principle of law’” (ICJ, Oil Platforms (Iran v. U.S.), 6 November 2003, Separate Opinion of Judge Simma, 2003 I.C.J. 161, at 358). To address the issue whether Iran had violated its treaty obligations by laying mines during the Iran-Iraq War, whereas the U.S. could not prove whether Iran or Iraq had laid the mines, Judge Simma found the principle of joint liability in different domestic laws addressing the problem of multiple tortfeasors: “I have engaged in some research in comparative law to see whether anything resembling a ‘general principle of law’ […] can be developed from solutions arrived at in domestic law to come to terms with the problem of multiple tortfeasors. I submit that we find ourselves here in what I would call a textbook situation calling for such an exercise in legal analogy….[R]esearch into various common law jurisdictions as well as French, Swiss and German tort law indicates that the question has been taken up and solved by these legal systems with a consistency that is striking.” (ICJ, Oil Platforms (Iran v. U.S.), 6 November 2003, Separate Opinion of Judge Simma, 2003 I.C.J. 161, at 354).

[40] R. Alford, Apportioning Responsibility Among Joint Tortfeasors for International Law Violations, 38 Pepp. L. Rev. 233, 241 (2011) (referring to applicable law in Austria, Belgium, Canada, China, the Czech Republic, Denmark, England, Finland, France, Germany, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Netherlands, New Zealand, Poland, Portugal, Scotland, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United States); see also T. Weir, Complex Liabilities, in 11 International Encyclopedia of Comparative Law §§ 1, 79-104 (André Tunc ed., 2013).

[41] J. E. Noyes & B. D. Smith, State Responsibility and the Principle of Joint and Several Liability, 13 Yale J. Int’l. L. 255, 256 (1988). It is also pointed out that ‘the conditions to its availability vary significantly. For example, in different legal systems, contribution may derive from wide-ranging sources, including subrogation, independent right, or statutory terms. In some systems, contribution may not be available unless a claim has formally been reduced to judgment, or unless all the joint tortfeasors have been named in the complaint or the judgment. In addition, the amount or availability of contribution varies among legal systems when one tortfeasor has settled with the plaintiff.’ J. E. Noyes & B. D. Smith, State Responsibility and the Principle of Joint and Several Liability, 13 Yale J. Int’l. L. 2, 256 (1988) (referring to T. Weir, Complex Liabilities, in 11 International Encyclopedia of Comparative Law §§ 109-140 (André Tunc ed., 2013).

[42] Prosecutor v. Thomas Lubanga Dyilo, Case No. ICC-01/04-01/06-3129, ¶ 115 (Mar. 3, 2015).

[43] Prosecutor v. Thomas Lubanga Dyilo, Observations of the Trust Fund for Victims on the Appeals Against Trial Chamber I’s “Decision Establishing the Principles and Procedures to be Applied to Reparations,” Case No. ICC-01/04-01/06-3009, ¶ 107 (Apr. 8, 2013) (“The Trust Fund reiterates its legal opinion that a reparations order has to be directed against the convicted person regardless of his or her financial situation. That the Trust Fund plays only an intermediary role to implement the order against the convicted person is very clearly stated in the French version of Article 75 (2), second sentence: ‘Le cas échéant la Cour peut decider que l’indeminité accordée à titre de réparation est versée par l’intermédiaire du Fonds visé à l’article 79’”.). See also id. at ¶ 108 (“If the Trust Fund plays the role of an intermediary, an order for reparations is the prerequisite for the implementation through the Trust Fund and this order must be made against somebody, which necessarily means in the current setting of the Statute, an order against the convicted person.”).

[44] See id. at ¶ 110 (“The Trust Fund observes that the high significance of a Court decision should not be underestimated for both the convicted person and the victim. Civil liability for reparations is of high symbolic value for victims, because this clearly sends the message that the convicted person is obliged to remedy the harm caused. A reparations order by the Court would also mobilise State Parties to give effect to the order. Beside a conviction and a punishment, it is also of high importance to have the burden of a reparations order rest on the shoulders of the convicted person, reminding him or her that the reparations order was issued against him or her, and that he or she remains liable even if reparations were advanced by the Trust Fund. It could also be a measure which aims at future reconciliation if, even at a later stage, the convicted person fulfils this part of the Court’s order.”).

[45] Prosecutor v. Thomas Lubanga Dyilo, Judgment on the Appeals Against the “Decision Establishing the Principles and Procedures to be Applied to Reparations” of 7 August 2012 with AMENDED Order for Reparations (Annex A) and Public Annexes 1 and 2, Case No. ICC-01/04-01/06-3129, ¶ 115 (Mar. 3, 2015).

[46] Interview conducted on January 2019, p. 3 (in file with the author).

[47] Interviews conducted on January 2019, p. 9 (in file with the author).

[48] See Volker Nerlich, Core Crimes and Transnational Business Corporations, 8 J. Int’l Crim. Just. 895, 904 (2010).

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