International Law and the Quest for Its' Implementation: Le Droit International Et La Quete De Sa Ise En Oeuvre

International Law and the Quest for its Implementation Le droit international et la quête de sa mise en oeuvre Intern...

Author: Marcelo Kohen

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International Law and the Quest for its Implementation Le droit international et la quête de sa mise en oeuvre

International Law and the Quest for its Implementation Le droit international et la quête de sa mise en oeuvre Liber Amicorum Vera Gowlland-Debbas

Edited by

Laurence Boisson de Chazournes and Marcelo Kohen

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2010

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data International law and the quest for its implementation : liber amicorum Vera GowllandDebbas = le droit international et la quete de sa mise en oeuvre / edited by Marcelo Kohen and Laurence Boisson de Chazournes. p. cm. Includes index. Contributions in English and French. ISBN 978-90-04-17714-7 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Gowlland-Debbas, Vera, 19432. International law. 3. International and municipal law. 4. International courts. 5. United Nations. I. Gowlland-Debbas, Vera, 1943- II. Boisson de Chazournes, Laurence. III. Kohen, Marcelo G. IV. Title: Droit international et la quete de sa mise en oeuvre. KZ3410.I5784 2010 341—dc22 2010000319

ISBN: 978 9004 17714 7 Copyright 2010 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoﬀ Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Brill has made all reasonable eﬀorts to trace all right holders to any copyrighted material used in this work. In cases where these eﬀorts have not been successful the publisher welcomes communications from copyright holders, so that the appropriate acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission matters. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

Contents Foreword ................................................................................................. Laurence Boisson de Chazournes and Marcelo G. Kohen Préface .................................................................................................... Laurence Boisson de Chazournes et Marcelo G. Kohen Vera Gowlland-Debbas Biographic Summary (Notice Biographique) .......................................... Publications ............................................................................................

Part I

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Portrait

Chapter 1 Vera and the (Re)Turn to Aesthetics .................................. Daniel Warner

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Part II

International Law and the Law of the United Nations Droit international et droit des Nations Unies Chapter 2 The Security Council Legibus Solutus? On the Legislative Forays of the Council ......................................................................... Georges Abi-Saab

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Chapter 3 The Subject of Subjects and the Attribution of Attribution .......................................................................................... Andrew Clapham

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Chapter 4 La désuétude de l’article 26 de la Charte des Nations Unies, expression de l’échec du système onusien ................................ Monique Chemillier-Gendreau

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Chapter 5 Le Conseil de sécurité, les sanctions ciblées et le respect des droits de l’homme ........................................................................ Luigi Condorelli

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Contents

Chapter 6 There is no need to change the composition of the Security Council. It is time for stressing accountability ..................... Marcelo G. Kohen Chapter 7 L’(ir)responsabilité des forces multinationales? .................... Linos-Alexandre Sicilianos

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Chapter 8 Targeted Sanctions and Obligations of States on Listing and De-listing Procedures ................................................................... 127 Djacoba Liva Tehindrazanarivelo

Part III

International Law, Human Rights and Humanitarian Law Droit international, droits de l’homme et droit humanitaire Chapter 9 Fear’s Legal Dimension: Counterterrorism and Human Rights .................................................................................................. 175 Andrea Bianchi Chapter 10 The Human Rights Council and the Challenges of the United Nations System on Human Rights: Towards a Cultural Revolution? ......................................................................................... 193 Vincent Chetail Chapter 11 International Humanitarian Law, Human Rights and the UK Courts .................................................................................... 243 Christine Chinkin Chapter 12 Autour de l’aﬀaire Stoll ..................................................... 265 Lucius Caﬂisch Chapter 13 Droits individuels et droits de l’homme: Chevauchements et diﬀérences ....................................................................................... 287 Christian Dominicé Chapter 14 The Extra-Territorial Reach of Human Rights Obligations: A Brief Perspective on the Link to Jurisdiction ............. 293 Guys S. Goodwin-Gill Chapter 15 The wall in the occupied Palestinian territory .................. 309 Vaughan Lowe

Contents

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Chapter 16 Compliance with human rights norms extraterritorially: ‘human rights imperialism’? ................................................................ 319 Ralph Wilde

Part IV

International Law, Compliance and Dispute Settlement Droit international, mise en œuvre et règlement des différends

Chapter 17 Standards et normes techniques dans l’ordre juridique contemporain : quelques réﬂexions ...................................................... 351 Laurence Boisson de Chazournes Chapter 18 Towards an International Law of Responsibility: Early Doctrine .................................................................................... 377 James Crawford, Thomas Grant & Francesco Messineo Chapter 19 Advisory Opinions and the Secretary-General with Special Reference to the 2004 Advisory Opinion on the Wall ........... 403 John Dugard Chapter 20 Unity in the application of international law at the global level and the responsibility of judges at the national level: Reviewing Georges Scelle’s ‘Role splitting’ theory .............................. 417 Pierre-Marie Dupuy Chapter 21 The binding nature of the decisions of the International Court of Justice .................................................................................. 431 Abdul G. Koroma Chapter 22 Choosing our International Judges, Past and Present ....... 445 Philippe Sands Chapter 23 La paix par le droit. Entre réalité, mythe et utopie .......... 467 Eric Wyler List of Contributors ................................................................................ 489 Table of Instruments .............................................................................. 493 Index ....................................................................................................... 509

Foreword Laurence Boisson de Chazournes and Marcelo G. Kohen*

On 30 August 2009 Vera Gowlland-Debbas retired from her professorial chair in international law at the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies. Vera Gowlland-Debbas was closely associated with the Institute and its predecessor, the Graduate Institute of International Studies, as a student, then as a publications oﬃcer, and ﬁnally as a Professor, sharing with it all her brilliance, her openness, her dynamism and her very stimulating approach to international law. Vera personiﬁes the essential qualities that characterise the Institute where she studied and where, in turn, she taught later generations of students. Her perfect bilingualism, her interdisciplinary approaches, and her life in a multicultural milieu provide ample proof. The subjects that Vera chose to concentrate on throughout her career are at the very heart of international relations: the United Nations, respect of international legality, refugee law, the rights of peoples in general, and those of the Palestinian people in particular. Inspired by the work of Michel Virally and of Georges Abi-Saab, her vision combined legal rules with existing realities in the furtherance of social ends. Her doctoral thesis on the reactions of the international community in relation to the purported creation of the racist state of Southern Rhodesia served to greatly clarify the law, when some time after the end of the Cold War, the Security Council embarked on a wide and not always well-advised use of the possibilities oﬀered under Chapter VII of the Charter. The monumental volume that she edited on the national implementation of sanctions adopted by the Security Council remains the most complete and the most accomplished contribution on the subject. Her very reﬁned legal analysis contained in the course she gave at the Hague Academy of International Law on the Security

* We would like to thank Katherine Del Mar and Edouard Fromageau, assistants at the Faculty of Law of the University of Geneva, for their very eﬃcient and meticulous assistance in the preparation of this Liber Amicorum in honour of Vera Gowlland-Debbas, as well as Camille Cosendai, assistant at the International Law Unit of the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, for her administrative support.

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Foreword

Council and questions of international responsibility rounds oﬀ a long list of her writings on this subject of which she is undeniably a specialist. Refugee law has occupied an important place in her work. Coming from a region of the world which, decades on, continues to suﬀer the tragedy of thousands of displaced persons, the work of Vera – both in theory and in practice – oﬀers a lucid clarity whilst continuing to seek concrete solutions. Vera Gowlland-Debbas was the ﬁrst to incorporate this area of the law into the programme of courses oﬀered at the Graduate Institute. She must be proud that after her retirement it continues to be taught. The great questions of international law have also not escaped her interest. Her contributions on questions concerning the creation and implementation of international law are particularly relevant in this respect. In addition to the subtlety of her thinking and her work, mention must be made of the strength of her convictions, the rapport between her life and the values dear to her, her courteous nature and her unfailing friendship. This volume, for which we have had the pleasure to write the foreword, brings together 23 contributions on subjects that have special signiﬁcance for the person to whom they are dedicated: the law of the United Nations, human rights and humanitarian law, the implementation of international law and the settlement of disputes. The list of authors attests to the recognition of Vera’s work and the diversity of her areas of study. Having greatly beneﬁted from her collegiality and her friendship, we are particularly delighted to write a foreword to this volume, and we wish her the very best in her ongoing activities concerning respect of international legality and the promotion of human rights and the rights of peoples.

Préface Laurence Boisson de Chazournes et Marcelo G. Kohen*

Le 30 août 2009, Vera Gowlland-Debbas a pris sa retraite de professeur de droit international à l’Institut de hautes études internationales et du développement. Etroitement liée à cette institution et à son prédécesseur, l’Institut universitaire de hautes études internationales, comme étudiante, puis comme responsable de ses publications et professeur ensuite, Vera Gowlland-Debbas lui a apporté tout son rayonnement, son ouverture d’esprit, son dynamisme et une perspective très stimulante du droit international. Vera incarne les éléments essentiels qui caractérisent l’Institut dans lequel elle a été formée et a, à son tour, formé de nouvelles générations. Son bilinguisme parfait, l’interdisciplinarité de ses approches et sa vie dans un univers multiculturel en témoignent aisément. Les sujets que Vera a privilégié tout au long de sa carrière sont au cœur des relations internationales : les Nations Unies, le respect de la légalité internationale, les réfugiés, les droits des peuples en général et du peuple palestinien en particulier. Inspirée par les réﬂexions de Michel Virally et de Georges Abi-Saab, sa vision allie les règles aux réalités existantes à l’horizon des ﬁnalités sociales. Sa thèse de doctorat sur la réaction de la communauté internationale face à la prétendue création de l’Etat raciste de Rhodésie du Sud ﬁt œuvre d’éclaireur, lorsque quelque temps après, comme conséquence de la ﬁn de la guerre froide, le Conseil de sécurité ﬁt alors un large usage des possibilités oﬀertes par le Chapitre VII de la Charte, pas toujours, il est vrai, à bon escient. Le travail monumental sur la mise en œuvre nationale des sanctions adoptées par le Conseil de sécurité qu’elle a dirigé reste l’œuvre la plus complète et la plus accomplie en la matière. Son cours à l’Académie de droit international de La Haye sur le Conseil de sécurité et les questions de responsabilité internationale vient compléter une liste déjà longue d’écrits, par une analyse très ﬁne d’une spécialiste incontestée en la matière.

* Nous voudrions remercier Katherine Del Mar et Edouard Fromageau, assistants à la Faculté de droit de l’Université de Genève, pour leur aide méticuleuse et très eﬃcace dans la préparation de ce Liber Amicorum en l’honneur de Vera Gowlland-Debbas, ainsi que Camille Cosendai, assistante de l’unité de droit international à l’Institut de hautes études internationales et du développement, pour le soutien administratif qu’elle a fourni.

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Préface

La problématique des réfugiés occupe aussi une place importante dans son travail. Venant d’une région du monde qui souﬀre encore du drame de milliers de personnes déplacées depuis des décennies, l’œuvre de Vera – tant sur le terrain théorique que dans la pratique – apporte un éclairage lucide tout en cherchant des réponses concrètes. Vera Gowlland-Debbas a initié l’incorporation de cette problématique dans les enseignements oﬀerts par l’Institut. Elle peut être ﬁère de constater qu’après sa retraite cet engagement est poursuivi. Les grandes questions du droit international n’ont pas échappé à l’intérêt de la dédicataire de ce Liber Amicorum. L’on peut relever ses contributions dans le domaine de la formation du droit international et de sa mise en œuvre. Outre sa ﬁnesse d’esprit et ses engagements, sa loyauté envers ses convictions, la cohérence de sa vie avec les valeurs qui sont les siennes, son caractère aﬀable et son amitié sans faille doivent être évoqués. Ce sont des qualités que ses étudiants et ses collègues sont unanimes à lui reconnaître. L’ouvrage que nous avons le plaisir de préfacer réunit 23 contributions sur des sujets qui tiennent tous à cœur à sa dédicataire : le droit des Nations Unies, les droits humains et le droit humanitaire, la mise en œuvre du droit international et le règlement des diﬀérends. La liste des auteurs témoigne de la reconnaissance du travail de Vera et de la diversité de ses champs de réﬂexion. Ayant grandement bénéﬁcié de sa collégialité et de son amitié, nous sommes particulièrement heureux de préfacer cet ouvrage et de lui souhaiter encore beaucoup d’énergie dans ses activités liées au respect de la légalité internationale et à la promotion des droits humains et des peuples.

Biographic Summary (Notice Biographique) Vera Gowlland-Debbas Vera Gowlland-Debbas was born in 1943 in Alexandria, Egypt. She is married to Neil Gowlland and has two children, Alix and Geoﬀrey, and (to date) two grandchildren, Jasper and Callum. She has Swiss/Lebanese/UK nationalities. In 1962 she graduated from the American University of Beirut with a B.A. with Distinction in Political Science. She subsequently studied at the Graduate Institute of International Studies in Geneva, obtaining her MA in International Studies in 1965 and her PhD (with a specialisation in public international law) in 1986. In parallel she worked for a number of organisations in Geneva and London, as well as taught as an adjunct professor in various academic programs, including at the Graduate Institute, before being tenured in 1997 ﬁrst as Associate Professor and then as full Professor of Public International Law. As of September 2009, she is an Honorary Professor of the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies. She is also an Honorary Professor at University College, London, since 2003 and has been a Visiting Fellow at All Souls College, Oxford University, as well as Visiting Professor at Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto, the Institut des Hautes Etudes Internationales, Université Panthéon-Assas, Paris II, and the University of California at Berkeley. In the course of her teaching career, she has taught a wide range of topics. She was also invited to give a number of special courses, which have included the Academy of European Law, European University Institute, Florence, 2009, on “The Security Council as Enforcer of Human Rights”; the Hague Academy of International Law, 2007 on “The Security Council and Issues of Responsibility under International Law”; the Institute of International Public Law and International Relations, Thessaloniki, on “Revisiting the Role of Sanctions in the International Legal System”, 2005; the Bancaja Euromediterranean Courses of International Law in Castellon on “Law-making in a Globalized World”, 2005; and the Institut des droits de l’homme, Strasbourg, on the International Protection of Refugees” in 2003 and 2009. A lecture on the “The Role of the International Court of Justice as the Principal Judicial Organ of the United Nations”, was included on the on-line UN Audiovisual Lecture Series. She has also given guest lectures in a variety of institutions in Geneva, Kiel, Montreal, Yaoundé, London, Cambridge, Oxford, Edinburgh, Tokyo, Amsterdam and Leiden, among others.

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Biographic Summary (Notice Biographique)

Her professional activities have included counselling governments, International Organisations, and private law and consulting ﬁrms on a range of public international law issues, as for example on the question of detainees and other issues arising from the invasion and occupation of Iraq, the use of force, State responsibility, Iraq’s liability, including environmental damage, before the United Nations Compensation Commission, refugee and human rights issues, the UN International Independent Investigating Commission and Special Tribunal for Lebanon, the question of Palestine, and Security Council sanctions and its relationship with the International Criminal Court. Among the Organisations for which she has acted as expert are WHO, UNHCR, UNODOC, OHCHR, the Adam Smith Institute, London and Chatham House. In 1998, she attended, as a special guest of the UN secretariat, the Diplomatic Conference on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court, Rome. She was rapporteur on the topic of “The Eﬀects of Reservations to Article 4 of the International Convention on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination on the Fight Against Racial Discrimination”, for the United Nations Commission on Human Rights Seminar on Implementation of the Program of Action for the Third Decade to Combat Racism and Racial Discrimination in 1996 and was nominated as chairperson of the session. In 2004, she represented the Arab League in the ICJ Advisory Opinion on the Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. She has been active in various law societies, for example as a founding member and former vice-president of the European Society of International Law, and participated in the elaboration of declarations and reports on such issues as terrorism (Ottawa Principles on Anti-Terrorism and Human Rights 2006), State responsibility, accountability of international organisations, and internally displaced persons (International Law Association), and children’s rights (Amsterdam declaration on the rights of the child in armed conﬂict). She is also a member of a number of advisory councils and editorial boards.

Publications Vera Gowlland-Debbas 1) Collective Responses to Illegal Acts in International Law, United Nations Action in the Question of Southern Rhodesia, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1990, 750 p. (Awarded the 1991 American Society of International Law Certiﬁcate of Merit for “pre-eminent contribution to creative scholarship”) 2) Collective Responses to the Unilateral Declarations of Independence of Southern Rhodesia and Palestine, An Application of the Legitimizing Function of the United Nations, The British Yearbook of International Law, l990, pp. 135–153. 3) Legal Signiﬁcance of the Legitimizing Function of the United Nations: the Cases of Southern Rhodesia and Palestine, in: Le droit international au service de la paix, de la justice et du développement, Mélanges Michel Virally, Pedone, 1991, pp. 323–332. 4) (Éd. avec Klaus Samson), Problems and Prospects of Refugee Law, Graduate Institute of International Studies, Geneva, 1992, 145 p. 5) The Use of Economic Sanctions by the UN Security Council: An International Law Perspective – Comments, in: H. G. Post (éd.), International Economic Law and Armed Conﬂict, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1994, pp. 163–173. 6) Security Council Enforcement Action and Issues of State Responsibility, International and Comparative Law Quarterly, vol. 43, 1994, pp. 55–98. 7) The Relationship between the International Court of Justice and the Security Council in the Light of the Lockerbie Case, American Journal of International Law, vol. 88, 1994, pp. 643–677. 8) The Scope of “International Peace and Security” Under the UN, in: V.-Y. Ghebali et D. Kappeler (éds.), Les multiples aspects des relations internationales – Multiple Aspects of International Relations, Etudes à la mémoire du Professeur Jean Siotis – Essays in Memory of Professor Jean Siotis, Bruylant, 1995, pp. 109–126. 9) (Éd.), The Problem of Refugees in the Light of Contemporary International Law Issues, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1995, 179 p. 10) Judicial Insights into the Fundamental Values and Interests of the International Community, in: A. S. Muller, D. Raic et J. M. Thuranszky (éds.), The International Court of Justice: Its Future Role After 50 Years, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1997, pp. 327–366.

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11) L’Union européenne et l’action des Nations Unies dans le domaine humanitaire, in: D. Dormoy (éd.), L’Union Européenne et les organisations internationales, Bruylant, 1997, pp. 320–326. 12) La responsabilité internationale de l’Etat d’origine pour des ﬂux de réfugiés, in: Société française pour le droit international, Droit d’asile et des réfugiés, Pedone, 1997, pp. 93–131. 13) Strengthening the Role of the Court as the Principal Judicial Organ of the UN, Commentary, in: C. Peck et R. S. Lee (éds.), Increasing the Eﬀectiveness of the International Court of Justice, Proceedings of the ICJ/UNITAR Colloquium to Celebrate the 50th Anniversary of the Court, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1997, pp. 254–266. 14) The Right to Life and Genocide: the Court and an International Public Policy, in: Ph. Sands et L. Boisson de Chazournes (éds.), International Law, the International Court of Justice and Nuclear Weapons, Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. 315–337. 15) (Éd.), Multilateral Treaty-Making: The Current Status of Challenges to and Reforms Needed in the International Legislative Process, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2000, 142 p. 16) The Functions of the United Nations Security Council in the International Legal System, in: M. Byers (éd.), The Role of Law in International Politics, Oxford University Press, 2000, pp. 305–341. 17) The Limits of Unilateral Enforcement of Community Objectives in the Framework of UN Peace Maintenance, European Journal of International Law, vol. 11, no. 2, 2000, pp. 361–383. 18) (Éd.), United Nations Sanctions and International Law, Kluwer Law International, 2001, 401 p. 19) (Éd. avec Laurence Boisson de Chazournes), The International Legal System in Quest of Equity and Universality / L’ordre juridique international, un système en quête d’équité et d’universalité, Liber Amicorum Georges Abi-Saab, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2001, 844 p. 20) The Role of the Security Council in the New International Criminal Court, in: The International Legal System in Quest of Equity and Universality / L’ordre juridique international, un système en quête d’équité et d’universalité, Liber Amicorum Georges Abi-Saab, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2001, pp. 629–650. 21) European Asylum Policies and the Search for a European Identity, in: L.-E. Cederman (éd.), Constructing Europe’s Identity, The External Dimension, Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2001, pp. 213–229. 22) La Charte des Nations Unies et la Convention de Genève du 28 juillet 1951 relative au statut des réfugiés, in: V. Chetail (éd.), La Convention de Genève du 28 juillet 1951 relative au statut des réfugiés 50 ans après: bilan et perspectives, Haut Commissariat des Nations Unies pour les réfugiés, Institut international des Droits de l’homme, Bruylant, 2001, pp. 193–218.

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23) (Éd. avec Vincent Chetail), Switzerland and the International Protection of Refugees/La Suisse et la protection internationale des réfugiés, Kluwer, 2002, 283 p. 24) The International Legal Protection of Refugees (translated into Spanish), in : Promocion y Proteccion Internacional de la Persona, Ministry of Foreign Relations, Instituto de Altos Estudios Diplomaticos “Pedro Gual”, Caracas, 2002. 25) The Relationship between Political and Judicial Organs of International Organisations: The Role of the Security Council in the New International Criminal Court, in: L. Boisson de Chazournes, C. Romano et R. Mackenzie (éds.), International Organisations and International Dispute Settlement: Trends and Prospects, Transnational Publishers, 2002, pp. 195–218. 26) The Domestic Implementation of UN Sanctions, in: E. de Wet et A. Nollkaemper (éds.), Review of the Security Council by Member States, Intersentia, 2003, pp. 63–76. 27) (Éd.), National Implementation of United Nations Sanctions: A Comparative Study, Martinus Nihjhoﬀ, 2004, 669 p. 28) Human Rights and Humanitarian Law: Are there some Individuals Bereft of all Legal Protection? The Relevance of Paragraph 25 of the ICJ’s Advisory Opinion on Nuclear Weapons, in : Mapping New Boundaries, Proceedings of the American Society of International Law, 98th Annual Meeting, Washington D.C., 2004, pp. 358–363. 29) Challenge of International Terrorism to the International Security System, in : From Government to Governance, 2003 Hague Joint Conference on Contemporary Issues of International Law, T. M. C. Asser Press, 2004, pp. 273–288. 30) Law-Making in a Globalized World, in: J. Cardona Llorens (éd.), Bancaja Euromediterranean Courses of International Law, vol. IX, 2005. 31) (Avec Manfred Lachs), Commentaire de l’article 1, paragraphe 1, in: J.-P. Cot, A. Pellet et M. Forteau (éds.), La Charte des Nations Unies, Commentaire article par article, 3ème édition, Economica, 2005, pp. 327–336. 32) Unity and Diversity in the Formation and Relevance of Customary International Law, Comment, in: A. Zimmermann et R. Hofmann (éds), Unity and Diversity of International Law, Proceedings of an International Symposium of the Kiel Walther Schücking Institute of International Law, November 4–7, 2004, Duncker & Humblot, 2006, pp. 285–294. 33) Commentaires des article 7 de la Charte des Nations Unies et article 1 du Statut de la Cour Internationale de Justice, in: A. Zimmermann, C. Tomuschat et K. Oellers-Frahm (éds.), Commentary on the Statute of the International Court of Justice, Oxford University Press, 2006, pp. 79–105 et 195–204, respectivement. 34) The Responsibility of the Political Organs of the UN for Palestine in

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Light of the ICJ’s Wall Opinion, in: M. G. Kohen (éd.), Promoting Justice, Human Rights and Conﬂict Resolution through International Law, Liber Amicorum Lucius Caﬂisch, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2006, pp. 1095–1119. The Link Between Security and International Protection of Refugees and Migrants, in: V. Chetail (éd.), Mondialisation, migration et droits de l’homme: le droit international en question / Globalization, Migration and Human Rights: International Law under Review, Bruylant, 2007, pp. 281–317. Collective Security Revisited in Light of the Flurry Over UN Reform: An International Law Perspective, in: V. Chetail (éd.), Conﬂits, sécurité et cooperation / Conﬂict, Security and Cooperation, Liber amicorum Victor-Yves Ghebali, Bruylant, 2007, pp. 251–277. Re-interpreting the Charter’s Collective Security System, in: J. Cardona Llorens (éd.), La ONU y el Mantenimiento de la Paz en el Siglo XXI, Entre la Adaptacion y la Reforma de la Carta, Tirant Lo Blanch, 2008, pp. 273–288. (Avec Vassilis Pergantis), The Rule of Law, in: V. Chetail (éd.), PostConﬂict Peace Building, A Lexicon, Oxford University Press, 2009. Some Remarks on Compensation for War Damages under Jus Ad Bellum, in: A. de Guttry, H. G. Post et G. Venturini (éds.), The 1998–2000 War between Eritrea and Ethiopia, T. M. C. Asser Press, 2009, pp. 435–448. Harmonising the Individual Protection Regime: The Relationship between Human Rights and International Humanitarian Law, in: A. Constantinides et N. Zaikos (éds.), The Diversity of International Law – Essays in Honour of Professor Kalliopi K. Koufa, Martinus Nijhoﬀ Publishers, 2009, pp. 399–418. The Relationship between IHL and Human Rights Law: the Right to Life, in: C. Tomuschat, E. Lagrange et S. Oeter (éds.), The Right to Life, Brill, 2009. Weapons of Mass Destruction and Human Rights, in: D. P. Forsythe (éd.), Encyclopedia of Human Rights, Oxford University Press, 2009, pp. 304–310. Responsibility and the United Nations Charter, in : J. Crawford, A. Pellet et al. (éds.), The Law of International Responsibility, Oxford University Press (à paraître).

Part I Portrait

Chapter 1 Vera and the (Re)Turn to Aesthetics Daniel Warner*

[L]aw, like poems, must misread or distort reality and for similar reasons. Poems misread in order to establish their originality, while laws misread in order to establish their exclusivity.1

Vera has often said that the real love of her life, beside her husband, children, grandchildren and dogs, was poetry. I have often heard her reminisce about her days in Ireland reading and studying poetry. It would seem appropriate on this occasion, therefore, to ask questions not about Vera’s choice of profession, but rather about the relationship between poetry, and aesthetics in general, and international relations and international law in particular. We do not intend to look into Vera’s inner soul to try to see how she has managed to keep these two elements of her personality in harmony. Rather, we would like to examine if there is a relationship between poetry and law. Instead of answering the question head on, I would like to examine what has been referred to as the turn to the aesthetic in international relations to try to see if that will shed some light on where we are in the study of international relations and international law today.2 In order to do that, I will look at several international relations scholars and some of their work on aesthetics, especially Roland Bleiker and Christine Sylvester. I will examine not so much what they say about aesthetics as such, but more about the relation between aesthetics and international relations and

* The author wishes to thank Andrea Bianchi for helpful suggestions and encouragement. The non-lawyer is privileged to dialogue with lawyers once again. 1 Boaventura De Sousa Santos, ‘Law: A Map of Misleading. Toward a Postmodern Conception of Law’, 14 Journal of Law and Society, 1987, 281–282. 2 It is not without interest to note that Immanuel Kant, author of Perpetual Peace, also wrote a treatise on aesthetics – Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime which was later developed in the Critique of Judgment including the Critique of Aesthetic Judgment. Kant was invited to a professorship in poetry at the University of Berlin, which he declined.

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eventually international law.3 In Bleiker’s case, we will be looking mostly at his work on the theoretical relationship as well as poetry and in Sylvester’s case it will be on the speciﬁcs of her writings on art and politics. In an essay that appeared in 2001 following the introduction of postmodern critiques in the study of international relations, Bleiker argues for an aesthetic turn in international political theory.4 He draws a distinction between the study of world politics as violence, State conﬂicts, the ‘real world’, and what he refers to as “An aesthetic approach. . . . that assumes that there is always a gap between a form of representation and what is represented therewith.”5 His argument is based on a distinction between representations by social science – what he calls mimetic theories – and representations by aesthetic insights. More interesting, but somewhat similar to the distinction between rationalism and reﬂexive by Robert Keohane in his Presidential address before the International Studies Association in 1988,6 Bleiker notes that social scientists claim to need no interpretation in their search for objective truth. On the contrary, the aesthetic approach, he says, “accepts or even aﬃrms that representing the political is a form of interpretation that is, by its very nature, incomplete and bound up with the values of the perceiver.”7 Bleiker’s turn to the aesthetic follows post-modern critiques of International Relations in the 1980s and 1990s and the implications thereof of examining “images, narratives and sounds, such as literature, visual art, music, cinema and other sources that extend beyond ‘high art’ into popular culture.”8 It is a rejection of both positive behaviouralism and State centric analyses that ignore culture and non-violent aspects of world politics. It is, we assume, closely tied to the arguments and debates that have belittled if not paralyzed international

3

4

5 6

7 8

The author is certainly aware of the need for more discussion on the relationship between international relations and international law and will treat this brieﬂy later on. See Ann-Marie Slaughter, International Law and International Relations Theory: Millennial Lectures, Hague Academy of International Law, Summer 2000; ‘International Law and International Relations: A New Generation of Interdisciplinary Scholarship’, 92 AJIL 1998, 367; ‘International Law and International Relations Theory: A Dual Agenda’, 87 AJIL, 1993, 205. Roland Bleiker, ‘The Aesthetic Turn in International Political Theory’, 30 Millennium: Journal of International Studies, No. 3, 2001, 509–533. Ibid., 510. An edited version appeared in Robert O. Keohane, ‘International Institutions: Two Approaches’, 32 International Studies Quarterly, No. 4, 1988, 379–396. Bleiker’s distinction is much more sophisticated. I made several comments on Keohane’s distinction in ‘The Nuclear Weapons Decision by the International Court of Justice: Locating the raison behind raison d’état’, 27 Millennium: Journal of International Studies, No. 2, 320–324. Bleiker, supra note 4, 511. Ibid., 510.

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relations as a discipline since its beginning and continue today with arguments for and against rational choice and social constructivism.9 The (re)turn to the aesthetic is, as if any work in the social sciences has to be reminded, a return to the importance of culture, such as the work of Fritz Kratochwil and Yosef Lapid.10 To begin then, we must recognize that any examination of the aesthetic is to be understood in the context of a rejection of Truth seeking as an objective, technical exercise. In Bleiker’s turn to the aesthetic, moreover, there is recognition of the importance of the context of both the event and the person analyzing the event. In rejecting the turn to the scientiﬁc following the second debate, Bleiker invites us to leave the mimetic world and its search for Truth to look at the aesthetic world and its appreciation of truths. By turning to the visual and poetic, Bleiker perceives a myriad of possibilities for the senses and reason. He admits, however, that “[t]he task of critically analyzing world politics is to make fuller use of various faculties and to challenge the mimetic and exclusive conventions of Realist international politics . . . But few tasks are more daunting than that.”11 It is daunting because the possibilities of subjectivity have been reduced by a language of positivism that sees all politics as power and interest. It is as if we have all been forced to wear the same glasses with the same lenses, and at the same time wear the same hearing apparatus that lets in only one bandwidth. More speciﬁcally, in a previous article Bleiker talks of the importance of words to expand horizons instead of “mere tools to represent factual events that have qualities of their own, qualities that are said to exist independently of how we perceive them through human eyes and human speech.”12 Bleiker is here concerned with the general theme of representation, the relationship between language and world politics, the importance of how the language used to explain and deﬁne can limit or expand our understanding of events and the world. For Bleiker, “[t]he manner in which a text is written, a speech is uttered, a thought is thought, is integral to its content.”13 And this is why, according to Bleiker, poetry is so relevant since the form of a poem cannot be separated from its content. The link between language and reality, between the

9

10

11 12

13

See Daniel Warner, An Ethic of Responsibility in International Relations, (Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner Publisher, 1991), pp. 125–128. For more on constructivism, see Nicholas Onuf, World of Our Making, (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1989). Yosef Lapid and Friedrich Kratochwil (eds.), The Return of Culture and Identity in IR Theory, (Boulder, Colorado: Lynne Rienner publishers, 1996). Bleiker, supra note 4, 515. Roland Bleiker, ‘Editor’s Introduction’, 25 Alternatives. Social Transformation and Humane Governance, No. 3, 2000, 269. Ibid., 271.

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perception of the writer and the appreciation of the reader, are all part of the reality. The poetic search for inclusion excludes binary distinctions in sociopolitical reality as well as questioning certitudes that those distinctions entail. By focusing on the daily, the emotions, and by implicitly rejecting abstractions, poetry can go beyond oﬃcial discourse to present the silences that governments or scholars wish to ignore. For Bleiker, there are at least four functions of poetry: the activist poetry where poets address speciﬁc social/political struggles. Second, there is the inclusive aspect that addresses those people or subjects that have been eclipsed from traditional international relations writing. Third, there is an element of poetry that seeks, by reaching out and including, to search for dialogue. The poet alone cannot reach out if the reader is not prepared to participate in a dialogue. Fourth, poetry can, at best, preserve for historical memory elements of past events that have been ignored or underemphasized in the recounting of events. Reading poems, Bleiker notes, is as important as the interpretation of events by the poet. “Poetry alludes, rather than explains. It shows, rather than argues.”14 The art of reading poetry is not just to engage with the subject; it is to engage with the poet and the poet’s vision of the world. Both are non-factual activities. For just as the judge interprets the law with the help of the lawyers defending both sides of the case, the poet and the reader engage in an exploration of mutual understanding that requires eﬀorts by both sides. Have we gone too far here? Have we gone too far in comparing poetry and law? Are we implying that poetry, like law, is simply a matter of perception and interpretation? Have we gotten so embroiled in the aesthetic that we have forgotten that law is based on international conventions, international custom, generally recognized principles and learned writings by respected scholars?15 In this sense, you will reply, and Vera will certainly warn, removing those glasses, lenses and hearing apparatus and focusing on non-traditional explanations will lead to a thousand diﬀerent interpretations that are not really law. Law is law, after all. Vera has often shown impatience with Critical Legal Theory because she does not see it as being law. And yet, the argument here is that she also rejects classical positivism as being outside social interactions. This is part of the daunting task that Bleiker is more than aware of. As he says, “[t]o highlight the omnipresent nature of the aesthetic is not to deny the importance of social science or mimetic approaches in general. Not all social science is mimetic and

14 15

Ibid., 281. The recognized sources of international law can be found in Article 38(1) of the Statute of the International Court of Justice.

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not all mimesis is of a social scientiﬁc nature.”16 The turn to the aesthetic is not doctrinaire, but a move to re-establish an equilibrium that has been lost. Christine Sylvester takes a similar path as Bleiker, but through a diﬀerent vehicle. Whereas Bleiker talks of the potential roles of poetry in its activating presence between language and reality and the poet and the reader, Sylvester deals with aesthetics as such as a counterpoint to banal objectiﬁcations that hide both the positive possibilities of life as well as its horrors. In a fascinating article that combines art criticism with international relations commentary, Sylvester uses as a starting point an exhibit at the National Gallery in London.17 The exhibit is of works by contemporary artists who were commissioned to do paintings inspired by speciﬁc works in the permanent collection of the National Gallery. Already, there is recognition that the current painting is the artist’s rendition of his or her perception of a work in the permanent collection. We are already in the perceiver’s imagination of a painting that is already part of someone’s imagination. We are two steps removed from any attempt at objectivity yet confronted with something that is there. Having established the importance of representation and perception within the conﬁnes of established works, Sylvester then heads, full steam ahead, into a biting criticism of Kenneth Waltz, his major work Theory of International Politics, and neo-Realism in general. Sylvester’s point, elegantly developed both in abstraction and relation to the artist mentioned in the ﬁrst part, is that Waltz and neo-Realist international relations theory try to move to higher abstract levels. As she says of Waltz, “[H]is move to higher levels of abstraction blocks the construction of people in international relations and hinders our view of states as more than empty boxes. Waltz pointedly wants ‘to get beyond “the facts of observation.’ ”18 It is this drive to abstraction, the taking of facts to a level of clichés and banalities – glasses, lenses and hearing apparatuses – that Sylvester takes to task. She does this in several ways. First, she believes that abstractions detract from the reality and horrors of war, what she refers to as the “core area” of IR.19 Second, on a more positive note, she believes that abstractions detract from the enormous possibilities of life. Abstractions, in other words, instead of opening vistas by improving comprehension, necessarily limit vistas and possibilities. In arguing against abstractions, and directly against behaviouralism and

16 17

18 19

Bleiker, supra note 4, 516. Christine Sylvester, ‘Art, Abstraction, and International Relations’, 30 Millennium: Journal of International Studies, No. 3, 2001, 535–554. Ibid., 539–540. Ibid., 540. One of her latest projects in IR is ‘Touching War’, an interdisciplinary project with a team of colleagues at the University of Lancaster in the arts, law, and American cultural studies and colleagues from the Institute of Postcolonial Studies in Melbourne.

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rational choice modeling, she is concerned that diﬀerent forms of knowledge systems deny that which they are trying to explain. Her example of Waltz being annoyed at anti-war protesters, civil rights militants and feminist marchers in Berkeley in 1968 is followed by an imagined Waltz “whiting out ﬁgures from a canvas, working feverishly at it. The cover-up is not entirely successful.”20 Sylvester’s understanding, along with Bleiker’s, of the importance of the perceiver’s role, while at the same time recognizing that we are not entering into mere subjectivity, is far removed from neo-Realist search for objectivity through rational choice. Their (re)turn to the aesthetic is a rejection of abstractions of abstractions that implode into banalities far removed from the human condition and experience. This is not to say that there are no facts. Both Bleiker and Sylvester are beginning from something; we are not dealing here with splashes on a canvas. Their concern is to bring international relations back to the human dimension which has been lost in quantitative regression curves and abstract theorizing. This, it seems to me, is very close to Vera’s sensibilities. Vera was a Professor of International Law. She was educated in the great tradition of the Graduate Institute of International Studies’ law section by Michel Virally and Georges Abi-Saab that was far removed from political science and rational choice. But, and I mention this right away, Vera was a Professor of International Law. While she sees law in its social context, she is not enamored of the New Haven School and its limiting law to only a social function. And, she is not always tender with the Critical Legal Movement when it wanders from what she sees as real law. In one of her most wide ranging articles, certainly of great importance and interest for this non-jurist, Vera lays out her understanding of the international legal system and its interaction with the social environment. Here, she directly tackles Bleiker’s daunting task.21 She begins by positing two absolutes. On the one hand, and similar to Sylvester’s understanding of the abstractions of Waltz and the neo-Realists, Vera describes a legal system that is self-contained: From all these perspectives, the legal system can be regarded as a unity that is selfgenerating and self-regulating. This triumph of rationalized form over content is said to guarantee the law’s autonomy and shield it from its ambient environment. In a ‘pure theory of law’ approach, ethical or political considerations remain outside the ken of the international jurist . . . In an autopoietic perspective, the external environment at best constitutes ‘oﬀ-stage noise’.22

20 21

22

Sylvester, ibid., 540. Vera Gowlland-Debbas, ‘The Function of the United Nations Security Council in the International Legal System’, in: Michael Byers (ed.), The Role of Law in International Politics: Essays in International Relations and International Law, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 277–313. Ibid., pp. 278–279.

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Although she does not mention aesthetics, it is obvious that the self-contained legal system is beyond the contextual, if not the sensual, since it is detached from all relations to any environment. Indeed, the external environment, or “oﬀ-stage noise,” according to legal positivism, is similar to attempts at intrusions on the abstract models of the neo-realists that impinge on the parsimony of the model.23 Both legal positivism and neo-Realist abstractions are removed from any environment that would obviously include aesthetics. There can be no interplay, in both cases, between the social and the theoretical which attempts to explain the social. On the other hand, and following her presentation of two extremes, Vera describes open systems . . . in which the international legal system is open-ended, empirically and sociologically based on an a posteriori ﬁnding of what rules are actually applied (by the judge or the policy-maker) and respected, i.e. validated from below through recognition by social norms. In this way, law interrelates with other social disciplines – politics, ethics, etc. – and with social reality itself. Such views are also concerned with adapting law to social change, approaching international law as instrumental, there to promote the ﬁnalities and underlying values and interests of social actors.24

Vera posits here two diametrically opposite visions of international law. There is the legal system that is internally orderly and coherent unto itself as a system and there is the legal system that expresses social interests by responding to diﬀerent social imperatives. One appears divorced from social reality, the other seems divorced from law as something similar to rariﬁed social norms. Vera’s argument, as understood by a non-jurist, is to examine the middle path. She rejects both extremes. This is not to say that she has chosen the easy path of consensus, as so often happens in Switzerland where a magic formula between diﬀerent political parties is the basis of harmonious co-existence. Rather, she examines the pulls and pushes of both extremes as the “unfolding purpose of the law” in Lon Fuller’s term, and the “daunting task” in Bleiker’s term. And it is here that we ﬁnd a clear relation of law to aesthetics. “The relations which law entertains with social reality have been likened to those between maps and spatial reality, a ‘misreading’ which is not chaotic but which ‘occurs through determinate and determinable mechanisms’. In short, it has been said that that law has the paradoxical position of being both open, because

23

24

In a famous comment attributed to an international relations scholar, the fall of the Berlin Wall was merely a blip on a database. For those who live by rational choice, the risk analysis people should have all been ﬁred for missing this major event. Gowlland, supra note 21, p. 279.

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without society it is nothing, and closed, because society . . . is reinterpreted or ‘misread’ in a legal context according to a speciﬁcally legal matrix.”25 It is in the context of the pulls and pushes of the middle path that she elegantly develops the meanings of ordre public, international community, and speciﬁcally jus cogens, erga omnes, and international crimes of State. It is, in this sense, that her interest and belief in common interests and common values has led her to pursue her work on sanctions. For if the international legal system has agreed-upon norms that go beyond technical bilateral arrangements, then violations of those norms call for some form of punishment by the international community, in whatever forum and form is appropriate. And it is here that she argues that the international system, while not possessing the monopoly of violence as States do domestically, nevertheless has something to say about egregious violations.26 As she so eloquently says in another context: “[b]ut, in the ﬁnal analysis, no legal system can depend on coercion alone . . . Sanctions, therefore, have to be seen in the context of the international legal system as a whole as well as in the context of the evolution of international society and the functions that we as a result would like international law to perform.”27 This is not simple territory. In trying to understand the relationship between law, political organs and norms, Vera develops a sophisticated position that tries to take into account the checks and balances of all parties concerned, again, a very Swiss attribute. She will not abandon the importance of legal systems as such, but she will not allow them to become divorced from political reality or normative imperatives. Each element in the equation – legal system, political organ, societal norm – reinforces and checks the other in a ﬂuid interplay that reﬂects environmental changes in the largest sense. There are no universal glasses, lenses or hearing apparatuses set in stone. Rather, there are social realities that change and energize a system that interacts among all the elements with each playing its role. Listen to her description of the interplay of all the elements: For it is the existence of legal mechanisms – the operation of a treaty, its formal and substantive content, its interpretation by judicial organs exercising an element of judicial discretion (e.g. through the application of the doctrine of implied powers), and the broader legal environment within which it exists (e.g. the relation of the treaty to general international law, including imperative norms) – which

25 26

27

Ibid., p. 281. It is noted that Vera’s article was written before the ﬁnal denouement of the International Law Commission’s position on Article 19 concerning the Draft Articles on State Responsibility and hence she was somewhat optimistic about the possibility of success. Vera Gowlland, ‘Introduction: UN Sanctions and International Law: An Overview’, in: Vera Gowlland-Debbas, United Nations Sanctions and International Law, (The Hague, London, Boston: Kluwer Law International, 2001), p. 28.

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encapsulates political action within a legal framework, and bestows legal authority on a political organ and normative quality on its decisions, including the attribution of legal signiﬁcance to its practice (as both legal interpretation and legal development).28

And, it is telling that she rejects a coherent development of international law in terms of policy development just as domestic law develops in an ad hoc manner in reaction to social realities. Her description of the relationship between the United Nations Security Council and the International Court of Justice reaﬃrms the impossibility of the illegal/legal binary relationship and the two extremes. Indeed, Vera argues that the relationship between the Court and the Council is a distinction “between two distinct instrumental processes oﬀered by the legal system for attaining much the same ends, i.e. a return to a situation of legality through peaceful settlement procedures on the one hand, and institutionalized sanctions on the other.”29 This middle path is indeed not simple, for it calls on the interplay between numerous elements that are interconnected but are not part of some parsimonious ﬂow chart. One would assume that for Vera, the driving force is the social reality. But this is not to deny that the legal system as a system has certain driving forces of its own. It is the very tensions between those forces that makes her middle path so complex, perhaps even messy, but so close to what is really happening. Vera’s position, in this sense, is somewhat similar to the middle position of Friedrich Kratochwil in his analysis of the problem of rule-application and the issue of legal decision-making. For just as Vera was skeptical of a legal system that is self-contained and a legal system that is dominated by social interests, Kratochwil is skeptical of the positivism of Hans Kelsen and Herbert Hart as well as the goal-oriented jurisprudence of Myers McDougal and the New Haven School. But, Kratochwil is more interested in the way arguments are made about norms and laws and how they achieve their authority than their relation to some normative principles. Kratochwil’s thesis is that “[b]y emphasizing the style of reasoning with rules rather than either the intrinsic characteristics of the norms, or their membership in a system, or their contribution to an overarching goal, we can give a more realistic account of the legal enterprise.”30

28

29 30

Gowlland, supra note 21, pp. 287–288. For a detailed discussion of various ways of interpreting the relation between hard and soft law in terms of diﬀerent types of norms and their enforcement, see Friedrich V. Kratochwil, Rules, Norms, and Decisions: On the conditions of Practical and Legal Reasoning in International Relations and Domestic Aﬀairs, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), pp. 181–211. Ibid., p. 308. Ibid., p. 187.

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And, Kratochwil is also helpful by recognizing the distinction between domestic and international law. For if in the domestic system there is an authority that is clearly established and has the authority to command as the sovereign, international law “cannot qualify . . . as true law . . .”31 Not true law, perhaps in the technical sense, but law in the sense of consensus, à la Swiss, or what Kratochwil refers to as “international comity, morality, or convenience.”32 For Kratochwil, soft law, which is most of international law, must be understood as a way of reaching decisions. In other words, the middle path described by Kratochwil is a style of reasoning in the norm-use that arrives at being authoritarian in many diﬀerent forms. Vera’s fascination with sanctions, in this sense, is the investigation within the already unclear area of establishing rules in international law of seeing how those who break the rules are dealt with and by whom. For if the rules in international law are not commanded by a clear sovereign, than the punishment for transgressing the rules also pose intriguing problems. It is important to note as well that although there are guiding principles in law such as jus cogens and erga omnes, these guiding principles are radically diﬀerent from a rational choice formula that predicts what x or y will do in a given situation in a game of tit for tat. The authority of the sovereign in domestic law discussed above is similar to the authority of rational choice in Realist international relations theory. Both have clear rules and procedures for reaching decisions. To return to Sylvester, in this case, to make sure this point is clear, she is not arguing against all forms of abstraction. She is arguing against certain types of abstractions which she feels limit the possibilities of appreciation for the myriad of diversities life oﬀers. As she says of neo-realism as an example, “[b]ut as an artifact, ‘neo-realism’ moved ahead by seemingly negating the abundance of life for something spare and physics-like. Parsimonious explanatory power traded oﬀ the gender, race, class, language diversity, and cultural multiplicities of life.”33 Her example of anarchy as a foundational concept in IR, as if no cooperation existed before the discipline began, is similar to Vera’s scorn of certain IR concepts like regimes which existed, as she told me many times,

31 32 33

Ibid. Ibid. Sylvester, supra note 17, 542. For a wonderful analysis of the diﬀerent types of abstractions, see Martin Hollis and Steve Smith, Explaining and Understanding International Relations, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990). Smith further develops the speciﬁcity of why certain abstractions are acceptable and the power relations behind those choices in ‘Hegemonic Power, Hegemonic Discipline? The Superpower Status of the American Study of International Relations’, in: James Rosenau (ed.), Global Voices: Dialogues in International Relations, (Boulder, CO.: Westview Press, 1993).

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before the formal discipline of IR. Vera has never been tender with her comments about North American inﬂuenced political scientists. She would certainly be in favour of Sylvester’s scorn of “IR anarchy . . . [as] an artifact of masculine social science.”34 Sylvester describes the development of Modernism in painting and abstractionism becoming high art with the interesting counter-factual that this move was not inevitable. Her point, and an important one, is that there is a relation between abstraction, art, science and IR, but also a diﬀerence. That is, what she emphasizes is that whereas abstraction in modernist art has elements of reductionism, it is not meant to negate or limit our visions. On the other hand, Waltz, as an example of neo-realists, “replaces sight with a sense of reason that removes him from predecessor traditions, from history, from observation, and from disorderly society . . .”35 Her concluding description of Alexander Wendt’s unsuccessful attempt to wed neo-realism with aspects of social constructivism further shows the poverty of neo-realism and the diﬀerences between the richness of much Modernistic abstract art and the sterility of neo-realist IR theory. For Sylvester, art, and indeed poetry, are forms of alternatives to how people see the world and see themselves. Just as she criticizes IR theory for limiting possibilities of human activity, she also criticizes development theory as also limiting in her praise of “development poetics”. “Alternative development methods – alternative to the big macro projects of multilateral lenders – are not meant to stem natural ﬂows or to go back to the future through nostalgias. They are meant to help unleash ﬂows of people energy.”36 And just as she looks to art as an alternative to IR theory, she looks to poetry as counterforce to development theory. She reads development; she encourages development poetics from two perspectives. First, there is the obvious encouragement of local poets and voices – often taken from her work in Africa. In addition, and consistent with her interest in and criticism of Waltz and neorealists, she calls on westerners to examine their own words and paradigms that express how they see the world through development eyes. We project how we see our development and distinguish ourselves from those who are not developed in preparing our strategies for helping others. And just as Vera warns about binary distinctions between politics and law, Sylvester warns that by calling for the development of others, we make all kinds of assumptions about who

34 35 36

Sylvester, supra note 17, 543. Ibid., 545–546. Christine Sylvester, ‘Development Poetics’, 25 Alternatives: Social Transformation and Human Governance, No. 3, 2000, 342.

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we are and our relation to the Other. There is much to learn here about the underlying foundations of the Washington Consensus. Sylvester challenges us: The art of reading development as art, and good art as wise in its messages and entreaties, requires . . . that we also read ourselves reading the others we report on. And more: we must read ourselves into the communities we purport to help. And that is the biggest challenge: Are we determined enough to discover the importance of texts that thrust other identities and needs forward into print, damping down our voice and our usual instructional authority?37

Our notion of development, according to Sylvester, says more about us and our notions of who we are than those we wish to help develop. It tells about concepts of progress, concepts of superiority, and concepts of how we wish to impose our vision. It tells about a one-way street that has a ﬁxed lens and one bandwidth on the hearing apparatus. While Bleiker talks of poetry in general as a link between language and reality, and Sylvester writes of aesthetics and art as a form of liberation, we can also see art and aesthetics as political reactions to foundational narratives underlying power regimes. That is, while art and aesthetics may liberate the individual, they can be revolutionary when questioning the assumptions of those who rule by diﬀerent narratives. The active relation between the poet, artist and the listener or observer is a very diﬀerent relationship than the ruler to the obedient subject. It is in this sense that the diﬃcult path of avoiding binary distinctions whether between politics and law and art and politics is met head on when we talk of security. When security is usually seen as an absence of conﬂict, a certain smoothness that reverts to a primitive state of non-violent plenitude, we are in this sense confronted with an absolute State that is removed from the trials and tribulations of daily life. The Critical Security Studies movement raised questions about this idealistic picture security and State securitization,38 and it is interesting to note and present some ideas how poetry relates to the unpacking of traditional security as a further investigation of the relationship between aesthetics and international relations and international law. For the discourse of security has long been the dominant story of IR and international law.

37 38

Ibid., 347. See Keith Krause, and Michael C. Williams (eds.), Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997); Barry Buzan, Ole Weaver, and Jaap de Wilde, Security: A New Framework for Analysis, (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1998); Ken Booth (ed.), Critical Security Studies and World Politics, (Boulder, London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2005).

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This is how Costas M. Constantinou presents security: The time of security has been colonized by a peculiar kind of contemporary politics: the uni-versal. A few tales massively communicated and reiterated as the single truth are often enough to get political issues securitized. Securitization as discursive practice works by synchronizing security, safety, and certitude. It depicts all three as co-temporal occurrences. To be secure is to be safe is to be sure.39

In opposition to traditional security and securitization, Constantinou sees poetry as a means to “point back to some other times; to look at traditions and countertraditions of security . . .”.40 In this search for other traditions, or seeking to understand the politics of how one tradition trumped another, the use of poetry is doubly inviting. First, as we have said, poetry allows the author to understand the politics of discursive priorities. Second, and most interesting, the very form of poetry goes outside forms of traditional narrative and storytelling. The poem itself is a diﬀerent form that challenges, provokes and calls into question the safety of conventional grammars. Constantinou analyzes four passages from poems at diﬀerent times and places, from an ancient Grrek fragment by Archilochus, the second from Saint Paul’s Epistles, the third from a Suﬁ poem by Jalaluldin Rumi, and the fourth from a more modern poem by Kahlil Gibran. In each of his readings, he looks to “disassociate(ing) security from a feeling of certainty,”41 “disassociate salvation from the Judaic regime of power,”42 to be a believer who “incorporates the creator without identifying with the created,”43 and to “learn to live with higher vibrations that desynchronize security from safety and security.”44 The diﬃculty with the narratives of security, according to Constantinou, is not that we should be emancipated from our fears and drive for security. Not at all. He is quite clear throughout the article that fears and insecurities are part of what it means to be human. On the contrary, what he is looking at and putting in the forefront is how regimes of power use our insecurities and fears to establish authority and to rule. Written well before September 11 and the Department of Homeland Security, the article highlights how poetry can disturb the relationship between our fears and the use of those fears to establish control. In this sense, poetry liberates us from the uncritical acceptance of narratives of fear that are the foundation and legitimacy of certain power

39

40 41 42 43 44

Costas M. Constantinou, ‘Poetics of Security’, 25 Alternatives: Social Transformation and Humane Governance, No. 3, 2000, 288. Ibid., 289. Ibid., 292. Ibid., 296 Ibid., 301. Ibid., 303.

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relations. Poetry does not, to be absolutely clear, free us from the fears themselves. It questions and provokes traditional narratives that serve as essential references for autocratic rule.45 In conclusion, we would like to return to the initial observation about Vera and her interests in law and poetry. It is obvious that both law and poetry have their own rules and order. It is also obvious that there can be an aesthetic appreciation of law, legal reasoning and legal argumentation. What is important to note, and which summarizes our argument, is that an aesthetic appreciation of law in its formal sense is quite possible, and easily ﬁts in to a vision of law as a manifestation of reasoning, both as an abstract, formal system as well as a reasoned result of society’s needs crystallized in some accepted norms. There can be aesthetic elements in treaties and customary law. Coherence is an important element in all aspects of law, as Kratochwil discusses in terms of argumentation and as to some extent is evidenced in Kant’s idea of reason.46 The very nature of legal argumentation must be supported by coherence and logic. Adam Gearey’s position is more radical than those we have seen up until now. For while our critics of rational choice have pointed to aesthetics as a challenge to power and power structures, Gearey goes further by saying that “[t]he poet or the artist, then, appears to challenge the philosopher’s claims to order both the community and its discourse. Law has to be sovereign; it cannot countenance any source of legality other than itself . . . The poem shows that this claim to sovereignty, either secular or spiritual, rings hollow.”47 Law, in this sense, is a form of social ordering that, like language, places constraints and boundaries on human behavior. Law, again like language, is that which establishes what one can and cannot do. There are rules of grammar in all languages, just as there are rules of behavior in all societies. But, and this must be said right away, there is always a space between the law as a norm of what ought be done and the is of what is actually being done. In this sense, the law is part of a mythological presentation of an ideal social reality.48

45

46

47 48

For a somewhat similar argument to Constantinou’s, see Anthony Burke, ‘Poetry Outside Security’, 25 Alternatives: Social Transformation and Human Governance, No. 3, 2000, 307–322. Burke’s position is similar in presenting poetry as an avenue to deconstruct powerful discursive constructs that are at the foundation of national security narratives. For Burke, p. 310, “poetry invites us to explore the paths opened by refusal, creativity, and responsibility.” We are following here part of the initial argument of Adam Gearey in Law and Aesthetics (Oxford and Portland Oregon: Hart Publishing, 2001). Ibid., pp. 18–19. Gearey makes several references to psychoanalysis in this context as well as Critical Legal Studies. We will not pursue that line of development in this essay.

Vera and the (Re)Turn to Aesthetics

17

Indeed, instead of looking at law and aesthetics as potentially oppositional, Gearey, via Nietzsche, looks at the driving forces behind law and aesthetics in making the following observation: The law rests upon an unsure foundation. Law embodies a form, a set of values that mandate a way of living. What allows the law to be posited in the ﬁrst place could also perhaps lead to its overcoming. One would require suﬃcient desire to will the law anew. Aesthetics is, at heart, this energy to mandate the form of a world, to create oneself. Ultimately it is the courage to will an ethics, to take from the law its power to determine forms of community.49

Gearey via Nietzsche is inviting us to look at the driving force behind the law. That is, wherein Bleiker and Sylvester, among others, look at poetry as a possible adversary of the law as it is, Gearey is quite clear in his opposition to the drive to have an ordering of societal norms. We are here confronted with any attempt to impose, to have a morality based on this or that which goes beyond individual needs, urges and creativity. There are, in the argument of Nietzsche and Gearey, boundaries. But, the boundaries are not what is important. What is important is the creative drive that seeks to problematize if not highlight the paradoxes and inconsistencies of the given boundaries. For the very existence of law, whether the given of the commandments or the evolution of norms through the crystallization of custom, implies a drive to establish and impose rules on more than one person. It is a societal drive, although often spearheaded by an individual or small group. It is a drive to conformity and institutions beyond the self. To live with others within certain patterns of behavior is to move beyond individual urges and desires. The very nature of being with other commands patterns of behavior beyond the individual. And the obvious question that follows is who establishes those patterns and determines which ones are acceptable in case of conﬂict and how to punish those who transgress. The will to power, in whatever form, is the will that imposes these decisions. And the will can come both from an altruistic interest in the proper functioning of society as well as the egotistical will to dominate. Natural law and positive law are both derived from the will to power in this sense.50 How does the law speciﬁcally relate to the establishment of patterns of behavior beyond individual needs and desires? Gearey begins to answer this question by investigating the relation of the law to the body since the establishment of accepted patterns of behavior must include, if not begin with, socializing desires. For if the law is to be successful, it must mediate between nature

49 50

Gearey, supra note 46, p. 51. Notice we are not concerned here with problems of authority or legitimacy. Those, in our opinion, are secondary problems to the will to power and an ethic of values beyond the individual.

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and culture, the individual and community. The mediation takes many forms, depending on the nature of the individuals and the culture of the community. This is why Gearey is so attuned to psychoanalysis. The socialization of the baby with its parents and then surroundings is the precursor of the socialization of the individual with the larger society. But whereas between the mother and baby and the father and baby there is no formal mediation, the socialization of the individual with the community appears through a myriad of norms and institutions, with the legal establishment as the most evident and objectively developed. It is here that the genealogy of the process becomes important. Historically, the law imposed a rigid set of patterns of behavior. There is no going back to the pre-historic or pre-Commandments. It is because we cannot recreate that period that the turn to the aesthetic today must be in opposition to the drive to impose. The laws are already there. The acculturation process has a long and successful history. So long and successful, in fact, that the passions of the individual have become sublimated if not disappeared. The Critical Legal Movement understood in this perspective tries to go back to the intimate relation between social theory, politics and law to allow space to investigate and critique the nature of the socialization process in an evolutionary movement. To accept the law as law, which Vera certainly does not do, is to separate the legal institutions from the foundations of the socialization. Nietzsche implores against this socialization, as Christine Sylvester does against the rational choice school and Vera does against positivism. But, that does not mean that there are no rules, nor need for rules. Once one begins to raise questions or search for space, it is not necessary to assume that we are moving to nihilism. The concept of mediation is most relevant here. There are laws and there are institutions which oversee the operationalization of those laws. Society changes and evolves. Thus, and this should be obvious, readings of the laws and the relevance of the institutions are a constant process. Vera’s courses are extremely up to date because she recognizes the ﬂuidity of the social environment and the impact of changes on the meaning of the law and potentially modiﬁcations in the institutions, although the latter is much more precarious since institutions tend to have a life of their own separate from the social realities from which they evolved. Kratochwil talks of the rhetoric and discourse of the law. Here we are pointing to the mediation or dispute settlement role of law as part of the individual’s socialization process as well as part of the mediation between the law as it was written and the law as it is understood in a diﬀerent time and place. The law, in Martti Koskenniemi’s wonderful phrase is a gentle civilizer, and through its interpretations is itself mediated and disputed. The role of poetry and the aesthetic is to remind us of all aspects of this mediation. Poetry can take us back to the primeval, to the original person

Vera and the (Re)Turn to Aesthetics

19

outside of community as well as outside of time and place. Poetry can take us from that original position through all stages and attempts at socialization. By its nature, poetry is outside the social, and can create rules of grammar and laws by itself. The writing and reading of poetry is part of the space needed to have some balance between the will to power and the will to eros. It allows us to be human and individuals in spite of the enormous pressures to follow established rules of behavior and norms. Vera’s interest in poetry, as in her interests in evolving norms and interpretations, are very much part of an aesthetic responsibility that is thoroughly grounded in a wonderfully sensitive person and a wonderful international lawyer. She has been able to maintain her poetic personality while reaching the highest levels of legal scholarship. The daunting task has been most successfully mediated.

Part II International Law and the Law of the United Nations Droit international et droit des Nations Unies

Chapter 2 The Security Council Legibus Solutus? On the Legislative Forays of the Council Georges Abi-Saab

It has been my privilege and pleasure to have had Vera Gowlland-Debbas as a student, and later to have welcomed her as a colleague on the Faculty of the Graduate Institute of International Studies in Geneva, but above all to count her among my dear friends and comrades in arms, using our humble tools of international law in defense of the integrity of the legal system and of what we consider just causes. Much of Vera’s substantial contribution to international law revolves around the United Nations Security Council and its role in the international legal system, starting with her impressive doctoral thesis, Collective Responses to Illegal Acts in International Law: UN Action in the Question of Southern Rhodesia,1 which immediately drew attention and was awarded the Certiﬁcate of Merit of the American Society of International Law. I hope it is not too presumptuous on my part, in a volume dedicated to Vera, to oﬀer some preliminary reﬂections on the worrisome tendency of the Security Council since the end of the cold war to over-stretch its activities and powers beyond their foreseeable, and arguably permissible, legal limits. The Security Council has been heavily criticized as abusing and/or exceeding its powers vis-à-vis Member States (as well as other entities and individuals), but also as preying on the competence and powers of other organs, particularly the General Assembly, not to mention the International Court of Justice, concentrating all powers that can be mustered on the international level in its own hands, in disregard of legal bounds, to become a kind of an international hobbesian leviathan. Whence the reference to legibus solutus, a contested legal

1

(Dordrecht: Nijhoﬀ, 1990).

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Chapter 2

doctrine going back to the Eastern Roman Empire, representing the Emperor as “unbound by law”.2 Another, more benign way of looking at the same phenomenon (without necessarily refuting the above criticisms) is to represent the Security Council as a deus ex machina3 that is called upon every time to eﬀectuate what the available means of international law prove unable to do, by short circuiting them through the use of its exceptional powers under Chapter VII. To what extent are the above criticisms justiﬁed, particularly as far as legislation is concerned? And if they are justiﬁed, what would be the consequences? In order to answer these questions, we have to review, however brieﬂy, the spectrum of “powers granted to the Security Council” (the language of article 24, paragraph 2) by the Charter of the UN, and see whether they can be interpreted as accommodating, expressly or by implication, the power to legislate.

1. The Role and Powers of the Security Council and their Limits under the Charter A. The UN Charter provides a detailed legal regime for the “maintenance of international peace and security” (the ﬁrst “purpose” and function of the UN), with both normative and institutional components; entrusting the Security Council with the “primary responsibility” (again, the language of article 24) for its implementation; a regime that lays down the legal parameters and bounds of Security Council action in this ﬁeld. The Charter confers on the Security Council extensive powers in discharging this responsibility. They are not limited to the “soft power” of recommendation and diplomatic action (of intercession), under Chapter VI on the “paciﬁc settlement of disputes”, covering the “preventive” side of the function. For, once we move to the “remedial” side by way of the collective security system of Chapter VII, the powers change radically. Indeed, according to article 39, in the event of “any threat to the peace, breach of the peace or act of aggression”, and on the Council’s own “determination” of the existence of such a situation, it transforms itself into an “international executive” endowed with the “hard power” of taking mandatory decisions (binding on Member States, but also non Member States, and even non State entities) and the application of coercive measures whether forcible or not (those of articles 41 and 42).

2

3

For an earlier application of this description to the Security Council, see G. Abi-Saab, ‘A New World Order?’, Hague Yearbook of International Law, 1994, 87, p. 91. Jose Alvarez, ‘Between Law and Power: Review Essay’, 99 AJIL, October, 1995, 926.

The Security Council Legibus Solutus?

25

B. In the exercise of this very large spectrum of powers, the Security Council enjoys a very wide freedom of decision and action. But, in the words of the Appeals Chamber of the ICTY in the Tadić case, “This does not mean that its powers are unlimited”. The Appeals Chamber goes on to elaborate the reasoning underlying this statement: The Security Council is an organ of an international organization, established by a treaty which serves as a constitutional framework for that organization. The Security Council is thus subjected to certain constitutional limitations, however broad its powers under the constitution may be. Those powers cannot, in any case, go beyond the limits of the jurisdiction of the Organization at large, not to mention other speciﬁc limitations or those which may derive from the internal division of power within the Organization. In any case, neither the text nor the spirit of the Charter conceives of the Security Council as legibus solutus (unbound by law). In particular, Article 24, after declaring, in paragraph 1, that the Members of the United Nations ‘confer on the Security Council primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security’, imposes on it, in paragraph 3, the obligation to report annually (or more frequently) to the General Assembly, and provides, more importantly, in paragraph 2, that: In discharging these duties the Security Council shall act in accordance with the Purposes and Principles of the United Nations. The speciﬁc powers granted to the Security Council for the discharge of these duties are laid down in Chapters VI, VII, VIII, and XII. (Id, Art. 24(2)). The Charter thus speaks the language of speciﬁc powers, not of absolute ﬁat.4

2. The Meaning of “Legislation” and its Distinction from Similar Legal Activities Does legislation ﬁt within the large spectrum of powers “granted to the Security Council” by the Charter? Proceeding by successive approximations, it is necessary ﬁrst to deﬁne what is meant here by legislation, and to distinguish it from other legal operations that the Council may be called upon to perform in the course of its activities. A. Legislation and the Creation of Legal Obligations Legislation is not just the creation of legal obligations (that some would include under the rubric “law-making”). For, the Council, in the exercise of its express (and not merely “implied”) powers under the Charter, can in certain

4

ICTY, IT-94-AR72 (Appeals Chamber, Interlocutory Judgment on Jurisdiction of 2 October 1995), para. 28.

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circumstances make binding determinations, particularly under article 39 (which is essentially a judicial activity;5 but how far can the Council, by way of legal characterization, stretch the category of “threat to peace”?). The Council can also create subsidiary organs, to carry out or monitor the implementation of its recommendations or of the measures it orders under articles 40, 41 and 42 of the Charter (but how far can these organs go in the exercise of the powers delegated to them by the Council? And can these powers exceed the powers of the Council itself ?) Indeed, particularly since the end of the cold war, when the Security Council rose up from its torpor to embark on a phase of hyper-activism, it has taken a great variety of such decisions. Some of these decisions and actions have been criticized and, on occasion, vigorously contested, not only on political, but also on legal grounds, as “overreaching” the Council’s powers and ambit of jurisdiction (i.e. as being ultra vires, dépassement de pouvoir), or as an abuse of power (abus de pouvoir, détournement de pouvoir). It suﬃces to recall here, as an illustrative sample of possible fault-lines, the controversies over the Council’s decisions in handling the ﬁrst Gulf crisis, particularly its resolution 687, and over the activities of its numerous subsidiary organs, established to implement or monitor the implementation of these decisions, such as UNSCOM, UNMOVIC, UNCC and the Boundary Demarcation Commission. These as well as other controversial decisions taken by the Security Council have been abundantly commented upon in the literature and need not be revisited here. Analytically speaking, and abstraction made of the controversies over their legality, they are all legal acts taken by the Security Council and creating diﬀerent types of legal obligations for their direct or indirect addressees. Though some of them seem prima facie to border on “adjudication” or “legislation”, they do not partake of “legislation” in the proper sense of the term, as they were all taken (at least until recently; on which more later under C.) in the context of a particular crisis or situation, and were limited to it. Nor is legislation, for the same reason, the mere creation of norms, if we go by Kelsen’s understanding of “norm” (an understanding I do not share), as covering any normative prescription mandating, prohibiting or permitting a certain conduct, regardless of its reach, i.e. whether it is limited to one speciﬁc instance or is meant to set a general standard of behaviour. In general, legislation stricto sensu signiﬁes, in my submission, the creation of prospective, general and abstract rules of conduct that bind all the subjects

5

Oscar Schachter, ‘The Quasi-Judicial Role of the Security Council and the General Assembly’, 58 AJIL, 1964, 960.

The Security Council Legibus Solutus?

27

of the legal system in the unlimited future, whenever the contingencies they provide for obtain, i.e. creating rules of general international law. B. Legislation and Regulatory Power There is yet another category of activities of the Security Council which may appear like legislation, in the sense that it involves laying down general normative prescriptions, but is distinguishable from legislation stricto sensu, as deﬁned above. The Council can (in fact it has to) regulate its own conduct, by adopting its Rules of Procedure, (Art. 30 of the Charter), although it is still working, more than 60 years after the establishment of the UN, under “provisional rules”, because of the initial stalemate over the problem of the “double veto”. This regulatory power is part of the internal governance of the Organization (what is called in French le droit interne des organisations internationales), presumably with no signiﬁcant legal eﬀect on the substantive rights and obligations of Member States.6 How far can this regulatory power go? Can it go as far as “codifying” threats to peace? It may be recalled that in the wake of the ﬁrst Gulf War and the euphoria of what George Bush the father called “the ﬁrst war for international law”, a ﬁrst Security Council Summit Meeting was convened on 31 January 1992. At the end of this meeting, John Major (for the UK) read a Presidential Statement entitled “The Responsibility of the Security Council in the Maintenance of International Peace and Security”; declaring that the Council would adopt henceforth an extensive interpretation of “threats to peace” to cover what he called “systemic threats” such as environmental upheavals or massive ﬂows of refugees. Can the Council thus create per se categories of “threats to peace”, and proceed, as it did, to disquisite at length about what it would do or should be done, in such contingencies (the same mutatis mutandis as with its treatment of the new category of topics it introduced under the name of “thematic items”.7 This tendency was heavily criticized as “over-reaching” or trespassing into “legislation”; criticism that may be partly true. But it is less worrisome, in my submission, than the extremely lax (not to say erratic) manner of the Security Council in using the concept of “threats to peace”, however subjective and

6

7

I have questioned this presumption elsewhere, see G. Abi-Saab, ‘Cours général de droit international public’, Hague Academy of International Law, 207 Recueil des Cours, VII, 1987, 156. On these themes – such as “Children in armed conﬂicts”, “Protection of civilians in armed conﬂicts” and “Women and peace and secruity” – the Council discusses the subject in general (outside of any speciﬁc crisis or situation) and engages in contingency planning by prescribing action by Member States and establishing in certain cases follow-up subsidiary organs to which Members are called upon to report.

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political it may be.8 It suﬃces to recall here the Lockerbie incident, where suddenly, 8 years after the fact, the Council found that it constituted a “threat to peace”, on the eve of a decision by the ICJ in the matter, and with the clear intent of preempting a certain judicial course of action, which it did. That the Council declares beforehand what types of contingencies it will consider as ‘threats to peace’ and how it purports to handle them, partakes somewhat of legislation. But it is legislating for itself. It binds or limits, rather than extends, its own discretion, increasing the foreseeability of its future action while reducing by that much the risk of capriciousness and abuse of power. On condition, of course, that the Council sticks to its own directives and apply them in a consistent manner. For one of the main criticisms of the Council is its selectivity and inconsistent treatment of like situations. In any case the resolutions and Presidential declarations carrying these general directives are not formally binding on the membership (nor beyond) and thus lack an essential element of legislation. C. A New Species of “Legislative” Resolutions? With the adoption of Res. 1373 of 28 September 2001, barely two weeks after the September 11 attacks, in the words of Paul Szasz, “[t]he Security Council start[ed] legislating”;9 or so it seemed to many commentators. Indeed, the format of the resolution lends credence to such a conclusion. For whilst it was called for by the September 11 events, its language is general (not limited in time or to a particular situation) with a brief reference only in its preamble to these events. It is also mandatory; addressed to all States (“All States shall . . .”); directing them to take certain measures on the municipal law level against terrorism and to report to the monitoring subsidiary organ it established, the Counter-Terrorism Committee (CTC). It is noteworthy that the provisions dealing with ﬁnancing terrorism are taken from the International Convention for the Suppression of the Financing of Terrorism. In other words, the resolution purports to impose on all States, by its own ﬁat, conventional obligations they may not have subscribed to. A similar pattern was later followed in Res. 1540 of 2004, on the prevention of the spread of weapons of mass destruction to non-State entities. Is this legislation in the strict sense of the term? Can the Security Council legally legislate? If not, what is the legal status of such resolutions?

8

9

Cf. Tadić, supra, note 4, para. 29: “While the ‘act of aggression’ is more amenable to a legal determination, the ‘threat to peace’ is more of a political concept. But the determination that there exists such a threat is not a totally unfettered discretion, as it has to remain, at the very least, within the limits of the Purposes and Principles of the Charter”. 96 AJIL, 2002, 901.

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3. Security Council Legislation through the Prism of the Charter Text and Design If we go by the Charter, the answer to the question “Can the Security Council legally legislate?” is, in my submission, deﬁnitely in the negative, as neither the text nor the context of the Charter allows for such a possibility. A. A Grant of “Speciﬁc Powers” Article 24 which “confers” on the Security Council the “primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security”, after providing in its paragraph 2 that “[i]n discharging those duties the Security Council shall act in accordance with the Purposes and Principles of the [UN]”, adds signiﬁcantly: “The speciﬁc powers granted to the Security Council for the discharge of these duties, are laid down in Chapters VI, VII, VIII and XII” (emphasis added). As these are “speciﬁc powers”, i.e. speciﬁcally “granted”, they have to be expressly provided for. Nowhere in the Charter, and more particularly in Chapter VII, which is the only one directly relevant to our subject, and which confers on the Council the exceptional powers of taking mandatory decisions and coercive measures, is it expressly stated or envisaged that the Council can use these powers beyond handling a speciﬁc crisis or situation, i.e. to enact general and abstract prospective rules in detachment of a discrete set of circumstances limited in time or space. Nor does such a legislative power ﬁt in the general architecture of the Charter and the place of Chapter VII in it. B. Chapter VII: Facing International Public Emergencies with Exceptional but Carefully Circumscribed Powers Chapter VII provides for the UN response to exceptional circumstances or events threatening the international public order; similar to “public emergencies” on the national level which, once proclaimed, usually confer on the Executive exorbitant powers, to face up to these emergencies. But because of their exceptional nature, these powers are usually carefully circumscribed and limited to the treatment of the emergency at hand that justiﬁed the proclamation of the state of emergency. The same with the activation of Chapter VII, which is triggered by the Council’s own determination of “the existence of any threat to the peace, breach of the peace or act of aggression”. The use of the indeﬁnite pronoun “any” (the French version uses the indeﬁnite article “une menace . . .”), makes it abundantly clear that what is envisaged is a particular or speciﬁc situation falling, in the Council’s judgement, under one of the three categories mentioned in article 39.

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What does this triggering of Chapter VII speciﬁcally entail? Article 39 is very precise as to the exceptional powers that the Security Council can exercise as a result of this determination: “The Security Council shall determine . . . and shall make recommendations, or decide what measures shall be taken in accordance with Articles 41 and 42, to maintain or restore international peace and security” (emphasis added).10 In other words, once the determination is made, the Council has to act in response (“and shall . . .”), either by continuing to exercise its normal powers under Chapter VI by making non-binding “recommendations”, or – and here lies the extension of powers operated by Chapter VII – by taking “decisions”. But this is not an unlimited extension, a blank cheque. It is expressly circumscribed by the same provision that authorizes it, by limiting its ambit ratione materiae to the application of the coercive measures provided for in articles 41 and 42. C. Measures under Articles 40, 41 and 42 Can these measures be construed to include “legislation”? Obviously legislative action does not ﬁt into article 42, which provides for measures of a military nature, involving the use of armed force. The same is the case with the measures not involving the use of armed force in article 41. It is true that the list provided by this article is illustrative and not exhaustive, and that these measures are deﬁned negatively by what they are not (‘not involving the use of armed force’). But it is also clear from the language of the article, the examples it provides and its general context, that the measures envisaged are concrete preventive or enforcement measures, whose object is ‘to maintain or restore international peace and security’ in the particular crisis or situation which called, in the judgment of the Security Council, for their adoption. A proﬁle poles apart from the incomparably all-embracing scope of prospective, general and abstract, legislation. Nor a fortiori can legislation be considered as one of the “provisional measures” of article 40 which, by their very nature and as the name indicates, are “provisional” i.e. of a temporary character, contrary to legislation, and which 10

The use of the mandatory shall indicates that the Charter envisages the implementation of Chapter VII as a “function” in the public law sense of the term of conferring jurisdiction and powers on an organ, not as a right or faculty to be exercised or not exercised at its discretion, but as a charge or duty to be discharged every time the required circumstances present themselves (the use of the indeﬁnite pronoun any before “threat to the peace, breach of the peace or act of aggression” makes this abundantly clear), with a view to achieving the object and purpose of the function (i.e. “to maintain or restore international peace and security”, art. 39) in that particular instance. As is well known, one of the major criticisms addressed to the Security Council is its extreme selectivity (or double standards) in handling like situations.

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are intended to serve as a stand-still or a holding operation, by the Council “before making the recommendations or deciding upon the measures provided for in article 39”. Moreover, these provisional measures are “without prejudice to the rights, claims or positions of the Parties concerned”, again contrary to the very essence and eﬀect of legislation. Finally, the mandatory character of these measures is subject to controversy. D. The Security Council in the Charter Design This textual interpretation is comforted by the general context of Chapter VII and the role assigned to the Security Council in the general economy and architecture of the Charter. Article 24, which confers on the Security Council the primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security, opens up with the phrase [i]n order to ensure prompt and eﬀective action by the United Nations”. Indeed, the Security Council appears to have been intentionally conceived as a limited organ, with high-powered membership, capable of handling speciﬁc crises and conﬂict situations eﬃciently and expeditiously. But precisely because of these characteristics, which make its virtues in carrying out this responsibility, it is totally ill-suited for the task of articulating general and prospective norms for the international community at large; a task that requires lengthy reﬂections and preparations and the widest possible participation and adherence; and which was not entrusted to the Council anyway, but to the General Assembly, for these very same reasons (albeit in the much diluted form of “encouraging the progressive development of international law and its codiﬁcation” of article 13).

4. Arguments in Favour of (and against) Extending the Security Council’s Powers to Legislate All the same, several lines of argument were put forward to justify the Security Council’s legislative action; some on legal grounds, others on purely practical and pragmatic ones. A. The Legal Arguments 1. The ﬁrst legal argument used is that of implied powers. But the term “implied powers” is not a mere slogan; it designates a technical legal concept drawn from constitutional law that has its own conditions and parameters. Implied power is ancillary power that proves necessary for the exercise of the expressly granted powers, like the incidental (or inherent) jurisdiction of tribunals that enables them to exercise their principal jurisdiction. It is a power subordinate to (or

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infra) the express power and of a much narrower scope, merely providing a missing screw or cog, necessary (or, arguably, useful)11 for the exercise of the express power. It is not, and cannot be, a meta power that transcends, encompasses or subsumes the express power, as legislation would be in relation to the speciﬁc measures provided for in articles 41 and 42 of the Charter. 2. A parallel and related argument is to say that legislative action of the Council does not have to be based on a speciﬁc article, but on the general powers of the Council under Chapter VII; an argument that ﬁnds support in the fact that the Council now rarely cites a speciﬁc article when it invokes Chapter VII. However, if the Security Council sometimes does not expressly specify the Charter article on which its decisions under Chapter VII are based, this does not mean that such a basis does not exist or is not needed.12 Postulating “general powers” goes against article 24, paragraph 2, which speaks of “the speciﬁc powers granted to the Security Council”, and article 39 which refers, as already mentioned, to “decisions” on “what measures shall be taken in accordance with articles 41 and 42”, as well as the role of Chapter VII in the Charter as a grant of “exceptional” or “exorbitant” emergency powers, that have to be treated as such. The Appeals Chamber of the ICTY addressed this issue, in its Tadić decision of 1995, in the following terms: A question arises in this respect as to whether the choice of the Security Council is limited to the measures provided for in Articles 41 and 42 of the Charter (as the language of Article 39 suggests), or whether it has even larger discretion in the

11

12

The ICJ, in its interpretation of the Charter in several Advisory Opinions and Decisions, has given the concept a slightly wider scope, to cover not only the powers that are strictly necessary for the exercise of the express ones, but also those that are useful, in the sense of contributing to the eﬃciency of the exercise of the express powers. But this extension does not logically aﬀect the argument made in the text. Those who argue for the existence of such general powers invoke sometime a dictum of the ICJ, in its Advisory Opinion on Certain Expenses of the UN (ICJ Rep. 1962), 167, in which the Court, in refuting the (Soviet) “argument which insists all measures taken for the maintenance of international peace and security must be ﬁnanced through agreements concluded under Article 43”, declared: “The Court cannot accept so limited a view of the powers of the Security Council under the Charter. It cannot be said that the Charter has left the Security Council impotent in the face of an emergency situation when agreements under Article 43 have not been concluded.” But those who cite this dictum forget that in the same sentence quoted above, in which the Court restates the soviet argument it refutes, the Court adds that this argument “would seem to exclude the possibility that the Security Council might act under some other article of the Charter”. Thus, what the Court was aﬃrming before enunciating the above dictum, was not that the Security Council can act under undeﬁned “general powers”, but under diﬀerent articles of the Charter, and not only article 43, when such action occasions certain expenses.

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33

form of general powers to maintain and restore international peace and security under Chapter VII at large . . . The language of Article 39 is quite clear as to the channelling of the very broad and exceptional powers of the Security Council under Chapter VII through Articles 41 and 42. These two articles leave to the Security Council such a wide choice as not to warrant searching, on functional or other grounds, for even wider and more general powers than those already expressly provided for in the Charter.13

3. Another line of legal justiﬁcation is based on subsequent practice and acquiescence. It is argued that the Security Council has established its legislative power by taking legislative action, and that States have acquiesced to it by complying, particularly by reporting, as required, to the CTC. Here again, and assuming that what the Council did was legislative action (an assumption that can be questioned, to which I shall return under V), we have to distinguish between “action” and “practice”. The fact that the Council has acted does not guarantee that its action is lawful or that this action will necessarily constitute legally signiﬁcant “practice” that contributes to the evolution of the law. What makes the diﬀerence is the legal perception and reception of that action by others, i.e. the international community, which gives it precedential legitimacy as a new rendering of the law or proscribes it as a violation of that law. The more so if we are speaking not of practice in general but of “subsequent practice” as a principle of interpretation of treaties. In this case, the new rendering of the treaty has to be revealed through the subsequent practice of the totality of the conventional community. The new rendering or interpretation of the charter we are speaking of here is one that would allow the Security Council to legislate in general, not merely to take forceful action bordering on legislation in one particular case. Can we say, on the basis of the above two-mentioned resolutions, that the subsequent practice of the membership of the UN reveals such a common understanding or rendering of the charter? And can such subsequent practice be assumed simply from the so-called “acquiescence” of States by their submitting reports to the CTC or co-operating with it? We have to keep in mind the very exceptional circumstances in which resolution 1373 was adopted: the generalized traumatism caused by the 11 September events, and the wide spread feeling of imminent threat, aptly described by Michael Reisman as “the shared perception of a common danger, not simply to individual States, but to a system of world public order”.14 Indeed the real threat of transnational or globalised terrorism became tragically palpable and apparent as well as the need for a global response at the same level. All States felt threatened, including the “usual suspects” in the eyes of the West, the Arab

13 14

Supra note 4, para. 31. ‘In Defense of World Public Order’, 95 AJIL, 2001, 834.

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and Muslim countries that have been the victims of some of the worst terrorist attacks and whose rulers stand on the front line of potential terrorist targets. Resolution 1373 purported to provide the awaited global response. Is it astonishing in these circumstances, whether it qualiﬁes as legislation or not (a question to which I shall return later on), that governments in general or as a class who called for such a response, would by and large implement it and report to, or collaborate with the CTC? They did so (though protesting here and there about some of its aspects) not because they recognized or acquiesced to the exercise by the Security Council of a general legislative power of which this case is but a particular instance; nor even necessarily because of it formal mandatory character under Chapter VII; but mainly because they found that it corresponded to their felt needs or interests; in other words, they were willing to cooperate because they accepted it; an acceptance that is limited to the speciﬁc contents of this particular resolution. The limited precedential signiﬁcance of Resolution 1373 as to the possession by the Security Council of a general power to legislate is corroborated by the circumstances surrounding the adoption of the second resolution 1540 of 2004 on the spread to non-State actors of weapons of mass destruction; a resolution of a much narrower scope, dealing basically with the traﬃc destined to non-State actors. Though part of the same strategy of countering globalised or transnational terror, the adoption of this resolution came at a time when the feeling of imminent threat creating a sense of “holy alliance” among governing elites all over the world was less intense (the same as the shared perception of the speciﬁc danger addressed by the resolution). As a result, strong voices were raised – India, Pakistan, and several other members of the Non-Aligned Movement – not particularly against the concrete measures taken, but to dissipate any larger implication that the Council can legislate. B. The Practical or Pragmatic Arguments 1. The pragmatic or practical arguments justifying the exercise of legislative power by the Council are mainly two, the ﬁrst of which is that the Security Council is a political organ that cannot be expected to act like a Tribunal nor be shackled in the discharge of its extremely important functions and in the exercise of its wide discretion by legal niceties and technicalities. The answer to this simplistic argument was given by the ICJ already in 1948, in the following terms: “The political character of an organ does not release it from the observance of the treaty provisions established by the Charter when they constitute limitations on its powers or criteria for its judgement”.15

15

Advisory Opinion on Admission to Membership of the UN, ICJ Rep. 1948, p. 64.

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Almost 50 years later, the Appeals Chamber of the ICTY applied the same reasoning to the Security Council in the Tadić 1995 decision, quoted earlier.16 2. More serious is the second practical or pragmatic argument of the absence of legal controls over Security Council’s action, i.e. that there is no judicial, procedural or institutional means to review the legality of the decisions of the Security Council, which thus remains the sole judge of its own action. This is true, but not completely true. It is true that there exists no express text providing for the control of legality of Security Council decisions or a speciﬁc mechanism assigned for that purpose. But the absence of such provision or mechanism does not render action in violation of the Charter legal. Constitutional law is not justiciable is many jurisdictions. This does not mean that the constitution can be ignored. It goes beyond the scope of this essay to deal at any length with the problem of judicial review within the UN.17 It suﬃces here to say that both on the political and the judicial levels, ways and means for exercising a measure of scrutiny are not totally absent. As far as the Security Council is concerned, and apart from the internal restraining eﬀect of its voting system, certain possibilities do exist of controlling the legality of its decisions and actions from the outside. In the ﬁrst place, the General Assembly can – if there is suﬃcient political will to marshall the required majority – challenge the Council’s actions through a censure, question their legality through a request of an advisory opinion addressed to the ICJ or curtail them through its control of the UN budget. Secondly, the issue may be raised before an international tribunal as an incidental question in a case before it. The Lockerbie case provided such an opportunity, but the ICJ shied away from it. However, the Appeals Chamber of the ICTY did not bulk in the Tadić case from passing on the legality of Security Council action, although it is itself a creation of the Council.18 Thirdly, challenge can be made in regional fora – both political and judicial – such as the OAU (now African Union) or the Organisation of Islamic Conference which both found that the sanction of ﬂight embargo taken by the Security Council against Libya in the Lockerbie case was ultra vires and recommended to their members not to comply with it.

16 17

18

Supra, note 4 and accompanying text. The literature on the subject abounds, e.g. Mohammed Bedjaoui, Nouvel ordre mondial et contrôle de la légalité des actes du Conseil de Sécurité, (Brussels: Bruylant, 1994). Two recent books deserve particular attention: Catherine Denis, Le pouvoir normatif du Conseil de Sécurité des Nations Unies: Portée et limites, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2004); Erica de Wet, The Chapter VII Powers of the United Nations Security Council, (Cambridge: Hart Publishing, 2004). Supra note 4.

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Even more important is the recent momentous decision of the European Court of Justice in the Kadi and Barakaat International Foundation case (3 September 2008). In that judgment, reversing a decision of the Tribunal of First Instance, the Court declared that judicial review of the compatibility of community acts and regulations (that implemented the Security Council’s resolutions under Chapter VII of the Charter) with fundamental human rights, is beyond the reach of (i.e. cannot be trumped or preempted by) article 103 of the Charter. In other words, the Court is indirectly saying that European judicial review extends to the compatibility of the Security Council’s decisions (via their European oﬀ-shoots) with fundamental human rights, which are jus cogens and part of European higher law. Fourthly, the issue can also be raised before national tribunals or in national parliaments, considering that Security Council action was ultra vires or contrary to jus cogens and should not be headed. For, in the ﬁnal analysis, the ultimate legal sanction of Security Council’s decisions, on which also depends their eﬀectiveness, lies in the respect accorded to them. If the Council stretches or abuses its powers beyond credibility, Member States – who, in Article 24, paragraph 1, “confer on the Security Council primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security, and agree that in carrying out its duties under this responsibility the Security Council acts on their behalf ” – retain as ultimate sanction, the residual power to declare such acts as falling outside this mandate and simply ignore the ultra vires decisions of the Council by not complying with them.

5. The Legal Status and Fate of Security Council “Legislative” Resolutions If the Security Council does not possess the power to legislate under the Charter, the question arises about the legal status and fate of resolutions 1373, 1540 and their likes, which prima facie take a legislative form (general, prospective language, with no reference to a particular situation nor limit in time). As far as resolution 1373 is concerned, my answer, written in the wake of the September 11 events, is the following: Security Council resolution 1373 of 28 September 2001 comes nearest to a declaration of an ‘international state of emergency’ to face up to these events, establishing a temporary regime under Chapter VII to take measures against terrorism in this particular emergency . . . We should recall, however, that the crisis situation opened by the 9/11 events was characterized by the Security Council as constituting a ‘threat to international peace and security’ not merely because of the combined attacks against the US, but even more so because of the high degree of eﬃciency and capacity for harm of transnational terrorism that was revealed by these attacks and the acute threat

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it has become to world public order at large. The measures taken by the Security Council are intended to respond as well to these larger aspects of the crisis, with a view to containing and eventually eliminating this generalized looming threat; which probably explains the general language of the resolution.19

In other words, I consider that Resolution 1373, and later Resolution 1540, are speciﬁcally addressed to the crisis that broke out with the September 11 attacks, rather than being general legislation; a particular crisis, in spite of its global scope, which is still with us. And if we pursue the analogy with an internal declaration of a state of emergency where the Executive is usually given exceptional powers such as ruling by decree, we note that these powers are limited in time, beyond which limit they have to be submitted to parliament for ratiﬁcation, or lapse. Here we have no parliament, though the General Assembly comes somewhat close to one. But the Charter did not cast it in that role. Still, beyond the speciﬁc crisis or situation that called for them (or once it has subsided), the prescriptions of the Security Council – even when they don’t carry a time-limit – cannot hang, legally unhinged, in the air. They would lapse (whether they have achieved their purpose or not) or would have to be transformed into norms of general international law. But such transformation cannot be brought about by the Council’s ﬁat alone. This would bring us back, full circle, to enactment “from above”, i.e. legislation, which is not in the Council’s powers as we have seen. If there is to be transformation, it can only come “from below”, through the “cumulative process” of international law, interacting with the output or ﬁnal product of the Council’s legislative forays, the “legislative” resolution. I have been studying for a long time the legal value and signiﬁcance of General Assembly resolutions, and particularly its “normative resolutions”; and identiﬁed three indices or criteria that can help us gauge the real legal weight of the normative contents of resolutions, beyond their formal status as recommendations, and chart their progress towards becoming part of (or their degree of transformation into) general international law.20 They can be usefully applied to the “legislative” resolutions of the Security Council as well.

19

20

Georges Abi-Saab, ‘The Proper Role of International Law in Combating Terrorism’, 1 Chinese Journal of International Law, 2002, 305–, 310. G. Abi-Saab in Les résolutions dans la formation du droit international du développement, Geneva, IUHEI, 1971, 9–10; ‘The Legal Formulation of a Right to Development’, in: The Right to Development on the international Level (Colloquium of the Hague Academy of International Law), (The Hague: Sijthoﬀ, 1979), pp. 159–161; ‘Progressive Development of Principles and Norms of International Law Relating to the New International Economic Order: Analytical Study’ (Annex to the Report of the Secretary General to the General Assembly) UN Doc. A/39/504/Add.1 (1984), paras. 21–27; ‘Cours général’, supra note 6, pp. 154–183.

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These three indices are: (i) the circumstances surrounding the adoption of the resolution, in particular the degree of consensus obtaining in the body politic over the content of the normative statement; consensus taken here not in its procedural but its substantive sense of conviction or acceptance as law; (ii) the degree of speciﬁcity of the normative content of the resolution that renders it readily applicable as law, i.e. as suﬃciently identiﬁable prescriptive behaviour; and (iii) the existence and eﬀectiveness of a follow-up or monitoring mechanism generating continuous pressure for compliance. The convergence of these three indices in a resolution enhances the probability of the observance of its normative prescription, in other words makes for its transformation into an eﬀective pattern of behaviour, hence for the emergence of a feeling of obligation, or, in traditional terms, for the formation and coalescence of the two elements of custom. If we apply these indices for example to Security Council Resolution 1373 that spurred the whole debate over “legislation” and to the subsequent Resolution 1540, we ﬁnd that whilst prima facie they seem to score high (particularly the ﬁrst one), a closer look reveals a more mitigated result. A. As to the degree of speciﬁcity of the normative statement or content of the Resolution (whether it is concrete enough to make it readily applicable, i.e. identiﬁable hence veriﬁable, as prescribed behaviour), this is a function of the language and formulation of the resolution. Three observations can be made in this regard. 1. Much has been made of the general, abstract and prospective language of the two Resolutions, implying that they are not addressed to a speciﬁc crisis or situation, but are meant to be applicable to all future situations. Whilst one might get this impression from reading the operative part of these Resolutions, the Preamble of Resolution 1373 is clear in characterizing it as a response to the imminent threat to peace posed by “international terrorism”, as revealed by the September attacks, but which extend beyond them. The same with Resolution 1540 whose Preamble, whilst adding the proliferation of nuclear, chemical and biological weapons as a threat to peace, refers explicitly to Resolution 1373 and speciﬁes that the ultimate target of the measures it prescribes, the “non-state actors” to whom it purports to prevent the proliferation of those arms, are the individuals and entities “to whom Resolution 1373 applies” (which in turn are those listed under Resolution 1267, as described below). It thus anchors itself in the wake of the earlier Resolution and in the same context of the acute crisis triggered by the September 11 attacks, and the generally perceived imminent threat of transnational terrorism it gave rise to.

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2. In spite of the peremptory language of Resolution 1373, requiring concrete action by States (“all States shall . . .”), the target of this action, i.e. the terrorist individuals and entities, not to mention “terrorism” itself, remain undeﬁned. In the absence of legally objective criteria for the identiﬁcation of such fundamental elements ratione personae and ratione materiae of any legal norm, how can a rule of general international law emerge,21 or a coherent and permanent regime be established for the prevention and suppression of this yet undeﬁned crime? Unless, ex hypothesi, we consider that the Resolution has left this task of deﬁnition to municipal law by “renvoi”; a hypothesis that ﬂies in the face of the very idea of a rule of general international law. In order to skirt this hurdle, the Resolution simply turns a blind eye to the problem, by not addressing the issue of deﬁning the “criminal” (or the crime) at all; leaving it to the Resolution “1267 Committee” and the “listing” procedure it had developed (discussed under 2a below); a purely subjective process, based on “conﬁdential intelligence information”, that lies poles apart from the abstract and objective criteria required for a deﬁnition of a crime, hence of criminals, under a rule of general international law. 3. Instead, Resolution 1373 concentrates exclusively on the measures it urges States to take to combat terrorism; measures for the speciﬁcation and implementation of which the Resolution has to rely almost entirely on what States are able and willing to undertake at the level of municipal law and administration (discussed under 2b below). B. As concerns the follow-up mechanisms, we have to distinguish between two types of measures: those that can be directly taken by the Security Council through its own instrumentalities, i.e. subsidiary organs, and those which can be implemented only via Member States. 1. The ﬁrst category consists mainly of “listing”, a procedure that was left to the already existing “1267 Committee”; that which calls for a brief reminder. In the light of the disastrous results for the civilian population of the UN sanctions against Iraq after the ﬁrst Gulf War, the concept of “sanctions” was reﬁned into “smart sanctions” that would speciﬁcally target the leaders and responsible persons for the condemned acts rather than the country, i.e. the population at large. Thus, when the Security Council decided in Resolution 1267 (of 15 October 1999), in the wake of Al Qaeda’s earlier terrorist attacks, to apply sanctions to Al Qaeda and the Taliban regime that harbours it, the

21

See Abi-Saab, supra note 19, pp. 310–311.

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Council established a Committee charged with elaborating and managing a list of individuals and entities designated as being associated with Usama bin Laden, Al Qaeda and Taliban. The Committee was also charged with monitoring States eﬀorts to implement those sanctions (travel ban, arms embargo, freezing of assets) to persons and entities included in the list. The list started with a limited number of individuals and entities, as beﬁts the concept of smart sanctions, resembling penalties in criminal law in that they have to be individualized (i.e. applied only to those found guilty, principe de l’individualisation des peines). But the list was revised and enlarged several times, particularly after the adoption of Resolution 1373, to become a “comprehensive list” with several hundreds names, largely of suspects rather than of culprits. The most worrisome aspect of listing proved to be the process by which names are included, at the suggestion of members of the Committee (the 15 Members of the Security Council), but mainly the US which provided the majority of the names. These suggestions are in fact automatically followed, almost on faith, with no scrutiny, as they are usually based on conﬁdential intelligence information whose sources are not subject to veriﬁcation. And once a name is included, it cannot be taken oﬀ the list except by consensus, i.e. the approval of the 15 Members, with no possibility for the listed person or entity to appeal or refute the accusation. Later on, a possibility of appeal was introduced, but the ﬁnal decision remains one taken by consensus. The utterly subjective and opaque character of the process of listing, devoid of any pre-established objective criteria, for want of a deﬁnition of the crime and the criminal permitting to verify the seriousness of the accusation in the light of available evidence, makes “listing” a purely “arbitrary” process in the etymological sense of the term. It totally disqualiﬁes it from being or becoming an element, not to say a pivotal element, of an emerging rule of general international law. Moreover, the sheer arbitrariness of the process and its stark violation of some fundamental guarantees that lie at the hardcore of human rights protection, made it the most contested aspect of the whole counter-terrorism strategy of the Security Council. It led ultimately to the open revolt of Member States, exercising what was called the “right of last resort”22 of disobedience of ultra vires or illegal acts, as witnessed by the recent Kadi and Barakat decision of the European Court of Justice discussed above. Such open objections and rejections of a key element of Security Council Resolutions 1373 and 1540 undermine their legality even as speciﬁc commands by the Security Council addressed to a particular crisis or situation. But more

22

de Wet, supra note 17, 382.

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importantly for our subject, they radically deny the existence or even the beginnings of formation of an opinio juris that could eventually transform the normative statements or propositions that these two resolutions purport to express (however we formulate these normative propositions; if they can be formulated at all in the absence of the above-mentioned key elements ratione personnae and ratione materiae). Finally, it should be recalled that, whilst “listing” is a measure that can be directly taken by the Security Council through its subsidiary organs, it is of a preliminary character, in that it merely identiﬁes the “target” against which have to be directed the measures that the Council resolutions mandate Member States to take, the monitoring of which constitutes the real follow-up. 2. The second category of measures are those which have to be taken by Member States in application of the resolutions. They include two layers of national measures, ﬁrst, the adoption of “enabling legislation” and administrative regulations allowing for the application by the Member State of the speciﬁc measures mandated by the Security Council against the “listed” persons and entities (mainly through ﬁnancial, border, and arms trade controls). As the listed persons and entities are designated as Usama bin Laden, Al Qaeda, the Taliban and their associates (although the “comprehensive list” over-spills this designation), these measures remain deeply anchored in the speciﬁc crisis (the sudden heightened awareness of the threat of international terrorism) triggered by the 9/11 attacks. The eﬀectiveness of these speciﬁcally targeted measures depends in turn on the legal and administrative arsenal of the State concerned, the subject-matter of the second layer of this category, comprising measures of a general nature aiming at heightening the preparedness of States to face up to the threat of terrorism by tightening and closing the gaps in their anti-terrorist legislation, strengthening their relevant judicial and law enforcement structures, as well as intensifying their participation in international co-operation schemes to the same end. In spite of the peremptory language of the resolutions (“all States shall . . .”), these measures mandated by the Security Council are not (and, given their nature, cannot be) self-executing. They are deﬁned merely by their aim or result. To become eﬀective and readily applicable, they have to be translated in terms of municipal law and largely complemented by it. This unavoidable and almost total reliance on municipal law leaves States with a very wide margin of discretion in the choice of means and pace of implementation. It transforms what may seem at ﬁrst blush to be obligations of result into obligations of best eﬀort, the threshold of which separating them from “recommendations”, being often blurred; whence, the need for a follow-up mechanism. In this respect, and given the prevailing atmosphere in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, the CTC (later strengthened by adjoining to it an “Executive

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Directorate”) has played an active role; likewise, mutatis mutandis (and perhaps to a lesser extent), the Anti-Proliferation Committee established under Resolution 1540. Particularly, most States have reported, be it tardily, to the CTC as required by Resolution 1373. But can we conclude from this fact: “. . . that the substantive provisions of the Council’s resolutions in the ﬁeld of counterterrorism are backed up by a degree of enforcement, or at least peer review, in the reporting requirements and committee structure, notably the CTC”?23 First, one should not take “reporting” for “compliance” (except with the duty or the request to report). Secondly, “reporting” does not partake of “enforcement”, which necessarily implies legal compulsion. It is a frequently used technique in the UN and elsewhere to incite addressees to comply with non-binding resolutions such as those of the General Assembly or the ECOSOC, or even those of the Security Council on the thematic items.24 Be that as it may, given the total dependence of implementation on State action at the municipal law level and the make-up of the monitoring bodies, with over-ambitious mandates but no formal enforcement powers to speak of, the CTC could not function as a coercive mechanism vis-à-vis States. Thus, in a revealing statement of 4 October 2002, Sir Jeremy Greenstock, the ﬁrst Chairman of the CTC, “emphasized that the CTC is designed not to single out and judge individual States but rather to work co-operatively with States to help them meet their obligations under Resolution 1373”.25 And indeed, the CTC has concentrated its activities largely on providing legal and administrative technical assistance to States. By following this co-operative strategy, the CTC managed to achieve a reasonable measure of success in raising the level of preparedness of States in general (or their “due diligence”) to face up to the threat of terrorism (though with the lingering critical gap of the absence of an internationally acceptable deﬁnition of the crime of “terrorism”, hence of “terrorists”, without which the system remains normatively unhinged). But this measure of success was not the product of the Security Council’s legislative ﬁat as much as the result of two other exogenous factors: the unilateral pressure of the US and, more importantly, the recognition of governments in general of their self-interest in pursuing what was proposed to them; that which brings us to the third criterion used in relation to General Assembly normative resolutions. 23

24 25

Michael Wood, The Security Council as a Law-Maker: The Adoption of (Quasi)-Judicial Decisions’, in R. Wolfrum, and V. Röben (eds.), Development of International Law in Treaty Making, (Berlin: Springer, 2005), p. 233. Supra note 7. Report of the SG A/60/825/27 April 2006, Uniting Against Terrorism: Recommendations for a Global Counter-Terrorism Strategy, para. 82.

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C. As to the degree of substantive or political consensus, and as was said before, because of the psychological shock of the 9/11 events and the ensuing generalised and heightened feeling of the threat of international terrorism, forging a holy alliance among governing elites against it, this particular resolution mustered a reasonable amount of political consensus, though not by any means general consensus, as witnessed by the two sore (and intimately related) points that remain highly controversial. These are, ﬁrst the absence of agreement on a deﬁnition of the crime of terrorism, hence who could be classiﬁed as “terrorist”; and secondly and consequently, the purely subjective and arbitrary process of “listing” that led even the “best pupils of the class”, the European Union Members, to exercise their “right of last resort” of disobedience. With such gaps and deﬁciencies there is no room for speaking of legislation and rules of general international law. This is why, whatever the consensus that may exist on the modalities of counter-terrorism action, it is necessarily limited to the measures taken in the particular and still lingering crisis triggered by the 9/11 attacks, against speciﬁc persons and entities subjectively identiﬁed; and not consensus over general legal prescriptions deﬁning the criminalized acts and thus applicable to an objectively identiﬁable category of persons. The Security Council can command by ﬁat (that of Chapter VII) a particular action in a speciﬁc situation (provided the conditions of Article 39 of the Charter obtain); but it cannot maintain that command by legal compulsion over all States, all the time, if they, or a signiﬁcant number of them, do not think that it is still necessary or warranted or, a fortiori, if they think that it is illegal or ultra vires. By contrast, if they consider that, beyond the speciﬁc situation, the normative proposition of the command provides a convenient solution to a yet unresolved problem or serves a permanent common interest or value, then it is their attitude that will create the norm or rather transform the normative content of the resolution into a norm of general international law, and not the resolution itself, which would have served, beyond its speciﬁc object, as a vehicle for a normative proposition focalizing consensus. In general, however, and by way of conclusion, when it comes to the transformation of Security Council resolutions into general international law, it is this criterion of consensus that is the hardest to satisfy. This is because the Council itself is suﬀering from an acute loss of legitimacy as a result of its growing non-representativeness of the membership of the Organization as a whole.26

26

It is interesting to note that in the debate over “legislation”, even those who do not contest directly the legality of legislative action by the Security Council, insist on the necessity of enhancing the “legitimacy” of such action, through greater “inclusiveness” (i.e. prior and wider consultations with the General Assembly and the UN membership at large), “transparency” (of

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And it is precisely the consensus of this membership of the Organization as a whole that is needed to transform an edict of the Council into a norm of general international law.

the process of decision-making), and respect for “due process” (particularly when dealing with private persons and entities), with a view to securing greater “eﬀectiveness” (i.e. compliance by Member States); all of which are but diverse means of marshalling political consensus. But they also go against the grain, i.e. the speciﬁc make-up and virtues of the Security Council as an executive organ of limited membership including the Big Powers, in order to be able to act quickly and decisively in the face of crises and emergencies.

Chapter 3 The Subject of Subjects and the Attribution of Attribution Andrew Clapham

Vera Gowlland’s contribution to international law includes a passion for taking the United Nations (‘UN’) seriously, not only as a site for generating international law, but also as an actor that should operate within the limits of international law. In this short contribution I would like to revisit the subject of subjects, and question whether this terminology is the most appropriate for understanding the obligations of international organizations such as the UN. I will then address the question of how we conceive attribution when individuals may be seen as acting both on behalf of their government and an international organization. Again I will question whether we have developed the most appropriate principles for attributing such conduct. I am not sure whether Vera will approve of my conclusions but I hope that she will at least recognize that they have been inspired by her longstanding determination that the UN should be seriously studied along with the question of accountability in the international legal system.

1. Subjects as Prisoners of Doctrine1 The traditional treatment of the question of the subjects of international law is confusing and incomplete. Although few authors, or even states, hold out that states are the sole subjects of international law, the question of international legal personality has remained entangled with the misleading concept of ‘subjects’ of international law and the attendant question of what ﬂows from statehood under international law. It seems assumed that increasing the

1

This section draws on Chapter 2 of my Human Rights Obligations of Non-State Actors, (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2006).

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categories of international legal persons recognized under international law will lead to an expansion of the possible authors of international law.2 This of course is seen to threaten the viable development of a decentralized, state-centred international legal order. Most doctrine would include as subjects of international law entities on their way to becoming states, and actors with state-like qualities, such as: de facto regimes, insurgents recognized as belligerents, National Liberation Movements representing peoples struggling for self-determination, the Holy See, and even the Order of Malta.3 Furthermore, as the principal subjects of international law (states) discover that they need to include further subjects of international law, they can demonstrate this through the recognition of, not only entities such as National Liberation Movements, but also of inter-state organizations such as the UN. However, even these bodies are not detached from the states themselves, as the doctrine suggests that they are created by them to fulﬁl objectives which cannot be fulﬁlled by states acting individually.4 The concept of a subject of international law is, however, today often deemed unhelpful; and scholars increasingly avoid speculation on which non-state actors can be described as subjects.5 It is suggested that much of the contemporary doctrine on this topic simply reﬂects whether the commentators see any policy advantage to extending the traditional notion of subjects of international law.6

2

3

4 5

6

See H. Lauterpacht, ‘General Laws of the Law of Peace’ in E. Lauterpacht (ed.), Collected Papers, Vol. 1, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1970), p. 280: “Much of the opposition to the predominant doctrine with regard to the subjects of international law is undoubtedly due to such reasons as the reaction against the recognition of sovereign States as the only authors of international law, or to the desire to vindicate the rights of man in the international sphere.” See G. Abi-Saab, Cours Général de Droit International Public, 207 RCADI, (The Hague: Nijhoﬀ, 1996), p. 81; and P. Cahier, Changements et Continuité du Droit International, 195 RCADI, (Dordrecht: Nijhoﬀ, 1992), p. 92. See also J.A. Frowein, ‘De Facto Régime’, in: R. Bernhardt (ed.), Encyclopedia of Public International Law, Vol. 1, (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 1992), pp. 966–8. “State practice shows that entities which in fact govern a speciﬁc territory will be treated as partial subjects of international law. They will be held responsible, treaties may be concluded with them”, p. 966. Abi-Saab, ibid., p. 82. See e.g. Societé Française pour le Droit International, Colloque du Mans: Le sujet en droit international, (Paris: Pedone, 2005). For an introduction to the debate as to whether non-State actors should ﬁt in a theory of international relations see A. Weenink, ‘The Relevance of Being Important or the Importance of Being Relevant? State and Non-State Actors in International Relations Theory’, in: B. Arts, M. Noortmann, and B. Reinalda (eds.), Non-State Actors in International Relations, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), pp. 59–76.

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Let us step back and consider whether the rules for determining whether an entity has become a ‘subject’ with ‘status’ under international law are coherent or helpful. We can see straight away that the rules of the game are selfconsciously subjective. The 1920 edition of a well known treatise on international law introduces the topic in this way: The conception of International Persons is derived from the conception of the Law of Nations. As this law is the body of rules which the civilised States consider legally binding in their intercourse, every State which belongs to the civilised States, and is, therefore, a member of the Family of Nations, is an International Person. And since now the Family of Nations has become an organised community under the name of the League of Nations with distinctive international rights and duties of its own, the League of Nations is an International Person sui generis besides the several States. But apart from the League of Nations, sovereign States exclusively are International Persons – i.e. subjects of International Law.7

Everything turns on the conception that one has of the Law of Nations. The same treatise was equally dogmatic about the meaning of the Law of Nations: “The Law of Nations is a law for the intercourse of States with one another, not a law for individuals. As, however, there cannot be a sovereign authority above the several sovereign States, the law of nations is a law between, not above, the several States, and is therefore, since Bentham, also called ‘International Law.”8 This view of international law has not gone unchallenged, even at that time. Brierly, in his quest to reduce the focus on the state, and emphasize the rights and obligations of individuals that make up the state, attacked the doctrine which sought to exclude other actors from subjectivity and played with the concept of personality: Even the state, great and powerful institution as it is, can never express more than a part of our personalities, only that part which ﬁnds expression in the purpose or purposes for which the state exists; and however important these purposes may be, however true it may be that they are in a sense the prerequisite condition of other human activities in a society, they never embrace the whole of our lives.9

Brierly foresaw other entities becoming subjects of international law, just as “the law of any state has for its subjects both individuals and institutions”.10

7

8 9

10

L. Oppenheim, International Law: A Treatise, R. F. Roxburgh (ed.), (London: Longmans, 3rd edn., 1920), p. 125. Ibid., p. 2 (footnote omitted). J. L. Brierly, ‘The Basis of Obligation in International Law’, in: H. Lauterpacht and C. H. M. Waldock (eds.), The Basis of Obligation in International Law and other Papers by the Late James Leslie Brierly, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1958) 1–67, p. 51; English version of a course originally delivered at the Hague Academy of International Law in 1928 ‘Le Fondement du caractère obligatoire du droit international’, 23 Recueil des Cours (1928) (iii). Brierly ibid., p. 52.

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Personality is a central concept in domestic legal systems allowing judges to know whether an entity exists for the purposes of the national legal system, and each system may have its own particularities (“Rights have been ascribed to white elephants in Siam and cats in Egypt.”).11 By contrast international law has doctrinal ﬁlters for determining personality/subjectivity. The list of subjects of international law is determined by the text-book writers and not by any authoritative decision making body. Even if bodies such as the International Court of Justice and the International Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia have pronounced on the topics of subjectivity and personality, this can only represent an ad hoc declaration of the situation rather than a constitutive act creating personality. A ﬁrst port of call for anyone seeking to understand the doctrine surrounding the notion of international legal ‘subjectivity’ is the crucial step taken by the International Court of Justice in the Reparations for Injuries Opinion. The Court was concerned with the question whether the UN, as an organization, had the capacity to bring an international claim against a state where an agent of the UN suﬀered injuries in circumstances involving the responsibility of that state. The background to the request for the Advisory Opinion was the killing of the UN’s Chief negotiator for Palestine, Count Bernadotte. An important aspect of the Opinion is that it speciﬁcally dealt with the objective personality of the UN vis-à-vis a non-member state (the reparations were being sought against Israel, not at that time a member of the UN). The Court came to the conclusion that “the Organization is an international person.”12 The Court explained that this meant that: “it is a subject of international law and capable of possessing international rights and duties, and that it has the capacity to maintain its rights by bringing international claims.”13 As Ian Brownlie points out, the deﬁnition of a subject of international law as “an entity capable of possessing international rights and duties and having capacity to maintain its rights by bringing international claims” is circular.14 International law recognizes the capacity to act at the international level of an entity that is already capable of acting at the international level. As Klabbers concludes: “After all is said and done, personality in international law, like ‘subjectivity’, is but a descriptive notion: useful to describe a state of aﬀairs, but normatively empty, as neither rights nor obligations ﬂow automati-

11

12

13 14

O. H. Phillips, A First Book of English Law, (London: Sweet and Maxwell, 2nd edn., 1953), p. 252. Reparations for injuries suﬀered in the service of the United Nations, ICJ Reports 1949, 174, p. 179. Ibid. I. Brownlie, Principles of Public International Law, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 6th edn., 2003), p. 57.

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cally from a grant of personality.”15 Might we therefore liberate ourselves from the constraints of talking about subjectivity and personality and focus instead on capacity? For Daniel O’Connell: Capacity implies personality, but always it is capacity to do those particular acts. Therefore ‘personality’ as a term is only shorthand for the proposition that an entity is endowed by international law with legal capacity. But entity A may have capacity to perform acts X and Y, but not act Z, entity B to perform acts Y and Z but not act X, and entity C to perform all three. ‘Personality’ is not, therefore, a synonym for capacity to perform acts X, Y and Z; it is an index, not of capacity per se, but of speciﬁc and diﬀerent capacities.16

O’ Connell asked us to admit that there are entities which do not enjoy all the capacities that states do under international law. From here he separated out capacity and personality. So a State may have the capacity to do acts X, Y and Z, the United Nations to do acts Y and Z, the International Labour Organisation to do act X, and the human being to do acts X and Y. All four entities have capacities. To deny that all three have personality is to argue that only entities with all capacities are persons, an argument that removes all meaning from the term ‘personality.’ This was the error of generations of international lawyers who asserted that ‘States only are the subjects of international law.’17

O’Connell’s framing of the issue allows us to imagine a matrix with various actors, including the UN and other international organizations, on the vertical axis and diﬀerent international capacities on the horizontal axis. It is only a short jump from here to imagining that such international organizations may have, not only the capacity to enjoy rights and obligations, but also actually be held accountable for failure to fulﬁl those obligations they have been subjected to. While the capacity to make claims has generated considerable theoretical interest, less attention has been paid to the general question of the capacity to fulﬁl obligations, and indeed, what those obligations might be. In 1980, the International Court of Justice recalled its earlier Opinion regarding reparations to the UN, and in a separate Advisory Opinion stated: there is nothing in the character of international organizations to justify their being considered as some form of ‘super-State’ . . . International organizations are

15

16

17

An Introduction to International Institutional Law, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 57. See also R. Higgins, Problems and Process: International Law and How We Use It (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994) who gave us the metaphor of being captives to the doctrine: ‘We have erected an intellectual prison of our own choosing and then declared it to be an unalterable constraint.’ Art. p. 49. D. P. O’Connell, International Law, Vol. 1 (London: Stevens and Sons, 2nd edn., 1970), pp. 81–2. Ibid., p. 82.

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Chapter 3 subjects of international law and, as such, are bound by any obligations incumbent upon them under general rules of international law, under their constitutions or under agreements to which they are parties.18

In this case the Court found that there were obligations on the World Health Organisation (WHO) to give a reasonable period of notice to Egypt for the termination of the existing arrangement. Additionally, the WHO and Egypt were to consult together in good faith regarding a transfer of the regional oﬃce of the organisation.19 This Opinion was given in the context of host state agreements; what might be wider scope of such ‘general rules of international law’? And in the context of the present contribution, might these extend to human rights obligations when the UN is engaged in peace operations? Amerisinghe suggests that “[g]enerally, organizations have been found at fault in connection with damage resulting from conduct of their servants or agents or persons or groups under their control, such as armed forces.”20 Amerasinghe goes on to consider what might be the positive obligations of an organisation such as the UN. “There is no reason why, where necessary, analogies should not be borrowed from the principles of imputability applied in the customary law of state responsibility, particularly, for injuries to aliens.”21 The work of the International Law Commission’s Special Rapporteur with regard to diplomatic protection, John Dugard, suggests that the traditional substantive standards on injuries to aliens have been overtaken by the customary international law of human rights.22 The eventual draft article is clear that dip-

18

19 20

21

22

Interpretation of the Agreement of 25 March 1951 Between the WHO and Egypt, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1980, p. 73, pp. 89–90. Ibid., pp. 95–6. C. F. Amerasinghe, Principles of the Institutional Law of International Organizations, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 241. See also the International Court of Justice’s Advisory Opinion on Diﬀerence Relating to Immunity from Legal Process of a Special Rapporteur of the Commission on Human Rights, 29 April 1999, para. 66. Amerasinghe, Ibid., p. 241. For the substantive obligations of states towards aliens under international law and the inﬂuence of human rights law with regard to the right to life, liberty and security of the person, the right not to be subjected to cruel inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment, the right to be free from arbitrary arrest, detention and expulsion, and the right to property see R. B. Lillich, ‘Duties of States Regarding the Civil Rights of Aliens’, Vol. 161 Collected Courses of the Hague Academy of International Law, Alphen aan den Rijn: Sijthoﬀ and Noordhoﬀ (1980) 329–442. See ‘First report on diplomatic protection’, UN Doc. A/CN.4/506, 7 March 2000, para. 32: “Contemporary international human rights law accords to nationals and aliens the same protection, which far exceeds the international minimum standard of treatment for aliens set by Western Powers in an earlier era.” For an overview of some of the traditional categories of “nonwealth” claims see Yates, who splits such claims into ‘nonwar’ and ‘war’ claims. Nonwar claims are further divided into personal injury and death, denial of justice, failure to protect,

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lomatic protection lies for any injury to an alien arising from an internationally wrongful act by the state concerned.23 Dugard was aware that an analogy can be drawn in this context with internationally wrongful acts committed by international organizations, but suggested that the matter be better dealt with in the context of responsibility of international organizations. He nevertheless drafted a savings clause which read: “These articles are without prejudice to the right of a state to exercise diplomatic protection against an international organization.”24 The draft articles transmitted to the UN General Assembly contained no such savings clause. Therefore we have no lingering implication that international organizations owe state-like obligations to individuals that are harmed by their actions. The similar subjectivity of states and international organizations remains an abstract point, duties are to be addressed not in the context of diplomatic protection, but rather, it seems in the context of rules of attribution. This too will of course give us an unsatisfactory result because the rules of attribution are unlikely to address the substantive obligations owed by the international organization in question. But looking at the rules on attribution may suggest ways of better understanding topics which are at the heart Vera Gowlland’s interests in “the role of the UN in the present international legal system”,25 and challenging the “premise that security concerns must prevail over longer-term considerations of justice”.26

23

24

25

26

and expulsion. War claims are divided into internment, forced military service, maltreatment of prisoners of war, other personal injury and death claims, and miscellaneous claims resulting in ex gratia payments. G. T. Yates, ‘State Responsibility for Nonwealth Injuries to Aliens in the Postwar Era’, in R. B. Lillich (ed.), International Law of State Responsibility for Injuries to Aliens, (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1983), pp. 213–279. “For the purposes of the present draft articles, diplomatic protection consists of the invocation by a State, through diplomatic action or other means of peaceful settlement, of the responsibility of another State for an injury caused by an internationally wrongful act of that State to a natural or legal person that is a national of the former State with a view to the implementation of such responsibility.” A/RES/62/67, 8 January 2008, Annex. ‘Fifth report on diplomatic protection’, UN Doc. A/CN.4/538, 4 March 2004, draft Article 24, discussed at paras 19–20. This article was not retained by the Drafting Committee; see UN Doc. A/CN.4/L.647, 24 May 2004. Cf. V. Gowlland-Debbas, ‘Security Council Enforcement Action and Issues of State Responsibility’, 43 International and Comparative Law Quarterly, 1994, 55–98, p. 55. V. Gowlland-Debbas, ‘The Functions of the United Nations Security Council in the International Legal System’, in: M. Byers, (ed.), The Role of Law in International Politics: Essays in International Relations and International Law, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 277–313, p. 313.

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2. Attribution of Conduct to an International Organization At the time of writing the International Law Commission is still ﬁne-tuning its draft articles on the responsibility of international organizations. Two draft articles read currently as follows:27 Article 4 General rule on attribution of conduct to an international organization 1. The conduct of an organ or agent of an international organization in the performance of functions of that organ or agent shall be considered as an act of that organization under international law whatever position the organ or agent holds in respect of the organization. 2. For the purposes of paragraph 1, the term ‘agent’ includes oﬃcials and other persons or entities through whom the organization acts. 3. Rules of the organization shall apply to the determination of the functions of its organs and agents. 4. For the purpose of the present draft article, ‘rules of the organization’ means, in particular: the constituent instruments; decisions, resolutions and other acts taken by the organization in accordance with those instruments; and established practice of the organization. Article 5 Conduct of organs or agents placed at the disposal of an international organization by a State or another international organization The conduct of an organ of a State or an organ or agent of an international organization that is placed at the disposal of another international organization shall be considered under international law an act of the latter organization if the organization exercises eﬀective control over that conduct.

These draft articles are now central to a debate on how to protect human rights in the context of multinational peace operations. This is a vast topic, and I propose to simply address the issue with broad brush strokes. The issue arose most recently in the context of the applications brought by Agim and Bekir Behrami and Ruzhdi Sarnmati in the European Court of Human Rights.28 These applications were brought by the Behramis against France and by Saramati against France, Germany and Norway. The complaints relate to events which took place in Kosovo. The question of whether these acts were attributable to the

27 28

See the report of the ILC, UN Doc. A/59/10, p. 99. See decision of 2 May 2007. For critical appraisals of the decision see A. Sari, ‘Jurisdiction and International Responsibility in Peace Support Operations: The Behrami and Saramati Cases’, 8 Human Rights Law Review, 1, 2008, 151–70; P. Bodeau-Livinec, G. P. Buzzini, and S. Villalpando, ‘Agim Behrami & Bekir Behrami v. France; Ruzhdi Saramati v. France, Germany & Norway; Joined App. Nos. 71412/01 & 78166/01’, 102 AJIL, 2008, 323–31; and M. Milanovic and T. Papic ‘As Bad as it Gets: The European Court of Human Rights’ Behrami and Saramati Decision and General International Law’, 58 International and Comparative Law Quarterly, 2009.

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relevant states or to an international organization arose before the Court. In other words we are faced with the attribution of attribution. The complaint of the Behramis concerned the right to life under Article 2 of the European Convention on Human Rights. The facts with regard to the Behramis were explained by the Court as follows: On 11 March 2000 eight boys were playing in the hills in the municipality of Mitrovica. The group included two of Agim Behrami’s sons, Gadaf and Bekim Behrami. At around midday, the group came upon a number of undetonated cluster bomb units (‘CBUs’) which had been dropped during the bombardment by NATO in 1999 and the children began playing with the CBUs. Believing it was safe, one of the children threw a CBU in the air: it detonated and killed Gadaf Behrami. Bekim Behrami was also seriously injured and taken to hospital in Pristina (where he later had eye surgery and was released on 4 April 2000). Medical reports submitted indicate that he underwent two further eye operations (on 7 April and 22 May 2000) in a hospital in Bern, Switzerland. It is not disputed that Bekim Behrami was disﬁgured and is now blind. UNMIK police investigated. They took witness statements from, inter alia, the boys involved in the incident and completed an initial report. Further investigation reports dated 11, 12 and 13 March 2000 indicated, inter alia, that UNMIK police could not access the site without KFOR agreement; reported that a French KFOR oﬃcer had accepted that KFOR had been aware of the unexploded CBUs for months but that they were not a high priority; and pointed out that the detonation site had been marked out by KFOR the day after the detonation.29

With regard to Saramanti the key facts were as follows: On 24 April 2001 Mr Saramati was arrested by UNMIK police and brought before an investigating judge on suspicion of attempted murder and illegal possession of a weapon. On 25 April 2001 that judge ordered his pre-trial detention and an investigation into those and additional charges. On 23 May 2001 a prosecutor ﬁled an indictment and on 24 May 2001 the District Court ordered his detention to be extended. On 4 June 2001 the Supreme Court allowed Mr Saramati’s appeal and he was released. In early July 2001 UNMIK police informed him by telephone that he had to report to the police station to collect his money and belongings. The station was located in Prizren in the sector assigned to MNB Southeast, of which the lead nation was Germany. On 13 July 2001 he so reported and was arrested by UNMIK police oﬃcers by order of the Commander of KFOR (‘COMKFOR’), who was a Norwegian oﬃcer at the time . . . On 26 July 2001, and in response to a letter from Mr Saramati’s representatives taking issue with the legality of his detention, KFOR Legal Adviser advised that KFOR had the authority to detain under the UNSC Resolution 1244 as it was necessary ‘to maintain a safe and secure environment’ and to protect KFOR troops. KFOR had information concerning Mr Saramati’s alleged involvement

29

Paras. 5–6.

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Chapter 3 with armed groups operating in the border region between Kosovo and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia and was satisﬁed that Mr Saramati represented a threat to the security of KFOR and to those residing in Kosovo . . . During each trial hearing from 17 September 2001 to 23 January 2002 Mr Saramati’s representatives requested his release and the trial court responded that, although the Supreme Court had so ruled in June 2001, his detention was entirely the responsibility of KFOR. On 3 October 2001 a French General was appointed to the position of COMKFOR. On 23 January 2002 Mr Saramati was convicted of attempted murder under Article 30 § 2(6) of the Criminal Code of Kosovo in conjunction with Article 19 of the Criminal Code of the FRY. He was acquitted on certain charges and certain charges were either rejected or dropped. Mr Saramati was transferred by KFOR to the UNMIK detention facilities in Prishtina. On 9 October 2002 the Supreme Court of Kosovo quashed Mr Saramati’s conviction and his case was sent for re-trial. His release from detention was ordered. A re-trial has yet to be ﬁxed.

The complaint concerned Articles, 5, 13 and 6 of the European Convention on Human Rights. The Court engaged in a detailed examination of the respective responsibilities of UNMIK and KFOR and concluded “that issuing detention orders fell within the security mandate of KFOR and that the supervision of de-mining fell within UNMIK’s mandate.”30 This is not the place to discuss whether these determinations were correct. The interesting points are yet to come. The Court then engaged in a discussion of the delegation of limited powers by the Security Council under Chapter VII of the UN Charter (referencing among others Vera Gowlland).31 The Court seems to start from the idea that the Security Council should have limited powers of delegation in order to show that, in this case, KFOR’s ‘impugned action was, in principle, “attributable” to the UN’.32 It is worth looking at what Vera Gowlland was arguing in the article referenced by the Court. Her concern was as follows:33 resolutions authorizing ‘the use of all necessary means’ (which undoubtedly refers to the use of military force) imply a wide margin of discretion on the part of those called on to implement them, e.g. in determining when the circumstances calling for a use of force have arisen. Moreover, in practice the limited forms of accountability introduced into the resolutions have proven inadequate and the Security

30 31

32 33

At para 127. V. Gowlland-Debbas, ‘The limits of unilateral enforcement of community objectives in the framework of UN peace maintenance’, 11 EJIL, 2, 2000, 361–83. Para 141. V. Gowlland-Debbas, supra note 31, p. 369 (footnotes omitted).

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Council has in a number of cases lost control over the military action under way, particularly in situations where forces ﬂy their own ﬂags and ensure their own command, or in the case of UN/NATO dual command. It is understandable, therefore, that member states have treated such a delegation of the Council’s powers to individual actors with extreme caution and that they have made numerous eﬀorts to circumscribe Council authorizations, consistently insisting that the Council retain a degree of authority and control over such operations and avoid providing ‘a blank cheque for excessive and indiscriminate use of force’.

Gowlland’s focus is on the need to limit the delegation to the member states all the time, admitting that the Security Council has in the past ‘lost control’. It is odd that this approach is invoked to argue that the acts of KFOR should be attributed to the UN due to the need to ensure limited delegation of powers. The eﬀective control test, so central to the rules of attribution, was given limited attention. Perhaps the explanation lies in the policy arguments alluded to by the Court later in the decision; these are worth quoting at length in order to get a feel for the Court’s policy preferences. Of even greater signiﬁcance is the imperative nature of the principle [sic] aim of the UN and, consequently, of the powers accorded to the UNSC under Chapter VII to fulﬁl that aim. In particular, it is evident from the Preamble, Articles 1, 2 and 24 as well as Chapter VII of the Charter that the primary objective of the UN is the maintenance of international peace and security. While it is equally clear that ensuring respect for human rights represents an important contribution to achieving international peace (see the Preamble to the Convention), the fact remains that the UNSC has primary responsibility, as well as extensive means under Chapter VII, to fulﬁl this objective, notably through the use of coercive measures. The responsibility of the UNSC in this respect is unique and has evolved as a counterpart to the prohibition, now customary international law, on the unilateral use of force (see paragraphs 18–20 above). In the present case, Chapter VII allowed the UNSC to adopt coercive measures in reaction to an identiﬁed conﬂict considered to threaten peace, namely UNSC Resolution 1244 establishing UNMIK and KFOR. Since operations established by UNSC Resolutions under Chapter VII of the UN Charter are fundamental to the mission of the UN to secure international peace and security and since they rely for their eﬀectiveness on support from member states, the Convention cannot be interpreted in a manner which would subject the acts and omissions of Contracting Parties which are covered by UNSC Resolutions and occur prior to or in the course of such missions, to the scrutiny of the Court. To do so would be to interfere with the fulﬁlment of the UN’s key mission in this ﬁeld including, as argued by certain parties, with the eﬀective conduct of its operations. It would also be tantamount to imposing conditions on the implementation of a UNSC Resolution which were not provided for in the text of the Resolution itself. This reasoning equally applies to voluntary acts of the respondent States such as the vote of a permanent member of the UNSC in favour of the relevant Chapter VII Resolution and the contribution of troops to the security mission: such acts may not have amounted to obligations ﬂowing from membership of the UN but they remained crucial to the eﬀective fulﬁlment

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Chapter 3 by the UNSC of its Chapter VII mandate and, consequently, by the UN of its imperative peace and security aim.34

This set of policy preferences, which allow a margin of deference to the UN Security Council when the spectre of working for peace and security is raised, suggest that we should not consider the reasoning concerning attribution in isolation. But it is worth thinking about what the Court did not consider in the context of attributing attribution. Whether or not the UN or NATO should have acts attributed to them, there is no reason that the acts should be solely attributable to such an organization. This issue has been the subject of discussion in the International Law Commission and is worth considering here. Let us ﬁrst refer to the Second Report of the ILC’s Special Rapporteur Giorgio Gaja: Should one assume that conduct could not be simultaneously attributed to a State and an international organization, the positive criteria for attributing conduct to a State would imply corresponding negative criteria with regard to attribution of the same conduct to an international organization. In many cases the question will in practice be whether a certain conduct should be attributed to one or, alternatively, to another subject of international law. However, conduct does not necessarily have to be attributed exclusively to one subject only. Thus, for instance, two States may establish a joint organ, whose conduct will generally have to be attributed to both States. Similarly, one could envisage cases in which conduct should be simultaneously attributed to an international organization and one or more of its members. A paradigmatic example is oﬀered by the bombing in 1999 of the territory of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. That military action gave rise to much discussion on the point whether conduct had to be attributed to an international organization or to some or all of its members. In relation to the bombing, several members of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) were sued before the International Court of Justice in the cases on Legality of use of force and before the European Court of Human Rights in Bankovic. In both venues some of the respondent States argued that conduct was to be attributed to NATO and not to themselves, as the claimants contended. While a discussion of this question would not be appropriate here, one may argue that attribution of conduct to an international organization does not necessarily exclude attribution of the same conduct to a State, nor does, vice versa, attribution to a State rule out attribution to an international organization. Thus, one envisageable solution would be for the relevant conduct to be attributed both to NATO and to one or more of its member States, for instance because those States contributed to planning the military action or to carrying it out.35

34 35

Paras 148–9. UN Doc. A/CN.4/541, 2 April 2004, paras 6–7 (footnotes omitted).

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Gaja includes in a footnote the following aside: “[i]t is noteworthy in this context that the claim of the Government of China in relation to the bombing of China’s embassy in Belgrade on 7 May 1999 was settled through a bilateral agreement between China and the United States.” The ILC’s Commentary to Article 5 of the Draft Articles (quoted in part by the Court) is also worth recalling here: Practice relating to peacekeeping forces is particularly signiﬁcant in the present context because of the control that the contributing State retains over disciplinary matters and criminal aﬀairs. This may have consequences with regard to attribution of conduct. For instance, the Oﬃce of Legal Aﬀairs of the United Nations took the following line with regard to compliance with obligations under the 1973 Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora: Since the Convention places the responsibility for enforcing its provisions on the States parties and since the troop-contributing States retain jurisdiction over the criminal acts of their military personnel, the responsibility for enforcing the provisions of the Convention rests with those troop-contributing States which are parties to the Convention. Attribution of conduct to the contributing State is clearly linked with the retention of some powers by that State over its national contingent and thus on the control that the State possesses in the relevant respect.36

Bearing in mind that there is no particular recourse before the Security Council for the alleged human rights violations apparently attributable to the UN in this context, it would seem worth considering that some acts involving human rights violations might be simultaneously attributable to the UN and the relevant Council of Europe member state before the European Court of Human Rights. It seems strange that member states can avoid accountability when they have authorization from the UN, and then by suggesting that the UN must be in eﬀective control, as it would be foolish to delegate all authority, all the acts of the state’s agents are exclusively attributable to the unaccountable authorizing authority. I would like to end by recalling some of the original thinking behind the concept of complementarity.37

3. Revisiting Complementarity When Niels Bohr, the Danish theoretical physicist, announced the complementarity principle in the 1920s, he was explaining that, in order to have complete

36 37

UN Doc A/59/10, pp. 112–3; para. 6 of the Commentary to draft Article 5. Adapted from Human Rights Obligations of Non-State Actors, supra note 1, Ch 12.3.

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knowledge of a phenomenon at the atomic level, one needs a description of both the wave and the particle properties of phenomena such as light and electrons. Scientists were confused by the fact that they viewed the phenomenon under examination either as waves or as particles depending on the experimental equipment used. The complementarity concept reminds us that the observation of an event depends on both the observer and the viewing apparatus. Complementarity allows us to see the multiplicity of actors involved in a human rights infringement. The act may give rise to responsibility for a state, an individual and an organization. The jurisdictional ﬁlter of an international or national court may blinker us from seeing the multiple overlapping layers of responsibility. A single act of genocide could give rise to individual criminal responsibility under customary international law. The act may also be attributable to an organization. In addition, where the act is attributable to a state, there may be state responsibility under both customary international law and the Genocide Convention of 1948. State responsibility may arise because the behaviour of a state oﬃcial is attributable to the state in question, or it could be that the state is accused of failing through omission to fulﬁl its positive obligations to protect someone within its jurisdiction, or to prosecute the alleged perpetrator. In short, international law provides that a single event can generate multiple violations by a range of actors. Detecting state responsibility or individual criminal responsibility does not foreclose the possibility that there have also been violations of international law by other entities. Likewise attributing responsibility to an international organization should not blind us to the possibility that other entities might also be attributed their own amount of blame.

Chapter 4 La désuétude de l’article 26 de la Charte des Nations Unies, expression de l’échec du système onusien Monique Chemillier-Gendreau*

Inclus dans le chapitre V de la Charte des Nations Unies, celui relatif au Conseil de sécurité, l’article 26 se lit comme suit : « Aﬁn de favoriser l’établissement et le maintien de la paix et de la sécurité internationales en ne détournant vers les armements que le minimum des ressources humaines et économiques du monde, le Conseil de sécurité est chargé avec l’assistance du Comité d’étatmajor prévu à l’article 47, d’élaborer des plans qui seront soumis aux membres de l’organisation en vue d’établir un système de réglementation des armements ». Mais depuis l’adoption de la Charte, cette disposition est restée lettre morte et jamais le Conseil ne s’est employé à l’appliquer. On ne peut en eﬀet, considérer comme entrant dans les plans généraux de réglementation des armements prévus à l’article 26, les cas d’embargos sur les armes qui ont été parfois décidés par le Conseil, car ils l’ont été en vertu de l’article 39, c’est-à-dire dans le cadre du Chapitre VII de la Charte.1 Aussi y a-t-il eu carence de la part du Conseil de sécurité au sujet de l’indispensable « réglementation » des armements. Et cette carence a permis le développement sans frein de l’industrie militaire, en sorte que la plupart des économies nationales sont aujourd’hui des économies militarisées. Sans doute, de multiples initiatives ont-elles été prises pour que les États s’engagent par traités à accepter l’interdiction de certaines armes. Mais l’instrument conventionnel est inadapté à parvenir à des règles générales et obligatoires pour tous. La permissivité a ainsi conduit à un développement spectaculaire de la production et de la circulation des armes, et cela aussi bien pour les armes légères que pour les armes lourdes,

* Professeur émérite à l’Université Paris VII (Denis Diderot). 1 Le Conseil de sécurité a décidé à plusieurs reprises des mesures d’embargos sur les armes. Le plus souvent, cela consistait en des mesures d’interdiction des exportations vers les pays visés (par exemple Rhodésie ou Irak). Plus récemment, il y a eu interdiction d’importer des armes en provenance de l’Iran (Résolution 1747 du 24 mars 2007).

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sans compter la prolifération nucléaire. Un bilan rapide des conséquences factuelles de la non-application de l’article 26 s’impose en début d’analyse. Cette situation n’est pas seulement le résultat des conditions politiques qui ont marqué la société internationale depuis la ﬁn de la deuxième guerre mondiale, notamment avec la guerre froide. D’ailleurs, la ﬁn de celle-ci aux débuts des années quatre vingt dix n’a provoqué qu’un très court répit et les dividendes de la paix se sont envolés rapidement. En réalité, le germe était dans les termes mêmes de l’article 26. Il y a eu, dès la gestation des Nations Unies, une démission des auteurs de la Charte sur ce point et une régression par rapport aux tentatives du Pacte de la Société des Nations. Cela forme un second élément à examiner ici. Mais il n’est pas possible d’étudier la question de la réglementation des armements en l’isolant de l’ensemble des objectifs de l’Organisation universelle. Le fait que le Conseil de sécurité n’ait pas pris en compte, et cela dès la création des Nations Unies, le mandat qui lui était conﬁé par l’article 26, peut être analysé comme l’annonce d’un avortement programmé (lequel a eu lieu) du projet de maintien de la paix et de sécurité collective. Les paix armées dans l’histoire ont toujours été grosses de guerres dont la violence a été à la mesure des armements accumulés. Un troisième point consistera donc à examiner comment tout changement dans la situation très dangereuse dans laquelle le monde actuel est engagé est conditionné, non pas simplement à un retour à l’application de l’article 26 de la Charte, mais aussi à une nouvelle pensée de la paix liée au développement et aux droits de l’homme, mais aussi à l’avancée indispensable de la communauté politique mondiale.

1. Faute de réglementation, les industries militaires et le commerce de leurs produits (autorisé ou illégal), se développent sans frein juridique dans un monde ouvert Les études, nationales ou internationales, ne manquent pas sur ce sujet.2 Dans le dernier rapport de l’Institut international de la recherche pour la paix de Stockholm, rendu public le 9 juin 2008, des données globales ou détaillées permettent une vision assez complète de la situation. Les dépenses militaires dans le monde ont progressé de 6% en 2007 par rapport à l’année précédente. Mais sur 10 ans, c’est-à-dire depuis 1998, l’augmentation est de 45%. Les auteurs du rapport soulignent l’inquiétude qu’une telle situation doit susciter et l’échec qu’elle révèle.

2

On se référera principalement ici aux publications de l’Institut international de recherche pour la paix de Stockholm (Sipri), notamment The Sipri Yearbook 2008.

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Ces dépenses internationales ont atteint globalement la somme de 1 339 milliards de dollars, ce qui correspond à 2,5% du PIB mondial, soit environ 202 dollars par habitant de la planète. La part des Etats-Unis représente 45% du total, soit un montant de 541 milliards de dollars, avec une augmentation de 3,4% de plus que l’année précédente. La Grande-Bretagne occupe la deuxième position, suivie de la Chine, puis de la France. L’Europe de l’Est, en tant que région, a connu en un an une progression de 15%. La Russie, incluse dans ce groupe, représente à elle seule 86% de cette augmentation. Au cours de la décennie étudiée, on retrouve l’Europe de l’Est comme région où s’est produite la plus forte progression (162% en 10 ans). L’Amérique du Nord connaît un développement de 65% (avec un accroissement particulier depuis 2001, dû aux guerres d’Irak et d’Afghanistan), le Moyen-Orient de 62%, l’Asie du Sud de 57%, l’Asie du Sud-Est de 51%, chiﬀre qui est aussi celui de l’Afrique. Notons que la Chine a triplé ses dépenses en une décennie, mais la croissance de son économie a été si forte jusqu’à la récente crise que ses dépenses militaires ne représentent que 2,1% de son PIB. L’Europe de l’Ouest, en revanche, connaît l’évolution des dépenses militaires la plus faible avec un accroissement sur les 10 années de seulement 6%. Les huit puissances nucléaires mondiales (États-Unis, Grande-Bretagne, France, Chine, Russie, Inde et Pakistan, auxquels il faut ajouter Israël qui ne se cache plus d’avoir l’arme nucléaire sans que cela ait été négocié et accordé par les instances internationales) possèdent ensemble, selon les informations du début 2008, 25000 ogives nucléaires. Toutes ces ogives ne sont pas activées, mais une partie d’entre elles (10200) le sont. La Russie disposait de 5189 ogives opérationnelles en janvier dernier, contre 4075 pour les Etats-Unis. Ces deux pays sont ceux qui développent la recherche militaire la plus active. Un tournant a été pris en 2008 par l’initiative du Président américain, Barak Obama d’ouvrir des négociations avec la Russie sur le désarmement nucléaire. Mais cette ouverture, très courageuse, bute sur la culture du tout militaire encouragée depuis des décennies au sein de toutes les sociétés. Ces arsenaux bien remplis ne sont pas là à titre décoratif. En 2007, 14 conﬂits armés importants étaient en cours et 61 opérations de paix étaient menées dans le monde. Ce tableau doit être nuancé et complété car on assiste à une fragmentation de la violence, de même qu’il y a diversiﬁcation des acteurs, nombre des conﬂits n’étant pas interétatiques, mais mêlant des États et des acteurs non-étatiques, comme cela est le cas dans les phénomènes que l’on nomme de manière bien imprécise « terrorisme ». Les distinctions entre catégories de violences sont de plus en plus ﬂoues. Des conﬂits, extrêmement meurtriers (comme celui du Rwanda en 1994) peuvent se dérouler avec des armes rudimentaires. D’autres sont marqués par une profonde asymétrie entre les protagonistes, les uns menant leurs guerres par opérations aériennes peu coûteuses pour eux en vies humaines, alors qu’elles le sont pour leurs adversaires et que ceux-ci répondent parfois par des attentats-kamikazes.

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L’absence de réglementation laisse ainsi libre cours à la production au sein de chaque État, sans distinction entre la production par les arsenaux publics ou par les industries privées. L’importance de l’industrie militaire dans l’économie d’un pays, lorsque cette industrie est couplée à un fort chômage ou à une menace de chômage grandissant, entraîne une complicité tacite entre les syndicats d’une part (y compris ceux qui se situent à gauche et sont liés à des partis politiques favorables à la paix) et les industriels et le gouvernement d’autre part et fait du désarmement ou de la réglementation des armements, une question taboue.3 Il est assez remarquable de constater à quel point cette question est évitée dans les campagnes électorales, notamment celles des États les plus militarisés. Dès lors que l’industrie d’un pays est orientée fortement vers la production militaire, l’ambition des producteurs, mais aussi celle des gouvernants, est de trouver les débouchés commerciaux qui assureront la pérennité et la croissance des entreprises. Les responsables politiques se transforment alors facilement en représentants de commerce des marchands d’armes et les industriels de l’armement sont, avec l’approbation générale, invités à accompagner les principales délégations oﬃcielles à l’étranger. Le Conseil de sécurité ne s’est pas davantage préoccupé de réglementer sérieusement le commerce des armes qu’il ne l’a fait pour la production. Ce contrôle est considéré comme un attribut discrétionnaire de l’État dans l’exercice de sa souveraineté et cela au nom de la sécurité et du droit à la légitime défense de chacun.4 Du point de vue du commerce, il faut, évidemment, distinguer les armes dites de destruction massive (nucléaires, chimiques ou bactériologiques) des autres catégories d’armes. Les premières ne font pas l’objet d’un commerce oﬃciel, mais seulement d’éventuels traﬁcs criminels. Les autres sont dans le commerce, mais avec un encadrement public de chaque État en fonction de ses intérêts stratégiques et économiques. Il s’agit d’un marché très important. Le volume mondial des transferts d’armements qui s’était réduit entre 1987 et 2002, a augmenté de nouveau pour s’établir à un niveau moyen annuel situé entre 45 et 55 milliards d’euros. Ce marché est doublé par un important marché de l’occasion. Les armes sont soumises en principe aux règles générales du commerce international. Toutefois, depuis la mise en œuvre des mécanismes du GATT jusqu’aux règles actuelles de l’OMC, les armes sont l’objet d’exceptions au libre échange au titre de la sécurité des États. Mais chaque État est maître des réglementations

3

4

La pièce de théâtre de Joël Pommerat intitulée ‘Les marchands’ illustre ce tabou avec une grande force. Voir G. Bastid-Burdeau ‘Le commerce international des armes : de la sécurité à la défense de l’éthique et des droits de l’homme’, 2 JDI, 2007, 413 et s.

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concernant les matériels militaires (sauf cas d’embargo décidé par le Conseil de sécurité). Il est donc important de souligner ici le silence du Conseil de sécurité par rapport à l’article 26 de la Charte. L’organe principal des Nations Unies n’a réglementé ni la production des armes, ni leur commerce. Ainsi, ce commerce s’est-il développé en entraînant une corruption particulièrement importante étant donné la nature des enjeux et le montant des transactions.5 Néanmoins, depuis quelques années, de nouvelles considérations apparaissent dans ce secteur, bien qu’elles aient peu de conséquences normatives dotées d’efﬁcacité. Il s’agit des préoccupations relatives aux droits de l’homme et au droit humanitaire. Elles ont eu pour eﬀet l’apparition d’un discours relatif à l’éthique. Cela n’a toutefois pas encore de conséquences sur le plan judiciaire. Certains plaideurs ont tenté en vain d’obtenir que des contrats de ventes d’armes soient sanctionnés comme contraires à la morale, mais les tribunaux français y ont opposé l’argument des actes de gouvernement.6 Ainsi, les États étaient-ils à l’abri de toute confrontation de leur politique à la notion d’ordre public international. Et le Conseil de sécurité n’a pas tenté de leur imposer la moindre contrainte de ce point de vue. Mais, sous la pression d’organisations non gouvernementales, les choses ont commencé à évoluer, en sorte que la notion de sécurité se transforme peu à peu et englobe la protection de la personne humaine et les droits de l’homme. Et bien que, juridiquement, l’État reste maître des règles qui président au commerce des armes le concernant, il ne peut ignorer complètement l’usage qui sera fait de ces armes. Ce mouvement s’est traduit pour le moment par le développement de normes non contraignantes. Il y a eu un premier Code de conduite de l’Union Européenne en matière d’exportations d’armements adopté le 8 juin 1998 qui ﬁxait un certain nombre de critères relatifs aux conditions dans lesquelles pouvaient se faire les exportations d’armes. Plus récemment, le 10 décembre 2008, des modalités plus contraignantes ont été déﬁnies par les ministres européens des aﬀaires étrangères. Le mouvement semble en voie de s’universaliser puisque l’Assemblée générale des Nations Unies a considéré par une résolution du 6 décembre 2006 qu’il fallait remédier à l’absence de normes internationales communes pour l’exportation et le transfert des armes classiques et a recommandé l’élaboration d’un instrument juridiquement contraignant.7

5

6

7

En France, cette corruption apparaît de manière éclatante dans l’aﬀaire dire de l’‘Angolagate’. Voir : ‘Mieux qu’un polar : l’Angolagate’, Le Monde, 6 août 2008, 3. Cour d’Appel de Versailles, 13ème chambre, 22 mars 1990, SA Avions Marcel Dassault-Bréguet Aviation et Association européenne Droit contre raison d’État, Juris-data n°1991–600465. On en est loin cependant, ainsi qu’en témoigne l’intitulé d’un article récent : G. Boutherin, ‘Maîtrise des armements non conventionnels : le salut viendra-t-il du soft disarmament’, AFDI, 2007, 224 et s.

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Ainsi, des initiatives sont-elles prises, pour le moment, par d’autres organes que le Conseil de sécurité. Elles sont fortement inﬂuencées par la pression de l’opinion publique et des ONG et transitent par les organisations régionales les plus perméables à ces inﬂuences ou par certains organes des Nations Unies comme l’Assemblée générale. Elles produisent du droit mou (soft law), davantage propre à apaiser les consciences des citoyens inquiets qu’à atteindre le but pourtant déﬁni par la Charte, cette injonction à n’utiliser pour les armes que « le minimum des ressources humaines et économiques du monde ». De même, le Conseil a-t-il pris peu part, et même pas du tout, au développement des instruments tentant de limiter ou d’interdire certaines armes. En eﬀet, il serait faux de dire que le droit international ne présente aucune réglementation des armements. De nombreux traités, récents ou plus anciens, interdisent l’usage de certaines armes, ou le limitent. On n’en fera pas ici la liste. Mais on soulignera deux caractéristiques de cet ensemble normatif. D’une part, il ne s’agit pas de l’ensemble cohérent envisagé par la Charte et les négociations autour de ces traités ne sont jamais conditionnées par le double impératif résultant de l’article 26, à savoir que le Conseil de sécurité se charge lui-même de cette réglementation et que celle-ci ne détourne que le minimum des ressources économiques et humaines du monde. D’autre part, ces instruments, comme toutes les conventions internationales, sont de nature contractuelle et rien ne peut contraindre un État à y adhérer. On se trouve ainsi devant une « réglementation » à géométrie variable et l’usage des armes n’est pas interdit pour tous. L’exemple le plus récent, celui du traité limitant l’usage des bombes à sousmunitions, est éloquent à cet égard. En mai 2008, un texte a été élaboré à Dublin par lequel les États s’engagent à n‘employer, en aucune circonstance, d’armes à sous-munitions, ni à mettre au point, produire, acquérir de quelque manière, stocker, conserver ou transférer à quiconque, directement ou indirectement des armes à sous-munitions, ni encore à assister, encourager ou inciter quiconque à s’engager dans toute activité interdite à un État partie. Comment ne pas se réjouir de ce qui peut apparaître comme une avancée lorsque l’on sait que quelque 440 millions de bombes à sous-munitions ont été utilisées dans le monde depuis 1965 et que 29 pays ou territoires en sont encore gravement aﬀectés ? Ces bombes, lorsqu’elles n’explosent pas lors de leur impact, se transforment en fait en mines anti-personnel, lesquelles ont été interdites par la Convention d’Ottawa de 1997. Mais ni la sécurité, ni la paix ne sont garanties par ces conventions. À quoi sert que les États signataires se soient engagés à Ottawa à détruire leurs stocks, puisque les plus gros producteurs de mines anti-personnel (États-Unis, Russie, Chine) sont restés en dehors de cet accord et continuent d’en produire ? Et les bombes à sous-munitions continueront d’être produites et utilisées en dépit du fait que la Convention préparée à Dublin a été adoptée à Oslo le 3 décembre 2008 par une centaine d’États. Cela, parce que manquent à l’appel des États

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comme les États-Unis, la Russie, la Chine, Israël qui sont les plus importants parmi les producteurs et les utilisateurs ou exportateurs. Ainsi, le système mondial ne bénéﬁcie d’aucune réglementation correspondant aux critères ﬁxés par l’article 26 et de nature à garantir la paix.

2. La non application de l’article 26 trouve ses causes dans le contexte des années 50, mais aussi dans les intentions mêmes des rédacteurs de la charte Pudeur ou gène, les auteurs font peu de commentaires sur la spectaculaire désuétude de cette disposition de la Charte.8 Il ne fait pas de doute que cette chute dans l’oubli est liée à l’échec du mécanisme de sécurité collective et à la non-application de l’article 43 qui connut le même sort que l’article 26. Cette paralysie du système mis en place par les Nations Unies a d’abord été la conséquence de la guerre froide. Les alliés de la veille, États-Unis, Grande-Bretagne et France d’un côté, URSS de l’autre, unis pour mener à bien la guerre contre les Puissances de l’Axe, étaient redevenus dès les premières années d’existence des Nations Unies, des ennemis déclarés. La guerre entre eux, pour « froide » qu’on l’ait nommée, était surarmée et la rivalité militaire, mêlée d’un espionnage intense, paralysait à la fois la perspective d’accord sur les contingents militaires à mettre à la disposition du Conseil de sécurité (article 43) et l’élaboration de plans pour réglementer les armements (article 26). Mais l’explication par la guerre froide n’est pas seulement conjoncturelle. Les germes de cette hostilité étaient là bien avant la Seconde guerre mondiale. Les données étaient présentes à partir de la guerre de 14–18. Il y avait d’une part, l’hostilité indépassable entre le camp capitaliste et le camp communiste à partir de l’émergence de celui-ci et, d’autre part, l’exaspération de la concurrence et des ambitions impériales à l’intérieur même du camp capitaliste. Toutefois, ces éléments avaient abouti dans le Pacte de la SDN à une apparente volonté de désarmer, volonté plus explicite dans le Pacte que dans la Charte. Celle-ci constitue une régression, à la fois dans les termes et dans les intentions sur la question du contrôle et de la limitation des armements.

8

H. Gros Espiell, ‘Article 26’, in : J.-P. Cot, A. Pellet, et M. Forteau (dir.), La Charte des Nations Unies. Commentaire article par article, (Economica, 3ème édition, 2005), p. 919 et s. Celui-ci relève que la doctrine n’a pas prêté une attention particulière à l’article 26. Et il ajoute que certaines études ne le mentionnent même pas. Il cite des exemples signiﬁcatifs. On en ajoutera un autre avec le volume issu d’un colloque de la Société française de Droit International (Le droit international et les armes, Pedone, 1983) dans lequel, l’article 26 n’est pas discuté, comme s’il n’intervenait pas dans le sujet.

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La montée en puissance de l’industrie militaire (publique et privée) a été favorisée au XIXe siècle par la conjonction de développements technologiques et de la force du capitalisme industriel. Les responsables politiques de l’époque, qui ne combattent pas vraiment ces facteurs, n’en sont pas moins inquiets des conséquences éventuelles de cette situation. Cette inquiétude est à la source des Conférences de la paix. Lorsque fut réunie la première de ces Conférences à la Haye, en 1899, le désarmement ﬁgure parmi les objectifs. Mais la Commission sur les armements alors créée n’aboutira à rien et en 1907, par opposition de la Russie, les armements ne sont pas à l’ordre du jour. Pourtant, le constat est alors que les charges militaires s’accroissent dans tous les pays. À la ﬁn de la « Grande guerre », le climat est diﬀérent. L’horreur des combats et les premières utilisations d’armes chimiques (le « gaz moutarde ») vont engendrer un peu de sagesse, relative toutefois. Le Point 8 des Points du Président Wilson prévoit la « réduction des armements nationaux au minimum compatible avec la sécurité domestique ».9 La question est activée à propos du projet de Ligue des Nations. On évoque l’idée que le matériel de guerre ne doit plus être fabriqué par des entreprises privées et que des programmes d’armements nationaux publics doivent être établis et assortis de publicité. Ces débats conduiront aux dispositions du Traité de Versailles. Le désarmement (partiel) de l’Allemagne est imposé. Et l’article 8 du Pacte de la SDN prévoit que le Conseil prépare des plans de réduction des armements. Les États originaires ne sont pas obligés de les accepter. Les autres membres le sont et l’admission à la Société est même conditionnée à cette acceptation. Il ne s’agit pas, à l’évidence, d’un projet de désarmement complet. Mais l’article 9 du Pacte avait prévu la création d’une Commission permanente, laquelle fut créée le 17 mai 1920. Les choses s’enlisèrent et les projets élaborés furent tous entravés par les désaccords. Il apparut clairement que deux conceptions s’opposaient, l’une plaçant le désarmement en priorité et l’autre souhaitant mettre en place un projet de sécurité collective d’abord, le désarmement devant en être la conséquence. Pourtant, la formule du Pacte liait les deux choses puisqu’il était dit que le maintien de la paix exigeait la réduction des armements nationaux (article 8, para. 1). Ainsi, en dépit de l’échec patent de la Société des Nations, celle-ci avait été l’occasion de poser un certain nombre de questions relatives au désarmement. Avaient ainsi été évoquées l’obligation de réduire le niveau des armements au point le plus bas compatible avec les exigences de sécurité, l’idée que les

9

Voir à ce sujet, A. Gardes, Le désarmement devant la Société des Nations (Paris, Les Presses modernes, 1929). Et aussi A. Glinberg, Le problème du désarmement devant la SDN et en dehors d’elle (Paris, PUF, 1930).

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munitions et les matériels de guerre ne devraient plus être fabriqués par des entreprises privées, ou encore celle selon laquelle les programmes d’armements nationaux, uniquement publics, devraient faire l’objet d’une publicité internationale. Mais ces propositions ne furent pas toutes mises en œuvre, loin s’en faut, par la Société des Nations. De multiples raisons sont à l’origine de l’échec de la Société des Nations et de la course à l’abîme vers la Seconde guerre mondiale. L’argument de la souveraineté fut mis en avant pour empêcher l’idée de contrôle réciproque entre les États. Le rôle des experts fut déterminant, or le fait de conﬁer le désarmement à des militaires était aller au-devant de l’échec. Mais, de surcroît, le Pacte était un instrument imparfait pour mener à bien l’entreprise du désarmement.10 Et si la Société des Nations n’était pas universelle dès l’origine, au lieu de gagner en universalité, elle s’est rétrécie au ﬁl du temps par des départs signiﬁcatifs. De ce fait, l’entreprise même du désarmement perdait son sens. Le surarmement marqua donc les années 30 et illustra la montée des préparatifs pour une nouvelle déﬂagration. Et la guerre de 1939–45 fut l’occasion d’un usage des armes d’une ampleur jamais atteinte, culminant avec l’arme atomique à Hiroshima et Nagasaki. Alors même que les combats faisaient encore rage, les futurs grands vainqueurs de cette guerre s’aﬃchèrent comme les parrains du nouveau projet d’organisation mondiale. Ils se disaient prêts à tirer les leçons de l’échec si cher payé de la défunte SDN. Et pourtant, les arrière-pensées furent plus fortes que les intentions aﬃchées. Les grandes puissances devaient leur victoire commune à leur force militaire et aucun des cinq grands (ceux qui s’octroyèrent dans la nouvelle organisation le statut de membre permanent du Conseil de sécurité) n’était prêt à entrer dans un processus sincère et contrôlé de désarmement. Dans le monde entier, les économies d’avant-guerre étaient si puissamment militarisées qu’il était diﬃcile d’opérer un retournement important. Par ailleurs, l’alliance entre les vainqueurs était trop fragile pour qu’ils puissent s’engager ensemble (car on ne désarme que par un processus collectif fondé sur la conﬁance) dans une démarche de renoncement progressif aux armes. Il ne s’agissait pas seulement de l’alliance entre l’URSS d’une part et les alliés (France, Royaume-Uni et Etats-Unis) de l’autre, alliance qui fut balayée par la guerre froide. Il s’agissait aussi de l’alliance au sein du camp occidental. L’on sait les rivalités et tensions qui jouèrent entre la France Libre du général De Gaulle et ses alliés anglo-saxons. L’on se souvient qu’en 1954, le projet de

10

Voir M. Vaïsse, ‘La Société des Nations et le désarmement’, in : La Société des Nations : rétrospective (Berlin – New York, actes du Colloque organisé par la Bibliothèque des Nations Unies et l’Institut universitaire de hautes études internationales, Genève, 6–9 novembre 1980, Walter de Gruyter, 1983), p. 246 et s.

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Communauté Européenne de défense échoua. Et l’idée de guerre entre les peuples européens ne fut ﬁnalement évacuée (car, il faut bien admettre qu’aujourd’hui, elle l’est) que par la magie de l’intégration économique, laquelle eut lieu tout à fait indépendamment de toute idée de désarmement. Toutefois, cette Pax Europeana concrète n’a pas empêché les pays européens de poursuivre des politiques industrielles militaires, même si comme on l’a vu plus haut, l’Europe n’est pas le continent le plus engagé dans la course aux armes. Tel est le contexte qui a présidé à l’élaboration des articles de la Charte. Et sur la question du désarmement, ce contexte a mené à une régression par rapport au Pacte de la Société des Nations. Dans la Charte, il n’est pas question de « réduction » des armes, mais seulement de « réglementation ». Il n’y a rien sur la fabrication privée des munitions et du matériel de guerre, rien non plus sur l’obligation d’échanger tous renseignements relatifs aux programmes militaires ou aux industries susceptibles d’être utilisées pendant la guerre. Le texte ﬁnalement adopté à San Francisco en 1945 fut préparé par la Déclaration de Moscou du 30 octobre 1943. Dès ce moment, il s’agit de rechercher un accord sur la « réglementation » des armements. Les propositions de Dumbarton Oaks du 9 octobre 1944 étaient très proches de cette formulation et ce sont ces propositions (nettement inspirées par les États-Unis) qui furent adoptées à San Francisco, sans autres retouches que de détails. La formule ainsi retenue est beaucoup moins ambitieuse que celle du Pacte. Les Britanniques avaient proposé à Dumbarton Oaks de préciser les critères sur lesquels devrait se baser la réglementation des armements. Mais cela fut rejeté. À San Francisco, l’Uruguay proposa que la fabrication privée d’armements soit interdite. Mais cette initiative ne fut pas suivie en dépit du fait que ce point ﬁgurait dans les propositions initiales des États-Unis.11 Pourtant, l’article 8, paragraphe 5 du Pacte prévoyait : « Considérant que la fabrication privée des munitions et du matériel de guerre soulève de graves objections, les Membres de la Société chargent le Conseil d’aviser aux mesures propres à en éviter les fâcheux eﬀets en tenant compte des besoins des Membres de la Société qui ne peuvent pas fabriquer les munitions et le matériel de guerre nécessaires à leur sûreté ». La Société des Nations tenta même d’aller plus loin en élaborant en 1925 une Convention sur le contrôle international du traﬁc d’armes et de la fabrication privée d’armes. Mais celle-ci n’entra jamais en vigueur. Ainsi, l’évolution qui conduisit des intentions ayant présidé à la rédaction du Pacte de la SDN, aux échecs de celle-ci puis à la faiblesse des dispositions de la Charte des Nations Unies sur ce sujet, met-elle en lumière une régression ﬂagrante.

11

Sur ce sujet, voir R. B. Russell, A History of the United Nations Charter. The Role of the United States 1940–1945 (Washington D.C, The Brooking Institution, 1958).

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Mais la faiblesse d’une disposition n’entraîne pas nécessairement sa nonapplication. Avec ses limites et ses faiblesses, l’article 26 prévoyait cependant une politique de désarmement. Or, il y a eu ignorance et oubli de l’article 26. Il fut encore évoqué dans certaines réponses du Secrétaire général relativement à la question de l’amélioration de l’eﬃcacité du Conseil de sécurité, notamment dans son rapport en application de la résolution 2864 de l’Assemblée générale (1971). Mais lorsqu’en 1972 le gouvernement de l’Autriche souleva la question de la nécessaire application de l’article 26, en raison du lien étroit entre le désarmement et le maintien de la paix et de la sécurité, fonction principale du Conseil de sécurité, cela n’eut aucun eﬀet.12 Aussi, certains auteurs expriment-ils le plus sombre pessimisme sur cette question et n’envisagent-ils pas que la fonction de désarmement redevienne une préoccupation du Conseil. « Bien qu’il soit en vigueur, il ne semble pas que l’article 26 s’appliquera dans le futur. Dans les limites de ce que l’on peut raisonnablement prévoir, le maintien indéﬁni des causes politiques qui rendirent impossible son application semble assurer la survivance de cette situation, qui caractérise aussi d’autres dispositions de la Charte (articles 26, 42, 43, 45, 46 et 48) ».13 Cette vision qui semble juste ne doit pas pour autant conduire à en rester là. Il est vrai qu’en laissant le champ libre à l’Assemblée générale pour ce qui est du désarmement, le Conseil a démissionné devant l’une de ses fonctions essentielles. Le déplacement vers l’Assemblée générale a constitué une rupture du schéma de la Charte. L’Assemblée générale a, il est vrai, multiplié les initiatives et les eﬀorts, allant jusqu’à préparer lors de sa dixième session extraordinaire (1978) un Plan d’action sur la réduction des armements. Elle y déclare, plus de 30 ans après la création des Nations Unies qu’ « aucun progrès véritable n’a été accompli jusqu’à présent, dans le domaine crucial de la réduction des armements ».14 On ne peut donc ignorer que ce nouveau partage des compétences n’était que le masque de l’échec. Car, quelque soit l’organe investi de responsabilités dans ce domaine (et la gravité de la question appelle un investissement des organes les plus importants et dotés des pouvoirs les plus forts), il faut mettre le doigt sur le point sensible de la question, celui de la liaison entre désarmement, maintien de la paix, développement et droits de l’homme et aussi celui de la nature politique de cette question.

12 13 14

Voir H. Gros Espiell, op. cit., p. 924. Ibid., p. 923. Assemblée générale, 10ème session extraordinaire, 1978, A/S-10/4.

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3. Penser autrement le maintien de la paix Dans la Charte, la question du désarmement apparaît comme une question subsidiaire. Il était de bon ton au moment de la création de l’ONU de critiquer l’idéalisme moral qui avait présidé à la naissance de la SDN. L’on sait depuis à quel point le mot « réalisme » a été utilisé pour justiﬁer les politiques les plus cyniques, celles qui servent les intérêts dominants, sans distance critique par rapport à l’impact de ces politiques sur la sécurité et le bien-être des populations. Durant les mois et même les années de préparation du texte de la Charte, une sorte d’opposition avait été établie, nous l’avons rappelé, entre le désarmement d’une part et le maintien de la paix et de la sécurité internationale de l’autre, comme si l’une pouvait être indépendante de l’autre ou même comme si une sorte de concurrence pouvait s’établir entre ces deux objectifs. L’analyse des articles de la Charte amène à repérer une diﬀérence de formulation signiﬁcative. L’article 26 relatif au rôle (resté lettre morte) du Conseil de sécurité mentionne seulement « une réglementation des armements ». Les articles 11 et 47 en revanche visent les compétences de l’Assemblée générale et du Comité d’état-major (simples compétences, il est vrai, de « recommandations » ou de « conseils ») concernant « le désarmement ou la réglementation des armements ». Mais « ces possibilités, qui sont le résultat d’une herméneutique systématique de la Charte, ne se sont pas réalisées. L’Assemblée n’a pas fait de recommandations au Conseil en matière de désarmement, le Comité d’état-major n’a pas conseillé ou assisté le Conseil quant au désarmement éventuel et le Conseil n’a pas élaboré de plans sur la réglementation des armements ».15 Ainsi, les Nations Unies ont-elles depuis un demi-siècle, aﬃché leur action comme orientée vers le maintien de la paix (avec le peu de succès que l’on sait) en ayant fait l’impasse sur le dossier du désarmement. Ainsi l’Organisation a-t-elle assisté passivement à la montée en puissance de la militarisation du monde. Et elle a opposé un silence complice à la trahison des objectifs de la Charte orchestrée par les cinq membres permanents, tous situés dans le peloton de tête de la fabrication et du commerce des armes. De ce fait même, le maintien de la paix s’est transformé en une série de mécanismes de bricolage, que ce soit sur le plan juridique ou sur le plan militaire. La sécurité collective s’est embourbée dans des opérations diverses, plus ou moins éloignées du projet d’origine. La première guerre d’Irak en 1991 n’a été qu’une alliance militaire sans directives collectivement assumées. La guerre en Afghanistan et la seconde guerre d’Irak ont été décidées en violation de la

15

H. Gros Espiell, op. cit., p. 927.

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Charte, en dépit des eﬀorts postérieurs pour « légaliser » ce qui ne pouvait plus l’être. La chute du communisme a été une occasion cruellement manquée de revenir à la logique de la sécurité collective et à son corollaire indissociable, le désarmement. Si la guerre froide avait été la raison de ne mettre en œuvre ni l’article 43 sur les forces internationales, ni l’article 26 sur la réglementation des armements, la ﬁn de celle-ci aurait dû permettre enﬁn au système de trouver son eﬃcacité et sa véritable vitesse de croisière. Mais les industries militaires pesaient trop lourd pour que cela ait pu advenir. Voilà comment la démission du Conseil de sécurité (ignorée, on l’a dit, par la plupart des commentateurs) a laissé le champ libre à l’augmentation vertigineuse des productions et traﬁcs d’armes, avec la complicité de la plupart des partis politiques dans tous les États. La déconnection entre les éléments inséparables que sont le désarmement, le maintien de la paix, le respect des droits de l’homme et le développement durable ont conduit à l’échec de chacun de ces termes et l’humanité est ainsi entrée dans une zone de dangers extrêmes. S’il faut faire retour à l’article 26 pour exiger que le Conseil de sécurité prenne ses responsabilités (à condition toutefois que cet organisme en soit encore capable), c’est dans une nouvelle liaison entre les diﬀérents pôles sur lesquels se joue la sécurité et l’avenir du monde. Le débat entretenu entre désarmement d’abord, ou maintien de la paix en priorité, n’a pas de sens. Maintenir la paix par un mécanisme de sécurité collective à partir d’une démarche d’objectivité est la seule solution à la montée des risques de déﬂagration militaire. Il s’agit de conﬁer à un organe en position de « tiers », l’autorité nécessaire pour départager des subjectivités exacerbées et prendre les décisions de qualiﬁcation de la situation, puis les mesures adaptées qui permettent de mettre ﬁn à un conﬂit. La réduction des armements est la condition même du succès de cette entreprise fragile, comme en est une autre condition que le développement ne soit pas l’apanage des sociétés nanties aux dépens des autres et que la protection des droits humains ne soit pas réservée à certains groupes. Les conﬂits en cours (comme ceux à venir) sont parfois causés, dans tous les cas renforcés, par les criantes inégalités entre sociétés et par les convoitises sur les ressources rares. Mais une dernière condition, d’importance capitale, est encore à remplir pour un changement d’envergure de la société mondiale. Il s’agit de la prise de conscience par les populations du monde entier de leur solidarité et du fait qu’elles forment une communauté politique mondiale. Ce point est un accompagnement indispensable de tout projet de réduction de la violence. Jusqu’ici, dans l’histoire des sociétés humaines, l’appartenance à une communauté politique nationale prenant la forme juridique de l’État souverain, a été prévalente. Cela a pu conduire à une maîtrise de la violence (toujours latente entre les

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humains) lorsque ceux-ci étaient entrés dans un processus de formation démocratique d’une communauté politique. Ils assument alors le dissensus à travers le lien politique qui permet d’éviter ou de réduire la violence. Dans un certain nombre de cas, l’État ne parvenant pas à exprimer la solidarité d’une communauté politique est fragilisé par la volonté d’une partie de sa population de former une autre communauté politique ou d’en rejoindre une existant déjà. Cela est la source de nombreuses violences. Et l’histoire des décompositions et recompositions étatiques démontre amplement le caractère éphémère des unions politiques et dément qu’un élément « naturel » (ethnie, langue, etc.) en soit le fondement. Ces unions reposent sur le sentiment de solidarité et le projet d’assumer ensemble les enjeux sociaux. Aujourd’hui, les enjeux mondiaux conduisent les habitants de la terre à des solidarités indispensables sur les problèmes de la protection de la nature, de la sécurité sanitaire, de la lutte contre les traﬁcs et les idéologies de la violence, de la discrimination et du racisme. Sans prise de conscience de leur appartenance à une communauté politique mondiale, ils ne répondent à ces enjeux que par des guerres. Mais cette prise de conscience est très lente et est entravée par le rôle attribué jusqu’ici à l’État souverain. Or, l’organisation des sociétés autour du principe de souveraineté ne répond plus aux attentes. Le manque d’autorité positive du Conseil tient à la structure paradoxale des Nations Unies. L’idée aﬃchée à l’origine était de brider les souverainetés pour imposer peu à peu un ordre public international. Mais dans la Charte, les souverainetés sont garanties (ce qui a pour conséquence que les États peuvent s’opposer aux progrès du droit en refusant d’adhérer à certains traités, ou en refusant la compétence de la Cour Internationale de Justice ou celle de la Cour Pénale Internationale). Elles le sont même sur le fondement de l’égalité souveraine (article 2), alors que l’égalité entre les États est rompue de manière spectaculaire par le statut de membre permanent octroyé déﬁnitivement à cinq membres du Conseil. Un dépassement de cette structure contestable est nécessaire. La persistance des États comme l’un des échelons des communautés politiques auxquelles chaque individu appartient, n’est pas en cause. Ce qui l’est, c’est le caractère exclusif de ces communautés et l’attribut de souveraineté qui les accompagnent. C’est en eﬀet la souveraineté qui paralyse tout système de contrôle et de réglementation des armements et qui est donc, aujourd’hui, le principal obstacle à la paix.

Chapter 5 Le Conseil de sécurité, les sanctions ciblées et le respect des droits de l’homme Luigi Condorelli*

1.- Il m’est très agréable de participer à l’hommage qui est rendu à Vera Gowlland – chercheur et enseignant aux qualités éminentes que j’admire beaucoup – en présentant de brèves réﬂexions sur un aspect particulier de l’un des chapitres du droit international qu’elle a davantage fouillé en y dédiant des études remarquables et bien connues. Le chapitre auquel je suis en train de me référer est celui que l’on peut appeler « le droit de l’ONU » ; quant à l’aspect particulier que je souhaite évoquer, il peut être identiﬁé par le biais de la question suivante : le Conseil de sécurité des Nations Unies (CS, dorénavant) est-il tenu de respecter les droits de l’homme (dorénavant DH), notamment lorsqu’il exerce les fonctions qui lui sont attribuées par le Chapitre VII de la Charte, et plus particulièrement lorsqu’il adopte des sanctions ciblées frappant des individus, par exemple dans le cadre de la lutte au terrorisme ? J’entends articuler mon propos en divisant la question indiquée en trois sousquestions. La première d’entre elles est la suivante : les obligations en matière de DH concernent-elles le CS ? En cas de réponse positive, se pose alors la seconde sous-question : le mécanisme des sanctions ciblées est-il en lui-même satisfaisant, quant au respect des DH ? Si la réponse négative s’imposait, voila alors la troisième sous-question : que faire ? Y a-t-il des moyens pour réagir, à savoir des mécanismes susceptibles d’être mis en œuvre pour revenir au respect des DH, ou bien faut-il se résigner face à leur violation ? 2.- Que je sache, personne ne prétend – tout au moins explicitement – que le CS n’a pas à se soucier des DH. Personne n’allègue que son action pour le maintien et le rétablissement de la paix et de la sécurité internationale pourrait

* Professeur de droit international public, Université de Florence ; Professeur honoraire à l’Université de Genève.

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être conduite légitimement au mépris des principes pertinents du droit international. Mille considérations militent en faveur de l’idée suivant laquelle les DH s’imposent non seulement aux Etats, mais aussi aux diverses organisations internationales, y compris l’ONU (et, bien entendu, ses divers organes), malgré le fait qu’aucune organisation n’est partie contractante aux traités internationaux en la matière. Je me bornerai à rappeler seulement quelques-unes de ces raisons. La Charte, cela est connu de tous, accorde une place de choix aux droits de l’homme et aux libertés fondamentales en tant que composants essentiels du nouvel ordre international dont la Charte esquisse l’architecture, et engage l’organisation à poursuivre le but de les promouvoir et en encourager le respect.1 Ne serait-il pas parfaitement contradictoire de soutenir que le CS puisse mettre de côté les DH lors de son action, et qu’il puisse même, au moyen de résolutions obligatoires, obliger les Etats membres à les enfreindre, alors que l’une des missions fondamentales de l’organisation est justement d’en encourager le respect ? Quoi qu’il en soit personne ne saurait douter désormais que les principes fondamentaux des DH sont à concevoir comme intégrés aux principes de la Charte conformément auxquels le CS est astreint d’agir, ainsi que le prescrit l’article 24 para. 2. Outre le droit conventionnel des DH (qui en tant que tel ne lie pas les Nations Unies), il y a indiscutablement un droit international général en la matière, se composant de principes à qualiﬁer d’« intransgressibles », pour utiliser la terminologie mise à la mode par la Cour internationale de justice.2 Les obligations découlant de ces principes ne font d’ailleurs pas partie de celles pouvant – par le jeu combiné des articles 103 et 25 de la Charte – être mises en suspens par des décisions du CS. Ni le CS ne peut donc demander aux Etats de ne pas les respecter, ni il ne peut s’exempter lui-même de leur respect. Sans compter que les Etats, en devenant parties aux instruments pertinents, se sont justement engagés à considérer les dispositions de ceux-ci comme « intransgressibles », c’est-à-dire comme devant être observés dans toutes les circonstances prévues par elles. Autrement dit, leur engagement les astreint à regarder comme également intransgressibles les clauses (dérogatoires et échappatoires) identiﬁant les cas et conditions dans lesquels certains DH sont exceptionnellement susceptibles d’être suspendus ou limités. A ces remarques générales s’ajoutent de surcroît des éléments spéciﬁques concernant la lutte contre le terrorisme : des éléments grâce auxquels il est

1 2

Au 2ème considérant du Préambule et à l’article 1 para. 3 de la Charte. CIJ, Avis du 8 juillet 1996, Licéité de la menace ou de l’emploi d’armes nucléaires, Rec. 1996, p. 35, para. 79.

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permis de parler d’une véritable adhésion unilatérale de l’Organisation à l’ensemble des principes et règles pertinents des DH. Il suﬃt – sans aucun souci d’être exhaustif – de citer par exemple les prises de position par lesquelles l’Assemblée générale reconnaît « que la coopération internationale et toute mesure prise par les États Membres pour prévenir et combattre le terrorisme doivent être pleinement conformes au droit international, notamment à la Charte des Nations Unies et aux conventions et protocoles internationaux pertinents, en particulier au droit des droits de l’homme, au droit des réfugiés et au droit international humanitaire »3 voire souligne que « les États doivent veiller à ce que toutes les mesures prises pour lutter contre le terrorisme soient conformes aux obligations qu’ils assument en vertu du droit international, en particulier du droit international des droits de l’homme, du droit international des réfugiés et du droit international humanitaire ».4 Fort signiﬁcatif est aussi (voire même plus) ce que le CS proclame en toutes lettres, à savoir « qu’il faut combattre par tous les moyens, dans le respect de la Charte des Nations Unies et du droit international et notamment du droit international des droits de l’homme, du droit des réfugiés et du droit international humanitaire, les menaces que les actes de terrorisme font peser sur la paix et la sécurité internationales, et soulignant à cet égard le rôle important que l’Organisation des Nations Unies joue dans la conduite et la coordination de cette lutte »5. Il y a, en somme, pleine reconnaissance de la part de l’Organisation que la lutte contre le terrorisme doit être menée, tant par les Etats que par les Nations Unies, en conformité avec les DH. Le CS ne peut donc de toute évidence s’en aﬀranchir, tout comme il ne peut en aﬀranchir les destinataires de ses résolutions. 3.- Le besoin d’articuler des raisonnements déductifs et inductifs du genre de ceux que je viens d’exposer, aﬁn d’asseoir sur des arguments incontestables la conclusion d’après laquelle les DH lient les organisations internationales (et l’ONU notamment), ne s’imposerait pas si un tel lien était explicitement établi de manière claire, nette et incontestable. Il est regrettable que ce ne soit pas le cas. Il est vrai cependant que cette situation s’explique, pour ainsi dire, historiquement. En eﬀet, le fait qu’aucun des grands accords internationaux relatifs aux DH ne soit ouvert aux organisations internationales montre le degré de persistance de la conviction surannée d’après laquelle les organisations internationales ne constituent que des instruments de coopération entre gouvernements et, par conséquent, ne sont pas concernées par les questions relatives aux violations des droits fondamentaux des individus. Ces questions se posant – l’on

3 4 5

Résolution de l’Assemblée Générale 62/272 du 15 septembre 2008. Résolution de l’Assemblée Générale 60/288 du 20 septembre 2006. Résolution du Conseil de Sécurité 1822 (2008) du 30 juin 2008.

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avait tendance à croire – pour les Etats seulement. Mais le développement de la coopération internationale a progressivement engendré d’importantes nouveautés à ce sujet et a conséquemment ébranlé les certitudes d’antan. Chacun sait, tout d’abord, que depuis longtemps déjà ont vu le jour quelques rares organisations (telles les Communautés européennes) conçues dès le départ comme appelées à gérer directement des situations et intérêts individuels. Il s’est avéré alors indispensable de mettre en place des mécanismes permettant de contrôler que la « gestion d’individus » se fasse de manière appropriée, dans le respect de la règle de droit ; et il est facile d’observer combien ces mécanismes se sont progressivement enrichis pour atteindre ce but. C’est là un phénomène bien connu, dont il n’y a pas besoin de dire davantage maintenant. Les organisations internationales de type classique (telle l’ONU), en revanche, sont et restent empreintes d’une logique essentiellement intergouvernementale, qui les façonnent de telle sorte que leur action s’adresse essentiellement aux Etats, et non pas aux particuliers. Au vu de cela, la question du respect des DH a pu apparaître alors peu pertinente. Toutefois, même pour ces organisations les DH entrent en jeu, quoique sans doute de manière quelque peu marginale la plupart du temps. Cela arrive toutes les fois où elles se trouvent impliquées dans ce que j’ai appelé la « gestion d’individus ». Deux exemples sont à rappeler ici. Le premier exemple concerne le contentieux de la fonction publique internationale, qui représente un observatoire hautement signiﬁcatif à ce sujet. Il suﬃt de rappeler que des tribunaux administratifs internationaux (mis en règle par rapport aux principes du due process) sont désormais en place auprès de l’ensemble des organisations internationales et qu’aucun de ceux-ci n’oublie de prendre en compte les DH dans le règlement des diﬀérends qui lui sont soumis. Dans ce sillage, il n’est pas inutile de se référer à la réforme en cours du Tribunal administratif des Nations Unies : l’étude des travaux préparatoires en dit long sur l’inﬂuence décisive des principes relatifs aux DH. Le deuxième exemple se rapporte à la justice pénale internationale, et plus précisément aux tribunaux pénaux ad hoc pour l’ex-Yougoslavie et le Rwanda, institués par le CS en 1993 et 1994 : il est aisé de remarquer qu’au moment même où l’ONU a décidé de s’engager directement dans la répression des crimes internationaux, elle n’a pas manqué pour autant d’accorder aux DH l’attention nécessaire, en assortissant la procédure de ces tribunaux de toutes les garanties pertinentes. Ce sont là des données de la pratique internationale qui conﬁrment on ne peut plus clairement le bien-fondé de la réponse donnée à la première sousquestion. Soit l’organisation internationale se meut dans la dimension de la pure coopération intergouvernementale, et alors les DH ne sont en principe pas de mise, tout au moins directement. Soit l’organisation est en mesure d’agir de façon à empiéter immédiatement dans la sphère des droits et intérêts des

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particuliers, et alors son action doit être soumise au respect des DH. Que les individus en question soient des fonctionnaires internationaux, des personnes soupçonnées d’être les auteurs de crimes gravissimes à soumettre à la répression pénale ou des terroristes présumés (voire des supporters présumés du terrorisme) qu’il faut détourner de leurs sombres desseins, on ne voit absolument pas pourquoi les choses changeraient, quant à la nécessité pour l’ONU de respecter les DH. 4.- Il est temps alors d’en venir à la deuxième sous-question : le mécanisme des sanctions ciblées est-il en lui-même satisfaisant, quant au respect des DH ? Il y a sur ce thème un nombre désormais impressionnant de prises de position critiques (doctrinales, jurisprudentielles, politico-diplomatiques . . .) mettant en évidence la contradiction ﬂagrante entre les principes les plus élémentaires et fondamentaux des DH et les sanctions ciblées du CS, notamment en matière de lutte antiterroriste, telles qu’elles sont actuellement agencées. Un document de haute tenue (outre le fait que venant d’une source digne de toute considération), qui met fort bien en évidence, à mon sens, ces contradictions au moyen d’arguments très convaincants, mérite d’être rappelé. Je m’étonne beaucoup, d’ailleurs, de constater qu’il est largement ignoré. Il s’agit de la Résolution 1597 du 23 janvier 2008 de l’Assemblée parlementaire du Conseil de l’Europe sur les « listes noires du CS des NU et de l’UE »,6 rédigée suite (et conformément) au rapport de la Commission des questions juridiques et des DH.7 L’Assemblée ne ménage pas ses mots lorsqu’elle « constate que les règles de fond et de procédure actuellement appliquées par le CSNU et par le Conseil de l’UE, malgré quelques améliorations récentes, ne remplissent absolument pas les critères minimaux . . . et bafouent les principes fondamentaux qui sont à la base des droits de l’homme et de la primauté du droit ».8 Un peu plus loin, après avoir observé qu’entre autres aucun mécanisme de réexamen indépendant et de réparation pour les violations subies n’est prévu, l’Assemblée n’hésite pas à aﬃrmer qu’une « telle procédure est dès lors totalement arbitraire et sans crédibilité aucune ».9 Enﬁn, l’Assemblée utilise une expression bien crue quand elle considère « ces pratiques comme indignes d’instances internationales telles que les Nations Unies et l’Union européenne ».10

6

7

8 9 10

Disponible sur : http ://assembly.coe.int/mainf.asp?Link=/documents/adoptedtext/ta08/ fres1597.htm. Doc. 11454, rapporteur : Dick Marty. Texte du rapport disponible sur : http ://assembly.coe. int/Mainf.asp?link=/Documents/WorkingDocs/Doc07/FDOC11454.htm. Point 6 de la Résolution. Point 6.1 de la Résolution. Point 7 de la Résolution.

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Il est important de signaler que l’Assemblée parlementaire est parvenue à ces conclusions après avoir mis soigneusement en évidence les principes fondamentaux des DH en matière de procédure et de fond que les sanctions ciblées – telles qu’elles sont actuellement organisées – « bafouent ». Il s’agit, d’une part, des principes de procédure relatifs au droit pour chacun d’être promptement avisé et informé des accusations portées contre lui et de la décision prise à son égard ; du droit d’être entendu et de pouvoir assurer sa défense ; du droit de saisir rapidement une instance indépendante et impartiale dotée du pouvoir d’annuler la décision restreignant ses droits, si elle est infondée ; du droit d’être indemnisé le cas échéant, en cas de violation constatée des DH. Il s’agit, d’autre part, des principes de fond relatifs à la déﬁnition claire des motifs ayant conduit à l’imposition des sanctions et des preuves à l’appui, ainsi qu’à la durée dans le temps de l’inclusion dans les listes noires, alors que de surcroît des enquêtes pénales n’ont pas eu lieu ou n’ont donné aucun résultat permettant de conﬁrmer le bien fondé des accusations portées. Il est également d’eﬀectuer un travail de mise à jour suivant l’allusion faite dans la résolution de l’Assemblée parlementaire quant aux « améliorations récentes » en la matière. Il est vrai, en eﬀet, que depuis son adoption des améliorations sont intervenues, par le truchement de la Résolution 1822 (2008) du CS citée plus haut. Il s’agit néanmoins – on n’oubliera pas de le souligner – de simples retouches marginales qui, si elles ont sans doute ajusté quelque peu les procédures en question, en termes d’« équité et de transparence »,11 ne les ont certainement pas rendues moins arbitraires et plus crédibles dans l’ensemble. Un point diﬀérent, mais à relier avec ce qu’on vient de constater, permet de parfaire le tableau. On sait que l’inclusion de noms dans les listes noires de terroristes présumés ou de supporters de ceux-ci a été prise en considération dans le cadre de procédures criminelles internes, aﬁn de décider quel poids il convient de lui accorder aux ﬁns de l’établissement de la responsabilité pénale de personnes ﬁgurant dans ces listes et accusées de crimes en rapport avec le terrorisme. J’ai participé récemment à un colloque dans lequel un magistrat italien ayant une grande expérience dans ce domaine a résumé en quelques mots très eﬃcaces la communis opinio des juges nationaux à ce propos. En soi, la présence du nom d’une personne dans une liste de ce genre n’est ni une preuve, ni même un indice : on peut lui accorder au maximum le rôle d’un simple « spunto investigativo ». En somme, une sorte de « puce à l’oreille » des autorités d’investigation. N’est-il pas extraordinaire alors qu’une simple « puce à l’oreille » puisse se voir reconnaître ipso facto par les droits internes des Etats membres des Nations Unies des eﬀets préjudiciables aussi lourds pour les individus concernés comme le sont ceux de restreindre gravement leur liberté de mouvement ou leur droit de propriété ?

11

Para. 28 de la Résolution du CS 1822 (2008) du 30 juin 2008.

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5.- Je passe maintenant à la troisième sous-question : y a-t-il des moyens pour réagir, des mécanismes susceptibles d’être mis en œuvre pour revenir au respect des DH, ou bien faut-il se résigner face à leur violation ? Certes, la voie principale à laquelle on songe aussitôt est celle de la réforme du système onusien, quant aux sanctions frappant des individus. Une réforme introduisant ex novo tout ce qui fait pour l’heure gravement défaut aﬁn que le respect des DH soit assuré au niveau même des Nations Unies. L’on sait que de grands débats sont en cours à ce sujet. Toutefois, en attendant que ceux-ci débouchent à l’avenir (qui sait quand !) sur des résultats tant soit peu satisfaisants, peut-on envisager dès à présent l’utilisation de voies adéquates qui seraient ouvertes aux intéressés, étant donné qu’aucune ne l’est d’après le droit de l’organisation mondiale ? Un point est à mettre au clair tout de suite. Même si, comme on le soutiendra d’ici peu, il est possible d’identiﬁer diverses voies de droit permettant d’enrayer les compressions graves aux droits individuels (que ce soit le droit de propriété ou la liberté de mouvement) qui seraient imposées par le CS en violation des DH, il n’en reste pas moins qu’en biﬀant lesdites compressions on ne biﬀerait de toute façon pas les eﬀets que l’inclusion de noms de personnes dans les listes noires produit inévitablement quant à la réputation des particuliers concernés, du fait même de la publicité qui est donnée urbi et orbi à leur qualiﬁcation en tant que terroristes ou supporters de terroristes. Voilà un type de préjudice pour lequel, s’il est injustiﬁé, le droit d’obtenir une réparation appropriée devrait être garanti. Il reste alors à se demander comment l’intéressé devrait pouvoir s’y prendre. Toute réﬂexion quant aux moyens de droit utilisables face à des sanctions ciblées du CS, en vue d’assurer le respect des DH, doit se baser sur la constatation que, si c’est bien le CS qui édicte les listes noires (soit directement, soit par le biais de l’un de ses organes subsidiaires) et qui établit quels eﬀets l’inclusion des noms de certaines personnes doit produire à l’encontre de celles-ci, c’est indiscutablement aux Etats membres qu’en incombe la mise en œuvre, en vertu de l’obligation générale que fait peser sur eux l’article 25 de la Charte : à savoir, l’obligation « d’accepter et d’appliquer les décisions du CS ». Par conséquent, faute de moyens utilisables par les intéressés pour obtenir le respect de leurs DH au niveau onusien, un tel respect ne peut qu’être recherché (et assuré si possible) au niveau des Etats, par le biais de leurs droits internes. Dans le cadre européen, bien entendu, la référence faite aux droits internes englobe le droit de l’Union européenne, étant donné que la mise en œuvre des sanctions ciblées relève – pour ainsi dire – d’une sorte de division du travail entre l’appareil de l’Union et celui de ses Etats membres. Il n’est pas besoin d’entrer plus dans les détails à ce sujet, qui sort quelque peu du cadre des présentes remarques. Venons alors aux voies à emprunter en commentant, pour commencer, celle qu’on pourrait appeler la « voie Kadi ». Je fais allusion par là à l’arrêt bien connu de la CJCE du 3 septembre 2008, au sujet duquel les commentateurs ont déjà

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fait couler des ﬂeuves d’encre. Disons-le aussitôt : à mon sens, il faut saluer le choix de la Cour, laquelle a considéré la sauvegarde des DH comme s’imposant en Europe de manière absolue, y compris dans le cadre de la lutte contre le terrorisme international au moyen de l’action onusienne. En eﬀet, la CJCE a souligné avec force que les mesures adoptées dans ce but, par le CS en l’espèce, ne peuvent être mises en œuvre en Europe qu’en respectant les droits fondamentaux. Bien entendu, le juge communautaire s’est ainsi référé aux DH tels qu’ils sont garantis par l’ordre juridique de l’UE, donc en tant qu’intégrés aux principes généraux du droit communautaire.12 En somme, les DH qui découlent des traditions constitutionnelles communes aux États membres et qui ont été consacrés par la Convention européenne des droits de l’homme.13 Il s’agit indéniablement d’une prise de position de haute volée, impliquant l’idée très juste d’après laquelle quiconque (UE et/ou Etats) est appelé à mettre en œuvre les décisions du CS doit faire cela en respectant les DH. Il ne faut cependant pas prêter à la CJCE une conception qu’elle s’est bien gardée d’accueillir : la Cour n’a pas du tout décidé que la liste noire arrêtée par le CS, dont il était question dans l’aﬀaire Kadi, ne serait pas exécutée en Europe du fait qu’elle contredit les DH. En eﬀet, la Cour s’est bornée à annuler le règlement communautaire mis en cause (qui reproduisait la décision du CS obligeant à appliquer à certains particuliers une « sanction ciblée » de gel de fonds) parce qu’il viole les DH, mais elle l’a fait sans nullement s’en prendre à la mesure édictée par le CS, qui n’a fait l’objet d’aucune critique. Pour la CJCE, la mesure en question reste incontestablement obligatoire pour les Etats (et pour la Communauté) et doit être exécutée ﬁdèlement par eux, mais par des modalités respectueuses des DH. Autrement dit, le règlement annulé devra être remplacé par un nouveau règlement communautaire mettant en œuvre la décision du CS de façon à ce que les DH ne soient pas violés. Le Conseil des Communautés est d’ailleurs formellement invité à le formuler rapidement. En somme, la violation des DH à laquelle la CJCE a porté remède est attribuable d’après elle à la Communauté européenne, et non pas à l’ONU. Il va de soi qu’en agissant de la sorte le juge européen a réussi à esquiver totalement, pour l’heure, la question qui se poserait au cas où l’acte onusien devait être qualiﬁé comme contredisant per se les DH, c’est-à-dire comme un acte ne laissant aucun espace pour leur respect aux autorités appelées à l’exécuter. Or, qu’arriverait-il si tel était le cas ? La Cour se garde bien de se prononcer sur ce point. Il nous incombe alors de donner notre avis sur la question.

12

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Cour de Justice des Communautés Européennes, Yassin Abdullah Kadi and Al Barakaat International Foundation v. Council and Commission, Grand Chamber, Aﬀaires jointes C-402/05 P and C-415/05 P, 3 septembre 2008, para. 330. Ibid., para. 335.

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Pour ce faire, rappelons d’abord un point déjà mis en évidence : d’une part, l’obligation de respecter les DH incombe tant aux Etats qu’aux Organisations internationales (y compris l’ONU) et, d’autre part, un Etat ne saurait justiﬁer une conduite non conforme aux DH en s’abritant derrière la nécessité de s’acquitter de ses obligations en tant que membre d’une OI (y compris, encore une fois, l’ONU). Mais alors, dans quelle mesure et par quelles voies pourrait-on faire valoir le caractère illégal de l’acte d’une OI engendrant la violation des DH, que ce soit de façon médiate ou immédiate, lorsque l’organisation en question, à l’instar de l’ONU, n’est pas dotée de mécanismes accessibles aux particuliers permettant de contrôler la légalité de ses actes et de les annuler le cas échéant ? Un tel contrôle ne peut-il pas être eﬀectué à l’extérieur de l’organisation, à savoir par le juge national (ou, le cas échéant, par le juge communautaire) ? N’est pas cette voie qui devrait être empruntée ? Selon moi, il s’impose de donner à ces questions une réponse positive. Je suis convaincu, en eﬀet, que personne n’a jamais expliqué de manière satisfaisante pourquoi, du fait qu’aucun contrôle de la légalité des décisions du CS n’est organisé au sein du système des NU, on devrait en déduire qu’un tel contrôle ne pourrait pas être eﬀectué de manière incidente par les juges nationaux (ou par le juge communautaire) du moment où ceux-ci sont appelés à prendre en compte de telles décisions aux ﬁns du règlement d’un diﬀérend qui leur est soumis. Même si l’on raisonne en termes de primauté du droit international et des principes de la Charte sur les droits internes et sur le droit communautaire, et en termes de primauté des obligations découlant de la Charte sur celles prescrites par n’importe quel autre traité international, on ne voit pas pour quelle raison la force prépondérante des décisions du CS devrait se déployer sans entraves même en cas de violation des principes de la Charte, alors que le Conseil est astreint d’agir « conformément aux buts et principes des Nations Unies ».14 Bien au contraire, je serais tenté de dire que la reconnaissance de ladite primauté devrait justement amener à des conclusions d’un tout autre genre ! Il est à mon sens loisible de soutenir que, du moment que le contrôle de la légalité des décisions du CS n’est pas un domaine réservé à la compétence exclusive d’un organe déterminé, il faut alors en inférer que tout juge appelé à faire application d’une de ces décisions (y compris le juge national) doit s’assurer à titre incident que celle-ci a été valablement émise, tant pour ce qui est des conditions de forme que de fond. C’est-à-dire qu’elle ne contredit pas les principes de la Charte, dont ceux relatifs aux DH doivent être conçus comme faisant partie. Si le juge en question devait juger que la décision du CS viole les DH, il ne pourrait certes pas procéder à son annulation, mais il devrait se borner à refuser de l’appliquer in casu du fait de son illégalité. Il pourrait en naître alors un diﬀérend

14

Article 24 para. 2 de la Charte.

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entre les N.U. et l’Etat (ou l’entité) dont le juge est l’organe, la responsabilité internationale de cet Etat (ou de cette entité) se trouvant alors à être engagée le cas échéant, avec toutes les conséquences risquant d’en découler d’après les principes pertinents du droit international. L’inconvénient est sérieux, mais son élimination passe par la mise en place d’un mécanisme centralisé de contrôle du respect des DH qui soit accessible et ﬁable, et non pas par un abandon des DH à l’arbitraire du CS. Il y a encore une troisième voie à explorer : il convient de se demander, en eﬀet, s’il n’est vraiment pas concevable que l’intéressé puisse attaquer directement l’auteur de la violation des DH (à savoir l’ONU) en justice à ﬁn d’obtenir éventuellement le retrait de l’acte ayant causé ladite violation, ou au moins le dédommagement du préjudice subi. Voilà une question à laquelle on donne couramment d’emblée une réponse clairement négative. A première vue, le principe d’après lequel l’organisation jouit d’une immunité absolue de juridiction devant les juges internes constitue un obstacle insurmontable : une telle possibilité serait donc à exclure, d’après l’article 105 de la Charte et l’article II, Section 2, de la Convention sur les privilèges et immunités des Nations Unies de 1946. Il est cependant à remarquer qu’il existe un nombre croissant d’indices, se dégageant de la pratique jurisprudentielle, qui mettent toujours plus en évidence la relation devant être établie entre l’immunité des OI et le respect des DH par celles-ci. L’OI ne saurait justiﬁer son droit à se voir reconnaître l’immunité devant les cours nationales qu’à condition d’accorder au niveau international une protection et des garanties, sans doute pas strictement identiques, mais tout au moins fondamentalement équivalentes à celles qui pourraient être obtenues au niveau national. Equivalentes, bien entendu, en ce sens que le respect des principes internationaux relatifs aux DH doit être en tout cas assuré. Il sied d’ailleurs de remarquer que la Convention de 1946 oﬀre un argument de choix en faveur de cette conception. En eﬀet, son article VIII, Section 29, prescrit une véritable obligation à la charge de l’ONU, en lui enjoignant de prévoir des modes de règlement « appropriés » pour des diﬀérends que l’immunité juridictionnelle de l’organisation soustrait à la compétence des juges nationaux. On peut alors légitimement soutenir que, dans la mesure où l’organisation ne s’est pas acquittée de cette obligation dans le domaine qui nous intéresse, en ne prévoyant aucun mode de règlement des diﬀérends tant soit peu « approprié » (c’est-à-dire prenant notamment en compte la sauvegarde des DH), l’organisation ne peut être admise à se prévaloir de l’immunité. Il convient de noter qu’à mon sens les développements auxquels apparaît promis le principe de la protection équivalente des DH vont bien au-delà du domaine dans lequel ce principe a commencé à être aﬃrmé, qui est celui du contentieux de la fonction publique internationale (et des thèmes similaires). Ainsi, par exemple, concernant les diﬀérends soulevés par des fonctionnaires internationaux se plaignant de traitements non-conformes aux DH prétendu-

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ment inﬂigés par leur employeur, l’on sait qu’un courant jurisprudentiel qui s’épaissit de jour en jour subordonne l’octroi à l’OI de l’immunité de juridiction devant les cours nationales à la vériﬁcation que les individus en question jouissent eﬀectivement, auprès de l’OI concernée, de ce qu’il est devenu courant d’appeler le « droit au juge », c’est-à-dire de la possibilité d’accéder à une instance indépendante et impartiale dotée du pouvoir de contrôler le respect des DH. En eﬀet, le principe de la protection équivalente a assurément vocation à jouer tôt ou tard – me semble-t-il – face à toutes les sortes de violations des DH qui seraient imputables à des OI, y compris celles engendrées par des sanctions ciblées édictées par le CS. Autrement dit, ce n’est pas tout de résoudre la question de savoir si le fait internationalement illicite constitutif d’une infraction aux DH doit être attribué ou non à telle ou telle OI ou à tel ou tel Etat : une fois ce problème réglé, il reste à voir quels sont les voies et les mécanismes par le biais desquels la responsabilité de l’OI – si la charge en incombe à celle-ci – peut être mise en cause. C’est bien à ce stade que le principe de la protection équivalente interviendra, aﬁn d’empêcher l’invocation de l’immunité ratione personae de l’OI responsable devant le juge interne au cas où celle-ci n’oﬀrirait pas en son for intérieur des garanties comparables à celle que pourrait oﬀrir l’appareil judiciaire national. En somme, aux thèses faisant valoir l’impossibilité de mettre en cause la responsabilité des NU en cas de violations des DH attribuables à l’organisation, faute de juges internationaux compétents, d’une part, et au vu de l’incompétence des juges nationaux engendrée par l’immunité juridictionnelle de l’organisation, d’autre part, il convient d’opposer un raisonnement d’un tout autre ordre, quoique sans doute prospectif pour l’heure : s’il n’y a pas de juge international habilité à vériﬁer le respect des DH (ou, pour mieux dire, si l’OI n’oﬀre pas de garanties équivalentes), alors l’immunité de l’OI ne devrait pas pouvoir être invoquée avec succès devant les juges nationaux. 6.- Deux mots de conclusion. Toute étude portant sur le dossier des listes noires et des sanctions ciblées du CS, dès qu’elle se penche sur certaines des modalités qui caractérisent pour l’heure ces dernières, débouche inévitablement sur le constat d’une tendance bien connue – certes non exclusive, mais forte au demeurant – qui continue d’empreindre encore de nos jours la stratégie de la lutte contre le terrorisme international : c’est que les DH se trouvent rangés trop souvent au second plan, dès qu’ils sont perçus comme susceptibles de gêner l’eﬃcacité des mesures antiterroristes. Ce n’est certes pas ici le lieu approprié pour démontrer le bien-fondé de la conviction – que je partage entièrement – d’après laquelle en réalité le respect des DH est en mesure de renforcer une telle lutte, au lieu de l’aﬀaiblir. Il vaut la peine en revanche de remarquer que le climat semble en train de changer de façon bien perceptible : les modes du combat contre le terrorisme mené sans assez de soucis pour les DH – que ce soit au niveau des politiques nationales ou internationale – sont présentement exposés

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à une critique toujours plus croissante qui semble en mesure de porter progressivement d’appréciables fruits. De ce point de vue, le changement de politique en cours aux Etats-Unis, notamment au sujet de Guantanamo, prête sans doute à des présages d’évolution allant dans le bon sens, qui concernent non seulement l’action nationale, mais aussi l’action internationale (et onusienne).

Chapter 6 There is no need to change the composition of the Security Council. It is time for stressing accountability* Marcelo G. Kohen

I had the pleasure to begin teaching at the Graduate Institute in Geneva in 1995, sharing with Vera Gowlland the task of providing a general course on public international law to advanced ‘licence’ students in international relations. Since then I have had many occasions to appreciate Vera’s acute vision of international law, her commitment to social values, her modesty and real friendship. One of the ﬁelds in which Vera has excelled is the law of the United Nations. My contribution to this volume deals with the existence or not of a need to modify the composition of the Security Council (SC). The discussion concerning the reform of the SC is as old as the UN itself.1 Following the end of the Cold War, renewed interest in this perennial topic of international organisation has become apparent.2 However, a decade of drafts, working groups, open-ended discussions, and so on, has led only to frustration. Indeed, there could not have been any other outcome, despite the enthusiastic participation in this exercise by some delegations, experts and high-level personalities, as evinced from the diﬀerent campaigns and slogans used to summarize some of the proposals under consideration.3

* This contribution is based on a paper given at the 73rd Biennial Conference of the International Law Association at Rio de Janeiro on 21 August 2008. I am grateful to Dr Asso Hassan Zadeh, assistant at the Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, and Katherine Del Mar, my personal research assistant and assistant at the Faculty of Law of the University of Geneva, for their valuable help in the preparation of this text. 1 Vera Gowlland-Debbas, ‘Collective Security Revisited in Light of the Flurry over UN Reform: an International Law Perspective’, in: Vincent Chétail (ed.), Conﬂicts, security and cooperation: Liber Amicorum Victor-Yves Ghebali, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2007), 251–278, p. 252. 2 See for example, Olivier Fleurence, La Réforme du Conseil de Sécurité: l’état du débat depuis la ﬁn de la guerre froide, (Brussels: Établissements Émile Bruylant, 2000). 3 In the United Nations Millennium Declaration, States committed themselves “[t]o intensify[ing] [their] eﬀorts to achieve a comprehensive reform of the Security Council in all

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Nevertheless, this predictable frustration should not dominate an analysis of the SC’s action (or inaction) over the past two decades, nor cloud a discussion of its role in the future. The endemic of general SC inaction, particularly poignant during the Cold War due to both actual and potential vetoes by the two major superpowers, could very well come to an end, paving the way for a new era of cooperation. If the SC had played a more dominant role on many occasions, some recent SC practices – which raise serious problems from the legal viewpoint – could have been curbed. Some examples of these practices include the general authorisation of States to use force without SC control,4 legislative and quasi-judicial action by the SC,5 exceptions from the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court to satisfy a particular State,6 and the lack of a SC reaction in response to clear deﬁance of its own established international administration regime.7 Other legally problematic practices cannot be charged to the debtor list of the SC itself. This is particularly the case of abusive interpretations of SC resolutions by some States in order to justify evidently wrongful uses of force,8 as well as the incapacity of the SC to take positive action in response to a number of serious situations because of the position of one or more of its permanent members. The Report of the Vice-Chairpersons to the President of the General Assembly on the Question of Equitable Representation on and Increase in the Membership of the Security Council of 11 June 2008, states that there is “a common understanding that the Security Council in its current composition does not reﬂect international reality and thus needs to be adequately rebalanced. Status quo on

4 5 6

7 8

its aspects”: GA Res. 55/2 (2000), § 30; The UN Secretary-General considered this statement by the General Assembly to reﬂect “the view, long held by the majority, that a change in the Council’s composition is needed to make it more broadly representative of the international community as a whole, as well as of the geopolitical realities of today, and thereby more legitimate in the eyes of the world”: Report of the Secretary-General, ‘In larger Freedom: towards development, security and human rights for all’, UN doc. A/59/2005 (21 March 2005), p. 42, § 168. See for instance SC Resolutions 678 (1990), 794 (1992) and 816 (1993). SC Resolutions 1267 (1999), 1373 (2001) and 1540 (2004). SC Resolution 1422 (2002) and 1487 (2003). See Carsten Stahn, ‘The Ambiguities of Security Council Resolution 1422 (2002)’, 14 EJIL, No. 1, 2003, 85–104. This is the case with regard to Kosovo, which will be summarily dealt with infra. Letter dated 20 March 2003 from the Permanent Representative of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to the United Nations addressed to the President of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/2003/350, 21 March, 2003; Letter dated 20 March 2003 from the Permanent Representative of the United States of America to the United Nations addressed to the President of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/2003/351, 21 March 2003. See Mary Ellen O’Connell, ‘Addendum to Armed Force in Iraq: Issues of Legality’, ASIL Insights, (April), 2003, available online at http://www.asil.org/insigh99a1.cfm.

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present Security Council composition is judged unrealistic”.9 It is my intention to fundamentally challenge these assertions. My argument can be summarised as follows: at present, taking into account the realities of international society, it is neither possible nor necessary to modify the composition of the SC. To state that it is not feasible to modify its composition is, to some extent, self-explanatory.10 Although there is room for discussion, and perhaps even room for attempts to convince the real decisionmakers to push ahead with such a proposal, I will not address this issue here. I prefer to focus on the argument that there is no need to change the present composition of the main UN organ charged with the maintenance of international peace and security. This includes the enlargement of SC membership, the inclusion of new permanent members – with or without a veto power – and the abolition of this power for those presently enjoying it, namely the ﬁve permanent members (P5).

1. It is not Necessary to Enlarge the Composition of the SC To some extent, the proposition that it is not necessary to modify the number of members of the SC inherently implies that there should be no change in the present P5 composition, and that it is not wise to envisage the suppression of the veto power. For the sake of completeness, these propositions will each be addressed in turn in Parts 2 and 3, below. It is submitted that the sole issue that remains alive with regard to the current membership of the SC, is that the distribution of seats among the nonpermanent members should be reformed in order to take into account the considerable and unjustiﬁed over-representation of European countries, since the distinction between Western and Eastern Europe no longer holds today. This is particularly the case when one considers that nearly all Eastern European countries are members of the European Union (EU), an organization purported to have a common foreign and security policy.11 This necessary change would

9 10

11

Available at: http://www.un.org/ga/president/62/letters/report110608.pdf, p. 1. Due to the diﬃculty in obtaining the unanimity required by articles 108 and 109 of the Charter, there have only been 3 amendments of the Charter to date: see Gowlland Debbas, supra note 1, pp. 252–3. However, reform of the SC is not unattainable in practice. In 1965 the number of non-permanent SC member seats was increased to 10 to account for newly independent States. The principle of a European Union common foreign and security policy was formalized in the Treaty on European Union signed at Maastricht, Oﬃcial Journal C 191, 29 July 1992, and later developed in the Treaty of Amsterdam Amending the Treaty on European Union, the Treaties Establishing the European Communities and Related Acts, Oﬃcial Journal C 340,

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be straightforward to implement and would not require any amendment to the UN Charter. I am not talking here about the proposals to have an extra seat for the EU or even replacing the permanent seats of France and the United Kingdom with one EU seat.12 These proposals imply complex issues such as the participation of regional organisations as members of the UN and do not seem foreseeable in the near future, both practically – bearing in mind the need for an amendment to the Charter to be made – and politically, taking into account the diﬃculties that the EU faces in reaching a consensus on nearly all major international issues. Why is there no need to enlarge SC membership? The reasons are quite simple and constitute a restatement of the position of the SC within the UN system. The SC is an executive organ. As stated in article 24 of the Charter, members have conferred on the SC primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security in order to ensure “prompt and eﬀective action by the United Nations” (emphasis added), agreeing that in carrying out its duties the SC acts on their collective behalf. What really matters is that there is adequate representation of the diﬀerent regions of the world in the SC. There is no need whatsoever to enlarge the SC in order to ensure this representation. The fact that there are 192 UN members at present does not alter this assertion. A SC of 15 members can be representative of the international community of States, as well as being eﬃcient. There is no need for further elaboration to assert that a SC of 20, 22, 23, 24, 25 or 26 members, as diﬀerent proposals suggest,13 would entail a cumbersome – or

12

13

10 November 1997, and the Treaty of Nice Amending the Treaty on European Union, the Treaties Establishing the European Communities and Certain Related Acts, Oﬃcial Journal C 80, 10 March 2001. Cf. Natalino Ronziti, ‘Il seggio europeo alle Nazioni Unite’, 91 Rivista di Diritto Internazionale, No. 1, 2008, 79–98. The Chairman of the Open-ended Working Group on the Question of Equitable Representation on and Increase in the Membership of the Security Council and Other Matters Related to the Security Council (Working Group) presented his paper on a reform of the Security Council in which he proposed an increase of the number of SC members to 24, with the inclusion of 5 permanent members and 4 non-permanent members: UN Doc. A/AC.247/1997/ CRP.1, annex II, § 1. A proposal submitted by Australia, Austria, Belgium Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Ireland, Portugal and Slovenia to the Working Group proposed a maximum number of 25 SC members: U.N. Doc. A/AC.247/1997/CRP.2, annex III, § 7. The Group of Arab States suggested a minimum increase of at least 2 additional non-permanent members, and 1 SC permanent member in their submission to the Working Group: UN doc. A/AC.247/1997/CRP.7, appendix to annex VIII, § 4. Poland considered that the SC should be comprised of between 21 and 25 members in its proposal to the Working Group: UN Doc. A/AC.247/1997/CRP.9, annex X, § 8. Italy submitted a proposal to the Working Group to increase the number of non-permanent SC members by 10: UN Doc. A/AC.247/1997/CRP.12, annex XIII, § 2. The Assembly of Heads of State and Government

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at the very least, a more cumbersome – decision-making process. The proposal to enlarge SC membership cannot be justiﬁed by arguing that such an enlargement would have the eﬀect of limiting the inﬂuence of the P5. The P5 does not act as a group to give eﬀect to a collective P5 agenda. At most there exists in some instances an inﬂuential ‘P2’, even perhaps a ‘P3’.14 A majority of 9 SC permanent members, or a majority of 15 or even 19, is achieved in the same manner; new members come from the same existing regions, not from diﬀerent worlds.

2. It is not Necessary to Include New Permanent Members, Even Less to Grant New Holders a Veto Power To admit new permanent members into the SC, each with a veto power, would be tantamount to enlarging the possibilities of SC resolution blockage, and consequently SC inaction, and is thus undesirable. It is true that there is currently no possibility for a Third World representative in the SC to veto any decision, whereas there are three Western States, as well as Russia and China that enjoy such a power. The Third World has nothing to lament in this respect. An increase in the number of States that enjoy a veto power will not alter the balance of power within the SC. Thus, in order to defend a coherent position that advocates for a shift in the balance of power within the SC, Third World States must argue against the veto power. Hence, and for diﬀerent reasons, it is better not to have such a veto right. Third World power must be exercised in a diﬀerent way. It is not through an addition of three Third World permanent member seats (or even rotary member seats) in the SC, with powers to veto a SC decision, that Third World power should be wielded. It is rather through the power

14

of the Organization of African Union proposed to the Working Group a SC of 26 members: UN Doc. A/AC.247/1997/CRP.11, annex XII, § 2. This was reiterated in a draft General Assembly resolution proposed by African States: UN Doc. A/59/L.67 (14 July 2005). In a draft General Assembly resolution, Brazil. Germany and India proposed the addition of 6 new non-permanent SC seats, and 4 permanent seats: UN Doc. A/60/L.46 (9 January 2006); The draft General Assembly proposal submitted by Afghanistan, Belgium, Bhutan, Brazil, Czech Republic, Denmark, Fiji, France, Georgia, Germany, Greece, Haiti, Honduras, Iceland, India, Japan, Kiribati, Latvia, Maldives, Nauru, Palau, Paraguay, Poland, Solomon Islands, Tuvalu and Ukraine, suggested an addition of 6 permanent and 4 non-permanent members: UN doc. A/59/L.64 (6 July 2005), § 1. Argentina, Canada, Costa Rica, Italy, Malta, Mexico, Pakistan, Republic of Korea, San Marino, Spain and Turkey proposed a total of 20 non-permanent member seats, in addition to the current 5 permanent member seats, in their draft General Assembly Resolution: UN doc. A/59/L.68 (21 July 2005), § 1. See Georges Abi-Saab, ‘A “New World Order”? Some Preliminary Reﬂections’, 7 Hague Yearbook of International Law, 1994, 89–90.

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of the elementary democratic rule, the power of the majority, that the Third World voice should be heard. This, however, requires cohesion, coherence and adequate representation. Up until now this coherence has not existed. In some instances, Third World non-permanent SC members have assumed a seemingly prudent attitude in the face of political pressure. However, in other cases some choices made in regional groups amounted to the election to the SC of some Third World non-permanent members that did not really have an independent foreign policy, thereby rendering the Third World somewhat voiceless. To admit new permanent members without veto powers is a curious way to call for SC reform. There is no coherence in this proposal, which amounts to creating a third category of members, but fails to modify the balance of power within the SC. If the issue is having a more representative SC, this can be achieved in other ways, as mentioned above. Indeed, the reasons for being permanent members today could disappear in the future, and this elementary factual possibility should rather lead to a proposal for “permanent” member election by the General Assembly, instead of setting in stone that privileged position in the UN Charter, as it is the case for the P5 in article 23, paragraph 1, of the Charter today. The proposal of new permanent members raises two questions: (1) the criteria for their determination, but also (2) whether these criteria should justify the presence of some of the current permanent members. The present P5 is a product of history. To say that the world today is diﬀerent from that of 1945 is at the same time to state the obvious, and to neglect that the international society as it exists today is still essentially governed by the international law that emerged from the major event of the 20th century: the victory over Nazism. To put things more clearly, I have no doubt that Germany and Japan are two democratic, peaceful, economically powerful States and committed to the UN goals and action. In my view, this is not enough to justify their permanent membership in the SC. It is impossible to agree on the number of criteria that would justify a State becoming a permanent member of the SC and I have no intention of setting out my own tentative list of these criteria here. What is clear is that the permanent presence of Germany and Japan in the SC will not change the present balance of power in this organ. Rather, such an inclusion would simply reinforce the status quo. For its part, Brazil deserved becoming a permanent member in 1945 for its participation in the Second World War and as a way for providing Latin America, whose States constituted nearly half of UN membership at that time, with a permanent seat. Regrettably, history decided otherwise. I have no doubt that Brazil’s presence as a SC permanent member would have greatly assisted in contributing to a more balanced SC. Unfortunately, Latin American positions at the end of the Second World War were generally perceived as largely dependent upon US will, and thus led to a lack of consensus at San Francisco

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to allow Brazil to become a permanent member. India would also have been a good candidate for permanent membership, but it only became independent two years after the creation of the UN. For obvious reasons, South Africa candidature could not have been even envisaged in 1945. The result is the SC we still have now. At the end of the day, P5 diversity – notwithstanding its Western dominance – allows for some equilibrium and this is an often neglected fact.

3. It is not Wise to Envisage the Suppression of the Veto Power It is not necessary to insist upon the undemocratic nature of the veto power and its purported contradiction with the fundamental principle of the sovereign equality of States.15 Nonetheless, it would not be an exaggeration to suggest that the existence of this extraordinary power in the hands of such few States has allowed the UN system to continue to exist for more than 60 years after its creation. Open anti-UN positions within the US are well known. These positions are advanced even at a time when the UN has been quite accommodating in response to US pressure. A collective security system without a veto power would be tantamount to having a UN without the inclusion of the unique superpower, and even certain other permanent members, such as Russia and China. The history of the League of Nations in the ﬁrst half of last century is not so distant as to be forgotten and the same mistakes reapplied in the ﬁrst half of the present century. Surely another international society is possible and it will exist one day. This will certainly herald into existence another, new system of collective security, equitable trade, sustainable development and universal respect for human rights. In the meantime, it is better to maintain – and to apply – the existing collective security system.

4. It is Necessary that the Security Council Accounts for its Decisions Following the end of the Cold War the world witnessed an increase in SC activism. Use of Chapter VII powers were, and still are, frequently resorted to. The main results of this SC activity were a new mechanism to resort to force, a wide interpretation of the concept of “threat to the peace”, a deployment of

15

Cf. my commentary to Article 2, paragraph 1, of the Charter in Jean-Pierre Cot, Alain Pellet, and Mathias Forteau, (eds.), La Charte des Nations Unies. Commentaire article par article, 3rd edn., (Paris: Economica, 2006), pp. 399–416.

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numerous peace-keeping operations and international administrations, and the imposition of sanctions. The results vary. This is not the place to embark upon an analysis of the history of SC activity. What can be mentioned here – since this poses a serious institutional problem – is the inconsistency of SC actions with regard to the follow-up of its own previous resolutions and the need for more accountability.16 A striking recent example of the undermining of SC resolutions is the question of Kosovo. It was the SC that established an international administration in that province in 1999. The unilateral proclamation of independence by the local organs created by the UN administration itself clearly constitutes an ultra vires act and an open deﬁance to the legitimate administrator of the territory: the UNMIK (with support from EULEX), established on the basis of a decision adopted under Chapter VII of the UN Charter.17 In paragraph 19 of Resolution 1244 (1999), the Security Council clearly decided that the international civil and security presences ‘will continue unless the Security Council itself decides otherwise’. Hence, the only UN legally possible action in response to this unilateral measure is to consider that the legitimate authority to administer Kosovo remains UNMIK and includes support provided by EULEX with SC backing. US pressure has led the Secretary-General and his Special Representative to adopt a ‘neutral’ stance on this issue which in fact implies a resignation of their duties in accordance with SC Resolution 1244. The International Court of Justice (‘ICJ’) will have an opportunity to address these issues in its advisory opinion requested by the General Assembly on the Accordance with International Law of the unilateral declaration of independence by the Provisional Institutions of Self-Government of Kosovo.18 The SC is an organ of the UN and as such its role is framed within the UN Charter. To argue for some form of constitutional control over SC resolutions by the ICJ, playing the role of a constitutional court similar to those existing in some domestic legal systems, is unrealistic. What is not unrealistic is the exercise by the ICJ of legal control over some SC resolutions when it has the possibility to do so in the framework of its jurisdiction. In the Lockerbie cases,

16

17

18

States and scholars, sometimes acting together, have proposed various ways to make the SC more accountable for its actions and inaction, and to further strengthen the rule of law. See, for example, ‘The UN Security Council and the Rule of Law. The Role of the Security Council in Strengthening a Rules-based International System. Final Report and Recommendations from the Austrian Initiative’, annexed to Letter dated 18 April 2008 from the Permanent Representative of Austria to the United Nations addressed to the Secretary-General, 7 May 2008, UN doc. S/2008/270. Declaration of Independence by the Provisional Institutions in the Serbian Province of Kosovo, 17 February 2008, 47 ILM, 2008, 467. GA Res. 63/3 of 8 October 2008.

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the Court abstained from undertaking such an exercise at the indication of provisional measures and at the preliminary objections phase with regard to Resolution 748 (1992),19 but should have done so if the case had reached the merits phase. In other instances, the same Court has left open the possibility for exercising such control, the most striking being the refusal to render an advisory opinion requested by a resolution of the World Health Assembly because the Court considered this request to fall outside the competence of the WHO.20 Up until now, the clearest example of judicial control over the legality of SC resolutions was given by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia Appeal Chamber’s judgment of 2 October 1995 in the Tadić case.21 This example should systematically be followed when the occasion arises. Political control, and a partial ﬁlling of the gaps of SC inaction because of the veto exercised by permanent members, can also be performed by the General Assembly. An important tool is the Uniting for Peace procedure of Resolution 377 A (V), the legality of which was implicitly acknowledged by the ICJ in its advisory opinion on the Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall by Israel on the Occupied Palestinian Territory.22

5. Concluding Remarks At the end of the day, the main problem currently concerning the Security Council is political and legal, rather than institutional. What is sometimes called the ‘inability’ of the SC is rather the fact that the SC is not in a position to adopt a given policy that is desired by one or more States. The SC did not fail to address the Iraq problem before the US and the UK’s use of force and occupation of the country in 2003. It is now evident that the control regime set up by the UN was eﬀective in preventing Saddam Hussein’s regime from possessing weapons of massive destruction. If there was a failure, it does not lie

19

20

21

22

Case concerning Questions of Interpretation and Application of the 1971 Montreal Convention arising from the Aerial Incident at Lockerbie (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United Kingdom) (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United States of America) (Request for the Indication of Provisional Measures), Order, ICJ Reports 1992, pp. 3 and 114; Case concerning Questions of Interpretation and Application of the 1971 Montreal Convention arising from the Aerial Incident at Lockerbie (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United Kingdom) (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United States of America) (Preliminary Objections), Judgment, ICJ Reports 1998, pp. 9 and 115. Legality of the Use by a State of Nuclear Weapons in Armed Conﬂict, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1996, p. 226. Prosecutor v. Duško Tadić (Decision on the Defence Motion for Interlocutory Appeal on Jurisdiction), Judgment of 2 October 1995, IT-94–1–AR72. Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall by Israel on the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Reports 2004, 151–152, paras. 30–35.

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with the system of control established within the framework of the UN,23 but rather with former President George W. Bush’s policy towards Iraq. To focus on SC institutional reform is, in the present state of aﬀairs, pure diversion. Nothing supports the view that an enlarged SC would have operated diﬀerently with regard to Iraq, Kosovo, Darfur, Burma, the Israeli-Palestinian conﬂict, terrorism and many other questions. There are no ‘new’ challenges looming on the horizon; they are the same. Eadem, sed aliter. Grave human rights violations, generalised uses of force, civil strife, terrorism, occupation, unilateralism, are even older than the UN itself. To create false expectations is not a wise policy. This has been the case with regard to States such as Brazil, Germany, India, Japan and South Africa, each of which would certainly deserve an important place in the SC, as would many other States. It is undesirable to encourage valuable time and energy to be spent discussing unforeseeable SC reform. It rests with each regional group to proceed to elect those States that are in a position to play an important role in the SC to represent them. It is well known what Winston Churchill thought about democracy: “Many forms of Government have been tried and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.”24 The same can also be said with regard to the collective security regime established by the Charter: instead of discussing UN reform, it is better to comply with the Charter.

23

24

‘Rather than concluding the Council “is not working” because the United States did not get authorization to use force in [Kosovo and Iraq], the opposite is true’: O’Connell, Mary Ellen, ‘The United Nations Security Council and the Authorization of Force: Renewing the Council through Law Reform’, in Blokker, Niels, and Schrijver, Nico (eds.), The Security Council and the Use of Force. Theory and Reality – A Need for Change?, Leiden: Martinus Nijhoﬀ Publishers, 2005, 47–63, p. 55. Speech in the House of Commons, 11 November 1947. The Oﬃcial Report, House of Commons (5th Series), 11 November 1947, vol. 444, cc. 206–07.

Chapter 7 L’(ir)responsabilité des forces multinationales ? Linos-Alexandre Sicilianos*

Tout au long de sa brillante carrière, Vera Gowlland n’a cessé de porter un regard critique sur le fonctionnement du chapitre VII de la Charte des Nations Unies, ainsi que sur l’évolution de la problématique relative à la responsabilité internationale. Dans un de ses articles qui a fait tâche d’huile dans la bibliographie du droit international, elle a remarquablement démontré l’articulation entre ses deux domaines favoris.1 C’est précisément dans cette logique que s’intègre la présente contribution. Partant des fameuses aﬀaires Behrami et Saramati, jugées par la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme,2 mais aussi de l’aﬀaire Al-Jedda, jugée par la Chambre des Lords,3 on se propose de s’interroger sur la responsabilité des forces multinationales agissant sur autorisation du Conseil de sécurité des Nations Unies au titre du chapitre VII de la Charte. Dans ce contexte, il importe de souligner, tout d’abord, la distinction classique – mais néanmoins curieusement méconnue ces derniers temps – entre les opérations de maintien ou d’imposition de la paix des Nations Unies et les opérations autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité, mises en œuvre par des forces multinationales agissant sous commandement uniﬁé. On sait, en eﬀet, que les premières sont des opérations des Nations Unies en ce sens que leur nom renvoie à l’Organisations mondiale, qu’elles utilisent le drapeau et les emblèmes onusiens, que leur budget relève en principe du budget onusien, que leur personnel est considéré comme personnel des Nations Unies, ainsi et surtout que leur commandement relève, lui aussi, de l’ONU. Partant de ces éléments,

* Professeur associé à l’Université d’Athènes, Rapporteur du Comité des Nations Unies pour l’élimination de la discrimination raciale. 1 V. Gowlland, ‘Security Council Enforcement Action and Issues of State Responsibility’, ICLQ, 1994, 55. 2 Cour Européenne des Droits de l’Homme, Behrami c. France et Saramati c. France, Allemagne et Norvège, n° 71412/01 et 78166/01, 2 mai 2007. 3 Chambre des Lords, Al-Jedda v. Secretary of State for Defence, arrêt du 12 décembre 2007, [2007] UKHL 58.

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les opérations de paix des Nations Unies sont considérées comme des organes subsidiaires de l’organe qui a décidé leur déploiement, en règle générale le Conseil de sécurité. Rien de tel pour ce qui est des forces multinationales : leur dénomination ne renvoie pas à l’Organisation mondiale, les emblèmes utilisés ne sont pas ceux des Nations Unies, leur budget est couvert par les États participants (ou intéressés), leur personnel n’est pas considéré comme personnel onusien et, enﬁn et surtout, leur commandement est assumé soit par un État soit par une organisation régionale ou sous-régionale, mais pas par l’ONU. Contrairement aux opérations des Nations Unies, les opérations autorisées ne font pas partie du cadre institutionnel de l’Organisation mondiale, mais elles se situent à mi-chemin entre multilatéralisme et unilatéralisme. La nature juridique hybride des opérations autorisées commande leur régime juridique.4 Partant de cette prémisse, on constate que le droit applicable aux opérations autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité n’est pas exempt d’ambiguïtés. Il est vrai que l’applicabilité de principe du droit international humanitaire5 et/ou du droit international des droits de l’homme ne semble plus faire de doute.6 Force est de constater, néanmoins, que la pratique n’est pas toujours concluante quant à la possibilité d’appliquer par analogie certaines règles du droit international humanitaire – celles relatives à l’occupation, par exemple – ou au sujet des dérogations permises en matière de droits de l’homme. Les résolutions du Conseil de sécurité, qui déterminent le mandat des forces multinationales, sont souvent invoquées pour écarter l’application de ces normes. Or, il est évident que la persistance d’incertitudes quant au contenu et à la portée des règles primaires qui régissent le déroulement des opérations autorisées soulève des problèmes sous l’angle du droit de la responsabilité internationale, étant donné que la violation d’une obligation internationale découlant d’une telle règle constitue

4

5

6

Cette thèse est défendue et analysée tout au long de notre contribution ‘L’autorisation par le Conseil de sécurité de recourir à la force. Une tentative d’évaluation’, RGDIP, 2002, 5 et de notre cours à l’Académie de droit international de La Haye, ‘Entre multilatéralisme et unilatéralisme : l’autorisation par le Conseil de sécurité de recourir à la force’, Recueil des cours de l’Académie de droit international de La Haye, 2008, 9–436. Voir F. Hampson, ‘States’ Military Operations Authorized by the United Nations and International Humanitarian Law’, in : L. Condorelli, A.-M. La Rosa, S. Scherrer, (dir.), Les Nations Unies et le droit international humanitaire (Paris, Pedone, 1996), pp. 371–426 ; Cl. Emanuelli, Les actions militaires de l’ONU et le droit international humanitaire (Montréal, Wilson & Laﬂeur, 1997), p. 24 et s. ; R. Kolb, G. Porretto, S. Vité, L’application du droit international humanitaire et des droits de l’homme aux organisations internationales (Bruxelles, Bruylant, 2005). Nous avons essayé d’esquisser le droit applicable aux opérations autorisées dans notre contribution ‘L’autorisation . . .’, op. cit. Une étude bien plus approfondie de cette question est contenue dans notre cours, cité supra note 4.

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une condition sine qua non pour l’engagement éventuel de la responsabilité des États ou des organisations internationales participant aux opérations qui nous intéressent. Cela dit, et sans vouloir aborder in extenso la substance du droit applicable aux opérations autorisées,7 on constate également que la pratique récente, et tout particulièrement la pratique jurisprudentielle, a semé des doutes quant à l’attribution d’un comportement illicite à l’un des acteurs impliqués dans une opération autorisée. Si le critère du « contrôle eﬀectif » ne semble pas pouvoir être contesté en tant que tel, son application aux ﬁns de l’attribution d’un comportement illicite doit tenir compte de la nature juridique hybride de ces opérations. Toutefois, le refus des juridictions nationales et internationales d’examiner le fond des plaintes individuelles alléguant la violation des droits de l’homme à l’occasion de l’exécution d’opérations autorisées rend extrêmement diﬃcile la mise en œuvre de la responsabilité internationale.

1. L’attribution de la violation : le critère du « contrôle eﬀectif » La mise en œuvre des opérations qui font l’objet de la présente étude implique une synergie plus ou moins poussée entre le Conseil de sécurité, qui accorde son autorisation, et les agents d’exécution, c’est-à-dire les États participants ainsi que, dans certains cas, les organisations régionales, dont le rôle diﬀère d’une opération à l’autre. On sait, par ailleurs, qu’assez souvent les forces multinationales sont appelées à soutenir des opérations de maintien de la paix des Nations Unies, sans parler de l’« opération hybride » Nations Unies/Union Africaine au Darfour, qui constitue pour le moment un cas exceptionnel, voire unique. Dans le contexte de ces relations complexes entre États et organisations internationales, le critère pertinent en vue de l’attribution d’un comportement – par hypothèse illicite – à l’un ou l’autre des acteurs impliqués est celui du « contrôle eﬀectif » sur le comportement en question. Pour reprendre les termes de la CDI : [L]orsqu’un organe ou un agent est mis à la disposition d’une organisation internationale, il apparaît que la question décisive en ce qui concerne l’attribution d’un comportement déterminé est de savoir qui exerce eﬀectivement un contrôle sur le comportement en question.8

7

8

Voir l’analyse de L.-A. Sicilianos, ‘Entre multilatéralisme et unilatéralisme : l’autorisation par le Conseil de sécurité de recourir à la force’, op. cit., 302–369. Voir le Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/59/10 (2004), chapitre V, ‘Responsabilité des organisations internationales’, commentaire de l’article 5, p. 113, para. 7. Voir dans le même sens R. Simmonds, Legal Problems Arising from the United Nations Military Operations (La Haye, Nijhoﬀ, 1968), p. 229 ; M. Perez Gonzalez ‘Les organisations internationales et le droit de la

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Or, le Conseil de sécurité n’exerce qu’un contrôle politique global, voire même parfois un contrôle nominal sur les opérations autorisées, le commandement et le contrôle opérationnel revenant aux agents d’exécution, c’est-à-dire aux États ou aux organisations régionales selon les cas. Dans ces conditions, il semble impossible d’attribuer à l’ONU – ou en tout cas de lui attribuer exclusivement – un comportement illicite perpétré par les forces d’un contingent national au cours d’une opération autorisée. Les agissements en question ne peuvent qu’être attribués, en principe, aux agents d’exécution des autorisations du Conseil de sécurité. On ne soulignera jamais assez, en eﬀet, que la nature juridique mixte des opérations autorisées a une inﬂuence décisive sur le régime juridique de celles-ci. A. L’impossible attribution à l’ONU i. Le principe On est ainsi amené à insister, une fois de plus, sur la distinction d’importance capitale entre les opérations de maintien de la paix, placées sous commandement onusien, et les opérations autorisées. Pour ce qui est des premières, le

responsabilité’, RGDIP, 1988, 83 ; P. Klein, La responsabilité des organisations internationales dans les ordres juridiques internes et en droit des gens (Bruxelles, Bruylant/éd. de l’Université de Bruxelles, 1998), p. 379 et s. ; G. Gaja, ‘Deuxième rapport sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales’, A/CN.4/541, 2 avril 2004, para. 40. Voir également les remarques de L. Condorelli au sujet des diﬃcultés à distinguer entre contrôle opérationnel et contrôle organisationnel, ‘Le statut des forces de l’ONU et le droit international humanitaire’, RDI, 1995, 887. Le critère du contrôle eﬀectif a été utilisé également, bien que de façon singulière (voir infra), par la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme dans les aﬀaires Behrami c. France et Saramati c. France, Allemagne et Norvège, requêtes 71412/01 et 78166/01, décisions du 2 mai 2007, para. 30 ss. On ne souscrira pas, en revanche, à la thèse de M. Forteau, pour qui dans les opérations de maintien de l’ordre public, telles que celles de la KFOR au Kosovo ou de l’INTERFET au Timor oriental, chaque État participant aux forces multinationales en question ‘est mandaté pour agir en lieu et place de l’État hôte et exercer les compétences de ce dernier. Un véritable rapport de représentation se met en place à cette occasion entre un État administré et un État administrateur, et ce rapport conduit à une rupture dans le lien contrôle/imputation’ (‘La situation juridique des contingents militaires français chargés d’assurer le maintien de l’ordre public sur le territoire d’un État étranger’, RGDIP, 2003, 641). Partant de cette idée, l’auteur soutient que les contingents militaires français, participant à des forces multinationales autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité, ‘perdent leur statut d’organes français, sans pour autant que l’État français perde son contrôle sur ses agents’ (ibid., p. 659). Si tel était le cas, chaque État participant, et non seulement la France, pourrait contourner toute règle applicable du droit international en invoquant, de surcroît, la responsabilité de l’État ‘hôte’ pour le compte duquel il agirait ! Il est évident, à notre sens, qu’une telle thèse créerait un ‘trou noir’ juridique dans l’exécution des opérations autorisées en conduisant, à terme, à des abus et à l’impunité. La thèse en question ne bénéﬁcie pas d’un appui solide dans la pratique internationale ni dans les travaux de la CDI en matière de responsabilité des États et des organisations internationales.

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principe de l’attribution à l’ONU ne soulève pas de diﬃcultés étant donné l’importance du contrôle qu’exerce l’Organisation sur leur déroulement.9 Pour reprendre les termes du Conseiller juridique des Nations Unies : [U]ne force de maintien de la paix ayant qualité d’organe subsidiaire de l’Organisation des Nations Unies, ses actes sont en principe imputables à l’Organisation, et s’ils enfreignent une obligation internationale, ils engagent la responsabilité internationale de l’Organisation et mettent à sa charge une obligation d’indemniser.10

Les opérations autorisées, en revanche, échappent à la chaîne de commandement de l’ONU. Elles sont placées, on le rappelle, sous commandement et contrôle uniﬁés, dont la charge incombe soit à un État, soit à une organisation régionale. Dans ces conditions, on ne saurait soutenir que les forces autorisées sont placées à la disposition de l’Organisation des Nations Unies au sens de l’article 5 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales.11 On remarque, en eﬀet, qu’à la diﬀérence de son attitude concernant les opérations de maintien de la paix, l’ONU n’accepte pas en principe que les actes ou omissions des membres du personnel des forces autorisées lui soient imputables. C’est ainsi qu’à propos d’un accident de voiture survenu en Somalie lors de l’Opération « Restore Hope », le Directeur de la Division de l’administration et de la logistique des missions du Département des opérations de maintien de la paix de l’ONU a écrit au Représentant permanent de la Belgique auprès de l’Organisation que : [L]es troupes belges en Somalie au moment de l’accident, le 13 avril 1993, faisaient partie de la Force d’intervention uniﬁée créée par le Conseil de sécurité dans sa résolution 794 (1992) et non de l’Opération des Nations Unies en Somalie (ONUSOM). En fait, les seuls ressortissants belges faisant partie de l’ONUSOM étaient des oﬃciers en poste au quartier général. La personne impliquée dans cet accident a déclaré qu’elle travaillait comme cuisinier dans le cadre de l’« Opération Restore Hope » ; [l’intéressé] ne pouvait donc être considéré comme faisant partie de l’opération des Nations Unies. Les troupes de la Force d’intervention uniﬁée n’étaient pas sous le commandement de l’Organisation des Nations Unies et celleci a toujours refusé d’être tenue pour responsable lorsque des réclamations ont été présentées en ce qui concerne des incidents impliquant ces troupes.12

9

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11 12

Encore que les contingents nationaux ont souvent tendance à obéir aux ordres de leur propre hiérarchie, ce qui pose la question de la responsabilité conjointe, voire exclusive de l’État concerné (voir l’analyse de G. Gaja, ‘Deuxième rapport’, op. cit., para. 34 et s., ainsi que E. Doussi, ONU : Responsabilité internationale et opérations de paix (Athènes/Thessalonique, Sakkoulas, 2008), surtout p. 205 et s., en grec). Lettre non publiée, datée du 3 février 2004, citée dans Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/59/10, p. 112. Voir en ce sens G. Gaja, ‘Deuxième rapport’, op. cit., para. 32. Lettre non publiée, datée du 25 juin 1998, citée par G. Gaja, op. cit., para. 33.

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Cette manière de voir résume la position constante de l’Organisation en la matière. Elle semble reﬂéter également la pratique des États. On mentionnera à cet égard l’attitude des États-Unis à l’occasion du conﬂit coréen, lorsque les forces américaines ont attaqué par erreur des cibles situées en territoire chinois. Après quelques tergiversations, il est vrai, le gouvernement américain a ﬁnalement accepté « d’assumer la responsabilité des dommages dont une enquête impartiale menée immédiatement pourrait montrer qu’ils ont été causés par les forces des États-Unis et d’indemniser ces dommages ».13 Plus récemment, le Canada a accepté de verser une indemnisation lorsqu’un jeune somalien a été tué par des membres du contingent canadien de la Force d’intervention uniﬁée, opérant sur la base de l’autorisation contenue dans la résolution 794 (1992).14 Dans le même ordre d’idées s’inscrit également une déclaration ﬁgurant dans une lettre adressée au Secrétaire général de l’ONU par le Premier Ministre rwandais en date du 11 novembre 1996, selon laquelle : [S]’agissant de l’‘Opération Turquoise’, bien qu’elle ait été ‘autorisée’ par le Conseil de sécurité, l’opération elle-même était placée sous commandement et contrôle national et n’était pas une opération des Nations Unies. De ce fait, l’Organisation des Nations Unies n’est pas internationalement responsable des actes et omissions qui pourraient être attribuables à l’‘Opération Turquoise’.15

Partant de ces éléments, le rapporteur spécial de la Commission du Droit International (CDI) sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales, le professeur G. Gaja, estimait en 2004 que l’approche suivant laquelle l’ONU ne saurait se voir imputer les actes ou omissions des membres des contingents nationaux des forces multinationales « semble avoir été généralement acceptée par les États dont des forces participaient aux opérations autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité ».16 Autrement dit, le fait que le commandement et le contrôle opérationnel de telles opérations – et donc le « contrôle eﬀectif » sur le terrain – échappe au Conseil de sécurité a pour conséquence que l’Organisation mondiale n’est pas responsable pour les agissements des forces multinationales. Cette manière de voir a été entérinée sans ambages par la CDI. En eﬀet, en introduisant les dispositions de son projet sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales, portant sur l’attribution d’un comportement à une telle organisation, la Commission a remarqué que :

13

14

15 16

Voir la lettre du représentant adjoint des Etats-Unis au Secrétaire général, doc. S/1813, 26 septembre 1950. Voir R. M. Young, M. Molina, ‘IHL and Peace Operations : Sharing Canada’s lessons learned from Somalia’, Yearbook of International Humanitarian Law, 1998, 366. Lettre non publiée, citée dans le Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/60/10 (2005), p. 102. ‘Deuxième rapport’, op. cit., para. 33.

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[L]e comportement des forces militaires d’États ou d’organisations internationales n’est pas attribuable à l’Organisation des Nations Unies lorsque le Conseil de sécurité autorise des États ou des organisations internationales à prendre les mesures nécessaires en dehors d’une chaîne de commandement reliant ces forces aux Nations Unies.

Et la CDI d’ajouter que « [c]ette position . . . n’est guère controversée » ;17 à tel point que la Commission s’est contentée de ces remarques en guise de commentaire et n’a pas jugé indispensable de reprendre ce point expressis verbis dans le texte même des dispositions portant sur la question de l’attribution d’un comportement à une organisation internationale. En d’autres termes, la CDI a estimé que l’impossibilité d’attribuer à l’ONU les agissements des États ou des organisations internationales opérant sur autorisation du Conseil de sécurité mais en dehors d’une chaîne de commandement onusien, était acquise en théorie et en pratique et que, dès lors, il n’était pas nécessaire d’alourdir le texte du projet lui-même en énonçant ce qui relèverait de l’évidence.18

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18

Voir le Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/59/10 (2004), p. 102. Cf. dans le même sens A. Geslin, ‘Réﬂexions sur la répartition de la responsabilité entre l’organisation internationale et ses États membres’, RGDIP, 2005, 554 ; A. Constantinidès, Limites juridiques et contrôle judiciaire du Conseil de sécurité des Nations Unies, (Athènes/Thessalonique : Sakkoulas, 2004), p. 95 ; P. Klein, ‘Responsabilité pour les faits commis dans le cadre d’opérations de paix et étendue du pouvoir de contrôle de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme : quelques considérations critiques sur l’arrêt Behrami et Saramati’, AFDI, 2007, 50. Des remarques analogues peuvent être faites en ce qui concerne le projet d’article 15, intitulé « décisions, recommandations et autorisations adressées aux États membres et organisations internationales membres », dont le paragraphe 2 stipule que : « Une organisation internationale engage sa responsabilité internationale si : a) Elle autorise un État membre ou une autorisation internationale membre à commettre un fait qui serait internationalement illicite s’il était commis par elle et qui la soustrairait à une obligation internationale, ou si elle recommande à un État membre ou à une organisation internationale membre de commettre un tel fait ; et b) Cet État ou cette organisation internationale commet le fait en question en s’appuyant sur cette autorisation ou cette recommandation » (Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/60/10 (2005), p. 98). Ainsi qu’il ressort clairement du commentaire qui suit (ibid., pp. 99 ss.), le but de cette disposition est d’exclure toute possibilité pour une organisation internationale de se soustraire à ses propres obligations internationales par voie de délégation ; d’où la référence à « un fait qui serait internationalement illicite s’il était commis par elle » (nos italiques). Le commentaire de la CDI précise, certes, que l’organisation internationale « auteur de l’autorisation ou de la recommandation verrait sa responsabilité engagée si elle demandait la commission d’un fait qui constituerait un contournement d’une de ses obligations, mais elle ne serait pas responsable de toute autre violation que pourrait commettre l’État membre ou l’organisation internationale membre auquel s’adresse l’autorisation ou la recommandation ». Et la CDI de rappeler à cet égard la position précitée du Premier Ministre rwandais à propos de l »’Opération Turquoise » (ibid., p. 102). Autrement dit, la CDI a réaﬃrmé implicitement en 2005 la position exprimée l’année précédente au sujet de l’impossibilité d’attribuer simpliciter à l’ONU le comportement d’une force armée opérant en dehors de la chaîne de commandement onusien. Il n’empêche

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ii. La remise en cause du principe : les arrêts Behrami et Saramati Seulement voilà : ce qui allait de soi pour la CDI, n’était aucunement évident pour les États défendeurs et les États intervenants, ainsi que pour la majorité des juges de la Grande Chambre de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme lors des aﬀaires Behrami et Behrami c. France et Saramati c. France, Allemagne et Norvège.19 Sans entrer dans le détail de ces aﬀaires, il importe ici d’examiner la question cruciale qu’elles ont soulevée, concernant précisément la possibilité d’attribuer à l’ONU l’action et l’inaction litigieuses des contingents des États défendeurs opérant dans le cadre de la KFOR sur la base de la résolution 1244 (1999) du Conseil de sécurité. Les requérants ont particulièrement insisté à cet égard sur la distinction entre la nature juridique de la MINUK en tant qu’opération onusienne et organe subsidiaire de l’Organisation, et celle de la KFOR en tant qu’opération autorisée échappant au commandement et au contrôle opérationnel de l’ONU. Concernant plus particulièrement le degré du contrôle national sur les contingents, les requérants ont souligné notamment que les troupes qui composent la KFOR répondent de leurs actes devant leurs commandants nationaux tout en relevant de la juridiction de leur État d’envoi ; que les règles d’engagement sont nationales ; qu’en vertu du règlement 2000/47 de la MINUK les États fournisseurs ont conservé les compétences en matière disciplinaire, civile et pénale sur les contingents quant à tous les actes ou omissions de ceux-ci au Kosovo ; que les décisions de déploiement sont adoptées au niveau national ; ou encore que les contingents sont ﬁnancés par les États participants. Bref, les requérants ont mis en exergue l’ensemble ou presque des éléments décentralisés des opérations autorisées, par opposition aux éléments institutionnels qui caractérisent les opérations de maintien de la paix de l’ONU en général et la MINUK en particulier. Partant de l’ensemble de ces éléments, les requérants arrivaient à

19

que le libellé de l’article 15, paragraphe 2, du projet sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales pourrait prêter à confusion. En se fondant sur cette disposition, les États ou les organisations internationales pourraient avoir tendance à attribuer à l’Organisation mondiale les violations de leurs propres obligations, commises à l’occasion de l’exécution d’une autorisation du Conseil de sécurité – comme, par exemple, une violation des droits de l’homme ou du droit international humanitaire –, même si le Conseil n’a guère demandé la perpétration de tels faits illicites. En d’autres termes, l’article 15, paragraphe 2, risque fortement d’être détourné ou, en tout cas, mal compris. L’arrêt de la Chambre des Lords dans l’aﬀaire Al-Jedda v. Secretary of State for Defence (précité, note 3) et la jurisprudence récente de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme dont il est question plus loin dans le texte témoignent de la réalité de ce risque. Décision précitée, supra note 2. Voir aussi le commentaire de Ph. Lagrange ‘Responsabilité des États pour actes accomplis en application du Chapitre VII de la Charte des Nations Unies. Observations à propos de la décision de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme (Grande Chambre) sur la recevabilité des requêtes Behrami et Behrami c. France et Saramati c. Allemagne, France et Norvège’, RGDIP, 2008, 85.

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la conclusion qu’il « n’exist[ait] pas de chaîne de commandement uniﬁée sous l’autorité du Conseil de sécurité » et que par conséquent ni les actions ni les omissions des contingents de la KFOR ne pouvaient être attribuées à l’ONU.20 Ce point de vue était partagé en substance par l’ONU, qui est intervenue dans la procédure devant la Cour et qui a souligné notamment la diﬀérence entre le statut juridique de la MINUK et celui de la KFOR, le fait que celle-ci est une opération menée par l’OTAN ainsi que l’absence de rapport formel et hiérarchique entre les deux présences.21 Les États défendeurs, en revanche, ont insisté sur l’importance du rôle institutionnel du Conseil de sécurité, tout en gommant les diﬀérences entre la MINUK et la KFOR. Dans cet ordre d’idées, le gouvernement norvégien faisait valoir que le commandement de la KFOR va du Commandant de celleci (COMKFOR), nommé avec l’approbation de l’OTAN, via une chaîne de commandement de l’Alliance, au Conseil de l’Atlantique Nord, puis jusqu’au Conseil de sécurité, qui possède « le contrôle et l’autorité globaux ».22 Autrement dit, le Conseil de sécurité serait, pour ainsi dire, le dernier maillon d’une chaîne de commandement unique et ininterrompue. Par ailleurs, dans leurs observations orales communes, la France et la Norvège soulignaient le rôle central du Conseil de sécurité en tant qu’organe de contrôle commun de la MINUK et de la KFOR. Le fait que celle-ci n’opère pas sous le commandement opérationnel direct de l’ONU passait en second plan. Ce qui importait aux yeux des États défendeurs était que la présence internationale de sécurité, c’est-à-dire la KFOR, et la présence internationale civile, la MINUK, agissaient, toutes deux, « sous les auspices de l’ONU ». Et les États en question d’en déduire que toute action sur le terrain est entreprise « par les structures internationales établies par le Conseil de sécurité et en leur nom, et pas par les États fournisseurs de contingents ou en leur nom ».23 Cette manière de voir était partagée en substance par les États intervenant dans la procédure devant la Cour.24 La majorité des membres de celle-ci a été convaincue par l’approche des États. La Grande Chambre s’est référée brièvement, certes, aux travaux de la

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Décision précitée, para. 77. Les requérants rappelaient aussi qu’une juridiction britannique s’était déclarée compétente pour examiner une aﬀaire concernant les actions de la KFOR britannique au Kosovo (cf. Bici & Anor v. Ministry of Defence [2004] EWHC, p. 786). Les requérants soutenaient également que le comportement des contingents de la KFOR ne saurait être attribué à l’OTAN non plus. Il s’agit là, cependant, d’une question distincte qui sera abordée plus loin. Décision précitée, para. 118 et s. Ibid., para. 87. Ibid., p. 91. Pour un résumé des observations de ces États voir ibid., para. 96 et s.

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CDI sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales,25 tout en passant sous silence, cependant, les passages précités du commentaire de la Commission concernant précisément l’impossibilité d’attribuer à l’ONU les actions ou les omissions des forces multinationales – comme la KFOR – autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité. La Cour a mentionné, certes, le critère du « contrôle eﬀectif », entériné par la CDI. Elle a estimé, cependant, que « la question clé à trancher est celle de savoir si le Conseil de sécurité avait conservé l’autorité et le contrôle ultimes et si seul le commandement opérationnel était délégué ».26 La réponse était alors contenue dans la question ainsi posée. En eﬀet, le Conseil de sécurité garde un contrôle politique global sur les opérations qu’il autorise, tout en déléguant le commandement et le contrôle opérationnel sur le terrain. Ce schéma n’est pas propre à la KFOR. Il s’applique à l’ensemble des opérations autorisées. Partant d’un constat correct, la Cour est arrivée à une conclusion à notre sens erronée : [L]a Cour estime que le Conseil de sécurité détient l’autorité et le contrôle ultimes et que le commandement eﬀectif des questions opérationnelles pertinentes appartient à l’OTAN. Dès lors, la Cour constate que la KFOR exerce des pouvoirs que le Conseil de sécurité lui a légalement délégués en vertu du chapitre VII, de sorte que l’action litigieuse est, en principe, ‘attribuable’ à l’ONU.27

Ces deux phrases, qui se succèdent dans deux paragraphes diﬀérents de la décision de la Cour, contiennent un saut logique en même temps qu’une méconnaissance du principe du « contrôle eﬀectif » et de ses conséquences juridiques sous l’angle de l’attribution d’un comportement à une entité donnée. Dans sa phrase de conclusion, la Cour semble suggérer, en eﬀet, que la légalité de la délégation du « commandement eﬀectif » au titre du chapitre VII de la Charte soit suﬃsante, en tant que telle, pour que toute action ou omission des agents d’exécution soit automatiquement imputable à l’Organisation mondiale. L’entité qui exécute le mandat du Conseil et qui exerce un contrôle eﬀectif sur le terrain disparaît complètement dans ce raisonnement pour le moins curieux. Autrement dit, le fait que le Conseil de sécurité n’exerce qu’un contrôle limité, voire nominal, sur le déroulement des opérations autorisées – essentiellement par le biais des rapports qui lui sont soumis par les agents d’exécution sur leur propre initiative – n’a pas été pris suﬃsamment en compte par la Cour. Or, il s’agit là d’un élément qui diﬀérencie substantiellement les opérations autorisées des opérations onusiennes de maintien de la paix, dont la chaîne de commandement monte directement jusqu’au Secrétaire général. Les limites du

25 26

27

Ibid., para. 28–33. Ibid., para. 133. Voir les remarques critiques de K. M. Larsen, ‘Attribution of Conduct in Peace Operations : The ‘Ultimate Authority and Control’ Test’, EJIL, 2008, 509. Décision précitée, para. 140–141.

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contrôle du Conseil de sécurité sur l’exécution des opérations autorisées deviennent encore plus évidentes dans le cas particulier de la KFOR, étant donné que la résolution 1244 (1999) ne prévoit pas de date d’expiration du mandat de la force multinationale en question. Aucune nouvelle décision n’est donc nécessaire pour proroger le mandat de la force, ce qui réduit pratiquement à néant toute possibilité de pression diplomatique de la part du Conseil de sécurité. S’en tenir uniquement à la légalité de la délégation du « commandement eﬀectif » sans aucunement se soucier de l’exercice de celui-ci sur le terrain constitue, à notre sens, une approche trop formaliste qui ne reﬂète pas la nature juridique mixte des opérations autorisées : celles-ci sont caractérisées par la coexistence d’éléments institutionnels – dont le contrôle politique global du Conseil de sécurité – et d’éléments décentralisés – dont l’exercice du commandement et du contrôle sur le terrain par les agents d’exécution. Se fonder sur les uns en ignorant les autres, conduit nécessairement à une distorsion du régime juridique des opérations autorisées. De plus, le formalisme de la Cour est incompatible avec le critère du « contrôle eﬀectif ». En eﬀet, la question clé aux ﬁns de l’application de ce critère n’est pas celle de savoir si le Conseil de sécurité conserve « l’autorité et le contrôle ultimes » sur telle ou telle opération en général, mais de façon plus prosaïque de savoir quelle est l’entité qui exerce eﬀectivement le contrôle sur le comportement concerné. Tel est le sens de ce critère en droit international positif, ainsi qu’il a été conﬁrmé, on l’a vu, par la CDI. L’approche de la Cour évacue toute recherche concrète concernant le déroulement des faits sur le terrain et conduit à attribuer à l’ONU des comportements dont le Conseil de sécurité pourrait ne pas avoir connaissance. On relèvera ainsi, à titre d’exemple, que les rapports mensuels de la KFOR au Conseil de sécurité ne disent rien de concret sur les nombreuses arrestations et mises en détention eﬀectuées sur décision du COMKFOR, comme celle qui a fait l’objet de l’aﬀaire Saramati. Il en va de même, et à plus forte raison, pour ce qui est de l’occupation de terrains pour le stationnement des contingents nationaux composant la KFOR, sans aucun paiement ou indemnisation des propriétaires pendant parfois des années. Il s’agit là évidemment d’une question qui n’intéresse pas le Conseil de sécurité dans l’exercice de son « autorité et son contrôle ultimes » sur l’opération au Kosovo. Il n’en reste pas moins que cette pratique a été vivement critiquée dès 2001 par le Médiateur pour le Kosovo.28 Elle soulève des sérieuses 28

Voir notamment Ombudsperson Institution in Kosovo, Special Report No. 1 on the compatibility with recognized international standards of UNMIK Regulation No. 2000/47 on the Status, Privileges and Immunities of KFOR and UNMIK and Their Personnel in Kosovo (18 August 2000) and on the implementation of the above Regulation, addressed to H. Haekkerup, Special Representative of the Secretary General of the United Nations, 26 avril 2001, para. 2 et passim.

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questions sous l’angle du droit au domicile ou du droit de propriété, voire sur le terrain du droit à un procès équitable ou à un recours eﬀectif, ainsi qu’en témoignent notamment les aﬀaires Gajic c. Allemagne 29 et Kasumaj c. Grèce.30 Dans ce contexte, il est signiﬁcatif de noter que les procédures opérationnelles permanentes de l’OTAN/KFOR, émanant du quartier général de la KFOR, concernant la question de gestion des propriétés, stipulaient clairement que : [N]ations remain responsible for the acquisition, occupation and return of the real estate used by their troops. Further, eventual costs of occupation and the settlement of claims arising due to that occupation are a national responsibility.31

Cette disposition constitue une application du critère du « contrôle eﬀectif » au sens traditionnel du droit international positif. Il est évident, en eﬀet, que toute action ou omission relative à la gestion courante des propriétés occupées par les diﬀérents contingents composant la KFOR relève du contrôle des autorités nationales concernées. Pourtant, et sans aucunement tenir compte du document précité, la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme a réitéré sa jurisprudence Behrami et Saramati en considérant que le comportement des autorités nationales dans les aﬀaires Gajic et Kasumaj était « attribuable à l’ONU » et en rejetant les requêtes en question comme irrecevables.32 Ces décisions d’irrecevabilité concernant l’occupation de propriétés par les contingents nationaux composant la KFOR illustrent clairement, à notre sens, les distorsions auxquelles peut aboutir l’approche formaliste, voire dogmatique de la Cour. Encore faut-il examiner de plus près, cependant, la problématique relative à l’application du critère du contrôle eﬀectif aux agents d’exécution des autorisations du Conseil de sécurité, y compris lorsqu’ils agissent conjointement avec les forces onusiennes. B. L’attribution aux agents d’exécution i. L’ONU et les agents d’exécution : les opérations conjointes Cette problématique est illustrée par la requête Behrami et Behrami c. France. En eﬀet, contrairement aux autres requêtes mentionnées précédemment, celle-ci concernait une activité – le déminage du Kosovo – qui faisait l’objet à la fois du mandat de la KFOR et de celui de la MINUK. On rappellera, en eﬀet, que la résolution 1244 (1999) du Conseil de sécurité conﬁait à la présence interna-

29 30 31

32

Cour Européenne des Droits de l’Homme, Gajic c. Allemagne, n° 31446/02, 28 août 2007. Cour Européenne des Droits de l’Homme, Kasumaj c. Grèce, n° 6974/05, 5 juillet 2007. HQ KFOR, Standard Operating Procedures (SOP) 4105, ‘Real Estate Management Policy’, 30 avril 2004, article 8 a). Voir les décisions précitées du 5 juillet et du 28 août 2007. Dans l’aﬀaire Gajic la Cour a évoqué également, à titre apparemment subsidiaire, le non épuisement des recours internes.

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tionale de sécurité – c’est-à-dire la KFOR – la tâche de « superviser le déminage jusqu’à ce que la présence internationale civile puisse, le cas échéant, s’en charger ».33 La question était donc de savoir quelle entité exerçait un contrôle eﬀectif sur le terrain au moment des faits litigieux de l’aﬀaire Behrami : la KFOR ou la MINUK ? Suite à un examen de la situation, la Cour a conclu que la supervision du déminage avait été reprise de facto et de jure par le Centre de coordination de l’action antimines au Kosovo des Nations Unies (UNMACC), organe créé par la MINUK, au plus tard en octobre 1999, avant donc l’explosion dans l’aﬀaire Behrami. La KFOR, elle, était restée impliquée dans les activités de déminage en qualité de prestataire de services, « son personnel agissant donc au nom de la MINUK ». Et la Cour d’en déduire qu’au moment des faits la supervision du déminage relevait du mandat de celle-ci et que par conséquent l’inaction litigieuse était attribuable à l’Organisation mondiale.34 L’ONU, en revanche, tout en concédant que l’opération de déminage relevait bien du mandat de l’UNMACC, estima qu’en l’absence d’informations de terrain de la part de la KFOR, « l’inaction litigieuse ne saurait être attribuée à la MINUK ».35 Quoi qu’il en soit, cette controverse reﬂète les diﬃcultés de préciser les tâches respectives des présences internationales sur le terrain, surtout durant la phase de transfert de compétences d’une entité à une autre. Des problèmes analogues peuvent se présenter dans tous les cas de déploiement simultané de forces multinationales et d’opérations de maintien de la paix, mais aussi durant la phase de transition en cas de déploiement successif. Par ailleurs, l’« opération hybride » ONU/UA au Darfour pourrait s’avérer l’exemple par excellence de problèmes relatifs au partage de compétences sur le terrain. Pour le juriste, ce qui importe dans ce genre de situation est de préciser le critère pertinent aux ﬁns de l’attribution d’un comportement donné à l’une ou l’autre des entités impliquées. Dans cet ordre d’idées, on relèvera que le Secrétaire général de l’ONU a estimé que le critère du « degré de contrôle eﬀectif » était décisif pour les opérations conjointes : [L]a responsabilité internationale de l’Organisation des Nations Unies en cas d’activités menées lors de combats est fondée sur l’hypothèse que l’opération considérée est placée sous le commandement et le contrôle exclusifs de l’Organisation . . . Dans le cas d’opérations conjointes, la responsabilité internationale de la conduite des troupes incombe à l’entité qui exerce le commandement et le contrôle opérationnels conformément aux arrangements établissant les modalités de coopération entre l’État ou les États fournissant les contingents et l’ONU. En l’absence d’arrangements formels entre l’ONU et l’État ou les États fournissant

33 34

35

S/Rés. 1244 (1999), para. 9 e). Décision Behrami et Behrami c. France et Saramati c. France, Allemagne et Norvège, précitée, para. 125, 127. Ibid., para. 120.

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La CDI, pour sa part, semble avoir entériné l’approche du Secrétaire général, tout en soulignant que dans ce genre d’hypothèse l’attribution du comportement devrait aussi être fondée sur un « critère factuel ».37 En d’autres termes, dans les cas de plus en plus nombreux d’opérations menées conjointement par des forces des Nations Unies et des forces multinationales sous commandement et contrôle uniﬁés l’attribution d’un comportement donné devrait se faire au cas par cas sur la base du critère du degré de contrôle eﬀectif, tenant dûment compte des faits. Loin de conduire à l’attribution automatique à l’ONU de tout comportement sur le terrain, la combinaison de ces critères permet d’attribuer aux agents d’exécution des autorisations du Conseil de sécurité le comportement sur lequel ils exercent en réalité un degré suﬃsant de contrôle eﬀectif. Il s’agit là d’une approche ﬂexible et nuancée, qui contraste avec celle, bien plus formaliste, voire dogmatique, de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme dans sa jurisprudence évoquée précédemment. Par ailleurs, la combinaison du critère factuel et de celui du degré de contrôle eﬀectif peut oﬀrir des solutions convenables lorsqu’il s’agit de déterminer l’attribution d’un comportement donné à l’un ou à l’autre des agents d’exécution des opérations autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité. ii. L’attribution parmi les agents d’exécution Il importe de préciser ici qu’en pratique le Conseil de sécurité délègue son pouvoir de contrainte soit à des États soit à des organismes régionaux. Dans d’autres cas, de tels organismes coordonnent des opérations autorisées même s’ils n’agissent pas en tant qu’agents d’exécution au sens technique du terme. La première hypothèse, concernant des forces multinationales qui opèrent sans l’implication d’organismes régionaux – comme celles qui ont été créées lors de la crise du Golfe ou à l’occasion des événements en Somalie, au Rwanda, en Haïti, en Albanie, en Iraq, etc. – est relativement simple. Les agents d’exécution étant uniquement des États, la question principale qui se pose concerne l’imputation d’un comportement par hypothèse illicite à tel ou tel contingent national composant la force multinationale. Cette question sera réglée conformément au droit coutumier relatif à la responsabilité de l’État pour fait internationalement illicite, tel qu’il a été codiﬁé par la CDI en 2001.38 Rien n’exclut, cependant,

36 37

38

A/51/389, p. 7, para. 17 et 18. Voir le Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/59/10, précité, p. 115 (commentaire de l’article 5 du projet sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales). Voir les articles 4–11 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité de l’État pour fait internationalement illicite et les commentaires, Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/56/10 (2001).

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qu’il y ait pluralité d’États responsables, notamment lorsque le fait internationalement illicite est commis par des coauteurs ou des coparticipants. On peut imaginer, en eﬀet, qu’à la perpétration du fait illicite participent des agents en provenance de plusieurs contingents ou encore que la décision opérationnelle litigieuse soit prise collectivement. On relèvera, à cet égard, que lors de l’opération en Albanie, en 1997,39 les principales décisions opérationnelles étaient adoptées par un directoire qui se réunissait régulièrement à Rome sous la présidence de l’Italie, qui avait alors le commandement de l’opération. Il n’empêche que cet exemple de direction collégiale reste pour le moment isolé. En règle générale, les forces multinationales sont placées sous le commandement d’un État qui exerce seul ces fonctions. Il importe, par conséquent, d’évoquer la question de la répartition des responsabilités entre l’État qui assume le commandement d’une opération et les autres États qui y participent. Il se peut, en eﬀet, qu’un fait internationalement illicite soit perpétré à l’occasion de l’exécution par un contingent national d’un ordre donné par le commandant de l’opération. Cette situation semble être régie par les règles codiﬁées à l’article 17 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité de l’État, intitulé « Directives et contrôle dans la commission du fait internationalement illicite ». Selon cette disposition : [L]’État qui donne des directives à un autre État et qui exerce un contrôle dans la commission du fait internationalement illicite par ce dernier est internationalement responsable de ce fait dans le cas où : a) Ledit État agit ainsi en connaissance des circonstances du fait internationalement illicite ; et b) Le fait serait internationalement illicite s’il était commis par cet État.40

Dans le commentaire de cette disposition, la CDI précise que : [L]’expression « exerce un contrôle » telle qu’elle est employée à l’article 17 renvoie à l’exercice d’une domination sur le comportement illicite et non simplement à l’exercice d’une surveillance, et encore moins à une simple inﬂuence ou à un simple vœu. De même, l’expression « donne des directives » n’englobe pas une simple incitation ou suggestion : il sous-entend une direction eﬀective opérationnelle. Et la direction et le contrôle doivent être exercés sur le fait illicite pour que la responsabilité de l’État dominant soit engagée.41

En donnant des exemples de telles situations de « domination », la CDI évoque, outre la « suzeraineté » ou le « protectorat », les cas où un État donne des directives à un autre État et contrôle ses activités, soit sur la base d’un traité, soit par l’eﬀet d’une occupation militaire, « soit autrement ». L’exemple des opérations

39

40 41

Cette opération a été autorisée par la résolution 1101 (1997), adoptée par le Conseil de sécurité le 28 mars 1997. Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/56/10, p. 170. Ibid., p. 174.

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autorisées n’est pas mentionné dans le commentaire. Il nous semble, cependant, que les relations entre l’État qui commande une force multinationale et les autres États qui y participent se prêtent à l’application de l’article 17 du projet. Encore faut-il relever que le simple fait d’avoir reçu des directives dans la commission d’un fait internationalement illicite ne constitue pas une circonstance excluant l’illicéité. Ainsi qu’il a été pertinemment observé par la CDI, en droit international les États ne sauraient invoquer en tant que moyen de défense un « ordre des supérieurs ». Si le comportement qui leur est demandé entraîne une violation de leurs obligations internationales, il leur revient de refuser d’obtempérer.42 En d’autres termes, l’application de la règle codiﬁée dans l’article 17 du projet ne conduit pas à la responsabilité exclusive de l’État qui assume le commandement de l’opération. Les autres États ont une responsabilité conjointe pour les faits internationalement illicites qui leur sont imputables, même s’ils ont reçu l’ordre de commettre les faits en question. Il se peut, par ailleurs, que la règle codiﬁée par l’article 16 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité de l’État soit applicable aux opérations autorisées dans les relations entre les États qui en assument le commandement et les autres États. Cette disposition porte sur la responsabilité de l’État qui prête aide ou assistance à un autre État, et facilite ainsi la perpétration d’un fait internationalement illicite par ce dernier. Dans une telle hypothèse, l’État principalement responsable est l’État auteur, l’autre État ayant simplement « un rôle d’appui ».43 Un tel cas de ﬁgure pourrait se produire notamment lorsque les États participants à une force autorisée, autres que celui qui en a le commandement, assument un rôle sinon symbolique, du moins auxiliaire.44 Dans un ordre d’idées diﬀérent, on soulignera également l’importance croissante de l’implication d’entreprises privées, agissant dans le domaine militaire ou sécuritaire sur la base de contrats avec les États participant aux opérations autorisées, y compris et surtout avec l’État qui en assume le commandement.45 Que ce soit en Iraq, en Afghanistan ou ailleurs, les PMC’s (Private Military Contractors) ou les PSC’s (Private Security Contractors) sont devenus des

42 43 44

45

Ibid., p. 175. Selon les termes de la CDI, ibid., p. 164. Comme, par exemple, le Sénégal lors de l’Opération Turquoise. Voir à ce sujet B. BoutrosGhali, ‘Introduction’, in : The United Nations and Rwanda, 1993–1996, (New-York, The United Nations Blue Books Series, vol. X, 1996), p. 53 et s. Sur cette problématique, voir notamment M. Spinedi, ‘Private contractors, responsabilité internationale des entreprises ou attribution à l’État de la conduite des personnes privées’, Forum du droit international, 2005, 273 ; C. Walker, D. Whyte, ‘Contracting out War ? : Private Military Companies, Law and Regulation in the United Kingdom’, ICLQ, 2005, 651 ; F. Francioni, N. Ronzitti (eds.), Private Military Contractors and International Law, colloque de l’Institut universitaire européen, Florence, 4 juin 2008 (à paraître).

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acteurs auxquels les États conﬁent de plus en plus de tâches. Pour certains auteurs, les normes coutumières relatives à la responsabilité de l’État, telles que codiﬁées par la CDI en 2001, ne couvriraient pas les PMC’s ou les PSC’s. Autrement dit, les agissements de ces entreprises privées ne seraient pas nécessairement imputables aux États qui les emploient. Les règles relatives à l’imputation d’un comportement à l’État, y compris l’article 8 du projet de la CDI sur les organes de facto, seraient donc lacunaires.46 Nous ne partageons pas cette manière de voir. Il ne faut pas oublier, en eﬀet, que les PMC’s ou les PSC’s ne sauraient être assimilés à de simples particuliers. Les entités en question sont employées par les États sur la base d’un contrat. Ce sont les États qui déﬁnissent le mandat des PMC’s ou des PSC’s et qui négocient les termes des contrats avec ces compagnies. Rien n’empêche les États concernés de délimiter clairement le mandat des entreprises privées de façon conforme à leurs propres engagements internationaux ; à instaurer un système de contrôle de ces entreprises et des agents de celles-ci ; et à prévoir les clauses nécessaires à la résiliation des contrats – en cas d’agissements contraires aux normes internationales applicables – ou à l’indemnisation des victimes. On ne saurait oublier également que les États délèguent souvent à de telles entreprises privées l’exercice de prérogatives de puissance publique au sens de l’article 5 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité de l’État. Il est diﬃcile d’accepter, par conséquent, que les États puissent payer des millions de dollars pour se retrancher derrière un contrat, dont ils ont eux-mêmes déﬁni les termes, et se délier ainsi de leurs obligations internationales. Les PMC’s ou les PSC’s opèrent sous le contrôle eﬀectif des États qui les emploient. En fonction de leur mandat et de la nature des tâches qui leur sont ainsi conﬁées, les actes ou omissions des entreprises en question seront imputables à l’État concerné soit sur la base de l’article 5 soit en vertu de l’article 8 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité de l’État. Ce qui a été dit précédemment concernant les cas où les agents d’exécution sont des États vaut mutatis mutandis pour les quelques opérations autorisées, dirigées par des organisations régionales. On remarque, en eﬀet, que le projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales contient une disposition analogue à celle de l’article 17 du projet sur la responsabilité de l’État, intitulée, elle aussi, « Directives et contrôle dans la commission du fait internationalement illicite ».47 Après avoir rappelé les remarques précitées du 46

47

Voir, par exemple, C. Hoppe, ‘The Contribution of Positive Obligations to State Responsibility for PMSCs, with Special Emphasis on the Duty to Prevent Human Rights Violations’, in : F. Francioni, N. Ronzitti (eds.), Private Military Contractors and International Law, op. cit., p. 4 et s. Pour le texte de cet article 13 et son commentaire, voir le Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/60/10 (2005), p. 95 et s.

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commentaire de l’article 17 au sujet des notions de « directives » et de « contrôle », la CDI observe que « l’adoption d’une décision obligatoire par une organisation internationale pourrait déterminer, dans certaines circonstances, une forme de direction ou de contrôle dans la commission d’un fait internationalement illicite ».48 Et la CDI de rappeler à cet endroit les propos du gouvernement français dans l’aﬀaire de la Licéité de l’emploi de la force (Yougoslavie c. France), selon lesquels « [l]a direction de la KFOR est le fait de l’OTAN et son contrôle celui des Nations Unies ».49 On ne reviendra pas sur l’impossibilité d’attribuer à l’ONU les actions ou omissions d’une force multinationale dont le commandement et le contrôle opérationnel sur le terrain échappent à l’Organisation mondiale. Il n’est pas nécessaire non plus de s’attarder ici sur le rôle exact de l’OTAN au sein de la KFOR, à laquelle participent aussi, on le sait, des États non membres de l’Alliance, y compris la Fédération de Russie. Ce qui importe est de souligner que pour invoquer « les directives ou le contrôle » dont il est question dans le projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales il faut que l’organisation concernée « dirige et contrôle eﬀectivement » le comportement qui constitue une violation d’une obligation internationale à sa charge, autrement dit, qu’elle exerce « une domination sur le comportement illicite ».50 Le critère du contrôle eﬀectif sur le comportement litigieux apparaît une fois de plus comme la notion clef. Partant de ce constat, toute généralisation qui aboutirait à attribuer à une organisation régionale qui dirige une force multinationale tout comportement illicite des diﬀérents contingents nationaux de celle-ci constituerait une simpliﬁcation. Encore faut-il examiner le degré de contrôle eﬀectif exercé in concreto sur le comportement en question.51

48

49

50 51

Ibid., p. 96. Ainsi que l’admet la CDI elle-même, l’article 13 du projet sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales peut faire double emploi avec l’article 15 du même projet, intitulé ‘Décisions, recommandations et autorisations adressées aux États membres et organisations internationales membres’ (ibid., p. 98). Exceptions préliminaires, p. 33, para. 45 (passage cité par la CDI dans doc. A/60/10, précité, p. 95). Au sujet des relations entre l’OTAN et la KFOR, voir dans le même sens A. Pellet, ‘L’imputabilité d’éventuels actes illicites. Responsabilité de l’OTAN ou des États membres’, in : C. Tomuschat (ed.), Kosovo and the International Community. A Legal Assessment (The Hague/Boston/London, Kluwer Law International/M. Nijhoﬀ, 2002), p. 199. Selon les expressions de la CDI, doc. A/60/10, précité, p. 96. Toute autre approche risquerait de conduire à des résultats problématiques. Il se peut, en eﬀet, que les contingents nationaux demandent et reçoivent des instructions de la part de leurs autorités nationales respectives, notamment lorsque l’État concerné n’est pas membre de l’organisation qui a le commandement de l’opération. Dans un tel cas, qui est loin d’être purement hypothétique, il serait illogique, nous semble-t-il, d’attribuer à l’organisation les agissements des contingents concernés. Il se peut également que le comportement litigieux relève de la gestion courante des aﬀaires relatives au fonctionnement du contingent national,

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On rappellera, par ailleurs, la remarque de la CDI dans le commentaire de l’article 17 du projet sur la responsabilité de l’État, suivant laquelle en droit international les États ne sauraient invoquer l’« ordre des supérieurs » en tant que moyen de défense. Bien que l’observation en question ne ﬁgure pas dans le commentaire de l’article correspondant (article 13) du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales, il nous semble qu’elle s’y applique mutatis mutandis. Cela signiﬁe que la responsabilité de l’organisation régionale qui dirige l’opération n’exclue pas forcément celle des États participants. Ceux-ci pourraient voir leur responsabilité personnelle engagée du fait de l’aide qu’ils auraient apportée à l’organisation dans l’exécution de l’acte pour lequel sa responsabilité est engagée.52 Il se peut également qu’une organisation régionale ou sous-régionale soit impliquée dans l’exécution d’une opération autorisée sans pour autant en assumer le commandement et le contrôle. Une telle organisation pourrait se voir conﬁer un rôle plus ou moins important d’aide et d’appui, voire de coordination de l’opération.53 Cette hypothèse est couverte par l’article 12 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales, qui reprend en substance la disposition correspondante (article 16) du projet sur la responsabilité de l’État, et qui vise précisément le cas où une organisation internationale aide ou assiste un État ou une autre organisation internationale dans la commission du fait internationalement illicite.54 Cela dit, pour logiques qu’elles puissent paraître, ces propositions ont rarement pu être testées en pratique, tant il est vrai que la mise en œuvre de la responsabilité des États ou des organisations internationales dans le contexte des opérations autorisées se heurte à des diﬃcultés parfois insurmontables.

2. Les diﬃcultés de mise en oeuvre de la responsabilité On constate, en eﬀet, que les juges, tant internationaux que nationaux, ont refusé jusqu’ici de se prononcer sur le comportement des forces multinationales.

52

53

54

domaine qui ne fait pas directement partie du mandat de la force multinationale. Le cas de la gestion des propriétés privées sur lesquelles stationnent plusieurs contingents de la KFOR en constitue un exemple topique, ainsi qu’il a été mentionné plus haut. A. Geslin, op. cit., p. 574 et s. L’auteur invoque dans ce contexte l’article 16 du projet de la CDI sur la responsabilité des États, mentionné précédemment, disposition qui semble eﬀectivement pouvoir être, mutatis mutandis, applicable en la matière. Le rôle assumé en réalité par la CEDEAO dans le contexte de l »Opération Licorne’ en Côte d’Ivoire semble fournir un exemple de cette hypothèse. Parmi les résolutions qui reﬂètent cette situation, voir S/Rés. 1739 (2007), para. 8 f ). Voir le Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/60/10, précité, p. 94.

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Celles-ci et les entités qui y participent – États ou organisations internationales – sont ainsi mises à l’abri de toute réclamation qui pourrait faire jouer leur responsabilité. On a ainsi l’impression que devant l’éternel (faux) dilemme entre la sécurité ou la légalité c’est la première qui l’emporte sur la seconde. A. Le refus judiciaire de se prononcer sur le comportement des forces multinationales Sans vouloir revenir sur les analyses précédentes, on relèvera simplement qu’invoquant une série d’arguments liés tantôt au droit applicable, tantôt à la question de l’attribution, la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, mais aussi la Chambre des Lords ont rejeté toutes les plaintes qui leur ont été soumises mettant en cause le comportement de la KFOR ou celui du contingent britannique de la force multinationale en Iraq respectivement.55 Outre ces argumentations, ce qui frappe également dans les décisions Behrami et Saramati de la Grande Chambre, ainsi que dans les décisions subséquentes des Chambres de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, est la mise à l’écart de la doctrine dite de la « protection équivalente ». On sait, en eﬀet, que selon une jurisprudence constante, conﬁrmée et développée dans le célèbre arrêt Bosphorus, la Cour, tout en reconnaissant que la CEDH n’interdit pas aux États contractants de transférer des pouvoirs souverains à une organisation internationale, a jugé que : [L]es Parties contractantes sont responsables au titre de l’article 1 de la Convention de tous les actes ou omissions de leurs organes, qu’ils découlent du droit interne ou de la nécessité d’observer des obligations internationales. Ledit texte ne fait aucune distinction quant au type de normes ou de mesures en cause et ne soustrait aucune partie de la « juridiction » des Parties contractantes à l’empire de la Convention.56

Et la Cour d’ajouter que ce transfert de compétences à une organisation internationale ne saurait aboutir à ce que les États contractants : [S]oient exonérés de toute responsabilité au regard de la Convention dans le domaine d’activité concerné : les garanties prévues par la Convention pourraient être limitées ou exclues discrétionnairement, et être par là même privées de leur caractère contraignant ainsi que de leur nature concrète et eﬀective.57

55

56

57

Voir les décisions sur les aﬀaires Behrami et Saramati, Kasumaj et Gajic de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme (précitées) et les arrêts de la Chambre des Lords Al-Skeini and others v. Secretary of State for Defence (arrêt du 13 juin 2007, [2007] UKHL 26) et Al-Jedda (précité). Aﬀaire Bosphorus Hava Yollari c. Irlande, arrêt du 30 juin 2005, para. 153. Cf. également Parti communiste uniﬁé de Turquie et autres c. Turquie, arrêt du 30 janvier 1998, Recueil 1998–I, para. 29. Aﬀaire Bosphorus, précitée, para. 154. Voir également l’Aﬀaire Waite et Kennedy c. Allemagne, arrêt du 18 février 1999, para. 67 et l’Aﬀaire Beer et Regan c. Allemagne, arrêt du 18 février 1999, para. 57.

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De l’avis de la Cour, une mesure de l’État prise en exécution d’obligations juridiques découlant de son appartenance à une organisation internationale : [D]oit être réputée justiﬁée dès lors qu’il est constant que l’organisation en question accorde aux droits fondamentaux (cette notion recouvrant à la fois les garanties substantielles oﬀertes et les mécanismes censés en contrôler le respect) une protection à tout le moins équivalente à celle assurée par la Convention.58

Par « équivalente » la Cour entend une protection comparable, pas nécessairement identique. Cependant, un constat de « protection équivalente » n’est pas déﬁnitif ; il doit pouvoir être réexaminé « à la lumière de tout changement pertinent dans la protection des droits fondamentaux ». À partir du moment où une organisation internationale assure un tel niveau de protection des droits fondamentaux, il est présumé qu’un État respecte ses obligations au titre de la CEDH lorsqu’il exécute ses obligations découlant de l’appartenance à l’organisation en question. Il est évident, toutefois, que cette présomption est réfragable ; elle peut être renversée à l’occasion d’une aﬀaire déterminée si l’on estime que la protection des droits garantis par la Convention « était entachée d’une insuﬃsance manifeste ». Dans une telle hypothèse, le rôle de la Convention en tant qu’ « instrument constitutionnel de l’ordre public européen » l’emporterait sur l’intérêt de la coopération internationale.59 À partir du moment où la Cour a décidé que tous les faits litigieux dans les aﬀaires Behrami et Saramati étaient attribuables à l’ONU et non pas aux États défendeurs, on pouvait s’attendre a priori à ce qu’elle applique ensuite cette jurisprudence bien établie et qu’elle s’interroge sur le niveau de protection des droits de l’homme dans le contexte des opérations au Kosovo et sur l’eﬃcacité des mécanismes censés en contrôler le respect. Or, un tel examen aurait abouti probablement au renversement de la présomption mentionnée précédemment. Il est vrai que la MINUK a fait un rapport au Comité des droits de l’homme sur la situation des droits fondamentaux au Kosovo.60 Il est indéniable également que le Médiateur pour le Kosovo s’est montré très actif dans son travail de contrôle des activités de la MINUK. Cependant, même à supposer que ces mécanismes oﬀraient un niveau de protection équivalent à celui de la CEDH – ce qui est loin d’être évident – force est de constater que ni la MINUK, ni le Médiateur, ni à plus forte raison le Comité des droits de l’homme ou un autre organe de contrôle du système onusien, n’avaient compétence pour examiner les activités de la KFOR. On rappellera, en eﬀet, qu’en vertu du règlement

58 59

60

Aﬀaire Bosphorus, précitée, para. 155. Ibid., para. 155, 156. Voir également les observations de G. Cohen-Jonathan et de F. Flauss, ‘Cour européenne des droits de l’homme et droit international général (2005)’, AFDI, 2005, 683. Voir les observations ﬁnales du Comité des droits de l’homme sur ce rapport, reproduites dans le Rapport annuel du Comité pour 2006, NU doc. A/61/40, vol. I, para. 85.

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n° 2000/47 sur le statut, les privilèges et les immunités de la KFOR et de son personnel, les activités de la force multinationale ne sauraient être soumises à un contrôle quelconque de la part d’une instance onusienne (ou locale). Cet élément suﬃrait à lui seul, selon nous, à ébranler la thèse de l’attribution des activités des contingents de la KFOR à l’ONU. Quoi qu’il en soit, il est évident que faute d’un mécanisme onusien de contrôle, la condition de la « protection équivalente » n’était pas remplie. Dans ces conditions, la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme a préféré se départir de sa jurisprudence traditionnelle en écartant le critère de la « protection équivalente » de l’aﬀaire Bosphorus. Pour ce faire, la Cour a invoqué tout d’abord les articles 25 et 103 de la Charte de l’ONU.61 Sur le plan national, la même voie a été suivie en substance dans l’aﬀaire Al-Jedda, concernant les activités du contingent britannique de la force multinationale opérant en Iraq, jugée par la Chambre des Lords.62 Selon l’approche – pratiquement commune aux deux juridictions – l’article 103 s’appliquerait non seulement aux décisions obligatoires du Conseil de sécurité mais aussi aux résolutions contenant une simple autorisation. Par conséquent, la résolution 1546 (2004) et les résolutions subséquentes qui ont prorogé le mandat de la force multinationale et qui l’autorisaient à prendre toutes les mesures nécessaires pour maintenir l’ordre et la sécurité en Iraq l’emporteraient sur toute autre obligation conventionnelle, y compris sur la CEDH.63 Une conclusion analogue vaudrait au sujet de la résolution 1244 (1999) du Conseil de sécurité, concernant les activités de la KFOR au Kosovo. Cette manière de voir est, à notre sens, hautement problématique pour plusieurs raisons. La première concerne l’interprétation de l’article 103 de la Charte. Selon la lettre parfaitement claire de cette disposition, ce sont les obligations en vertu de la Charte qui prévaudront sur les obligations des membres des Nations Unies en vertu de tout autre accord international. Or les résolutions du Conseil de sécurité qui contiennent une autorisation de recourir à la force ont, en tant que telles, un eﬀet permissif. Elles ne créent pas une quelconque obligation de participer à une force multinationale. Vouloir étendre la portée de l’article 103 aux simples autorisations constituerait une interprétation contra

61

62 63

Décision Behrami et Saramati, op. cit., para. 147. Voir également les commentaires critiques de B. Knoll, ‘Rights Without Remedies : The European Court’s Failure to Close the Human Rights Gap in Kosovo’, ZaöRV, 2008, 445. Arrêt précité, [2007] UKHL 58, para. 26 ss. (Lord Bingham of Cornhill). Ibid., para. 26 et s. R. Kolb se prononce, lui aussi, en faveur de l’applicabilité de l’article 103 aux résolutions du Conseil de sécurité contenant des autorisations. Voir R. Kolb, ‘Does Article 103 of the Charter of the United Nations Apply only to Decisions or also to Authorizations Adopted by the Security Council ?’, ZaöRV, 2004, 21.

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legem de cette disposition.64 Soutenir en outre que le Royaume-Uni serait juridiquement obligé de procéder à l’arrestation et la détention incriminée dans l’aﬀaire Al-Jedda65 ne ressort nullement du texte de la résolution 1546 (2004) ou des résolutions subséquentes. La résolution en question – tout comme les autres résolutions autorisant le recours à la force – ﬁxe des objectifs à atteindre mais elle n’oblige aucunement les États participant à la force multinationale d’adopter telle ou telle mesure précise. Il en résulte que l’argument tiré de l’article 103 de la Charte ne convainc pas. Les mêmes objections valent mutatis mutandis au sujet de la résolution 1244 (1999) et les activités de la KFOR. On remarque, toutefois, que les autorisations contenues dans les résolutions pertinentes du Conseil de sécurité fonctionnent comme des circonstances excluant l’illicéité vis-à-vis de l’État du for. Il serait cependant erroné de voir dans les autorisations en question une sorte de carte blanche pour commettre n’importe quel acte illicite et notamment pour porter atteinte aux droits fondamentaux ou au droit international humanitaire.66 Il ne faudrait pas perdre de vue, en eﬀet, que le respect des droits de l’homme et des libertés fondamentales pour tous constitue un des buts des Nations Unies conformément à l’article 1, paragraphe 3 de la Charte au même titre que le maintien de la paix et de la sécurité internationales. En exerçant ses fonctions, le Conseil de sécurité est lié par la Charte, toute la Charte. Il en résulte que ses résolutions devraient être interprétées de façon à concilier, dans toute la mesure du possible, les impératifs de la sécurité et du respect des droits de l’homme. Déroger de façon ponctuelle à certains droits dans la stricte mesure où la situation l’exige pour exécuter le mandat du Conseil de sécurité est une chose ; invoquer les résolutions du Conseil pour bafouer impunément le noyau dur des droits fondamentaux en est certainement une autre. Pour revenir à la jurisprudence de la Cour de Strasbourg, on observera que dans l’aﬀaire Bosphorus la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme n’avait pas évoqué l’article 103 de la Charte, alors même que les mesures litigieuses de l’Irlande avaient été prises conformément à un règlement communautaire adopté en exécution de la résolution 820 (1993) du Conseil de sécurité, édictant des

64

65 66

Pour reprendre les termes de J. Combacau, les résolutions couvertes par l’article 103 sont celles « que le Conseil de sécurité a rendue[s] obligatoire[s] pour [leurs] destinataires en vertu de l’article 25 ; les autres invitations ne créent pas d’obligations et ne sauraient l’emporter sur les obligations préexistantes » (Le pouvoir de sanction, op. cit., p. 284). Dans le même sens, A. Toublanc, ‘L’article 103 et la valeur juridique de la Charte des Nations Unies’, RGDIP, 2004, 445. Voir l’arrêt précité, para. 32. Voir en ce sens, R. Liivoja, ‘The Scope of the Supremacy Clause of the United Nations Charter’, ICLQ, 2008, 583.

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sanctions obligatoires contre la République fédérative de Yougoslavie.67 En eﬀet, le libellé du paragraphe 24 de cette résolution ne laissait aucun doute quant à la nature obligatoire des sanctions en question, tout en cadrant avec les faits de l’aﬀaire Bosphorus.68 Et pourtant, la Cour a relevé à juste titre la marge d’appréciation dont disposent les États quant à l’application d’une décision obligatoire de l’organisation internationale à laquelle ils appartiennent pour observer que : [L]’État n’en demeurerait pas moins entièrement responsable au regard de la Convention de tous les actes ne relevant pas strictement de ses obligations juridiques internationales. Les nombreuses aﬀaires examinées sous l’angle de la Convention (. . .) le conﬁrment.69

À notre sens, ces observations s’appliquaient a fortiori dans les aﬀaires Behrami et Saramati, dans la mesure où la marge d’appréciation des États est généralement bien plus importante dans le contexte qui nous intéresse. En règle générale, les résolutions du Conseil de sécurité qui édictent des sanctions économiques obligatoires sont libellées de manière bien plus stricte que celles qui contiennent des autorisations de recourir à la force. Une simple comparaison du libellé des dispositions pertinentes des résolutions en cause dans les aﬀaires Bosphorus et Behrami – les résolutions 820 (1993) et 1244 (1999) respectivement – suﬃt pour s’en convaincre. Cependant, la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme a opté pour une voie tout à fait diﬀérente dans l’aﬀaire Behrami et Saramati. Au lieu d’insister sur les similitudes de ces cas avec l’aﬀaire Bosphorus, elle a souligné au contraire ce qui les distinguait : [D]ans l’arrêt rendu dans [l’aﬀaire Bosphorus, la Cour] avait relevé que la mesure en cause (la saisie de l’aéronef loué par la société requérante) avait été mise en œuvre par les autorités de l’État défendeur, sur son territoire national, à la suite d’une décision d’un ministre de cet État (Bosphorus, paragraphe 37). Aussi la Cour n’avait-elle vu dans cette aﬀaire aucun problème touchant à sa compétence notamment ratione personae, vis-à-vis de l’État défendeur, bien que la saisie litigieuse ait été décidée sur la base d’un règlement communautaire, pris lui-même en application d’une résolution du Conseil de sécurité. En revanche, dans les présentes espèces, les actions et omissions litigieuses de la KFOR et de la MINUK ne sau-

67 68

69

Voir l’arrêt Bosphorus, précité, para. 64, 65 et passim. Le paragraphe 24 de la résolution 820 (1993), en date du 17 avril 1993, stipulait notamment que : ‘Le Conseil de sécurité (. . .) Décide que tous les États saisiront tous les (. . .) aéronefs se trouvant sur leur territoire dans lesquels une personne ou une entreprise de la [RFY] ou opérant à partir de celle-ci détient un intérêt majoritaire ou prépondérant (. . .)’. Arrêt Bosphorus, précité, para. 157. Voir également sur ce point les remarques de la CDI dans le commentaire de l’article 15 de son projet sur la responsabilité des organisations internationales, Rapport de la CDI, doc. A/60/10, précité, p. 100.

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raient être imputées aux États défendeurs et, du reste, ne sont pas survenues sur le territoire de ceux-ci ni ne découlent de décisions prises par leurs autorités.70

Ce passage appelle plusieurs commentaires. On constate, tout d’abord, que pour écarter la doctrine de la « protection équivalente », la Cour se place sur le terrain de sa compétence ratione personae et, sous cet angle, elle revient sur la question de l’attribution des comportements litigieux, déjà examinée dans la section précédente de sa décision. Il s’agit là d’une argumentation pour ainsi dire circulaire, dominée en réalité par la question de l’attribution. Sans vouloir reprendre les analyses précédentes concernant ce dernier problème, il suﬃt de rappeler le principe bien ancré dans la pratique internationale, suivant lequel il n’est pas possible d’attribuer à l’ONU les actions ou omissions des forces multinationales autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité – en l’occurrence la KFOR – étant donné que celui-ci n’exerce aucun contrôle eﬀectif sur le déroulement des opérations. Par ailleurs, l’argument selon lequel les faits litigieux n’étaient pas survenus sur le territoire des États défendeurs laisse perplexe au regard de la jurisprudence traditionnelle de la Cour à ce sujet, telle que résumée dans l’aﬀaire Loizidou.71 D’autant plus que les éléments qui avaient motivé la déviation de l’aﬀaire Bankovic72 n’étaient pas présents au cas d’espèce.73 Enﬁn, l’argument selon lequel dans l’aﬀaire Bosphorus la Cour n’avait pas vu un problème relatif à sa compétence ratione materiae aurait pu être invoqué en sens inverse, étant donné les similitudes entre cette aﬀaire et les cas Behrami et Saramati. On rappelle, en eﬀet, que toutes ces aﬀaires concernaient des activités entreprises suite à des résolutions du Conseil de sécurité adoptées au titre du chapitre VII de la Charte de l’ONU. Bien plus, dans l’aﬀaire Bosphorus, la saisie litigieuse était eﬀectuée, on le répète, en exécution d’une décision obligatoire du Conseil de sécurité laissant peu de marge d’appréciation aux instances

70 71

72

73

Décision Behrami et Saramati, précitée, para. 151. Aﬀaire Loizidou c. Turquie (exceptions préliminaires), arrêt du 23 mars 1995, série A, vol. 310, para. 63. Bankovic et autres c. Belgique et autres, (Grande Chambre), décision du 12 décembre 2001, Recueil des arrêts et décisions 2001–XII, p. 361, para. 61. Pour une appréciation critique de cette décision, voir A. Orakhelashvili, ‘Restrictive Interpretation of Human Rights Treaties in the Recent Jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights’, EJIL, 2003, pp. 529–568 ; M. Gondek, ‘Extraterritorial Application of the European Convention on Human Rights : Territorial Focus in the Age of Globalization ?’, NILR, 2005, 360. On remarque notamment qu’à la suite de l’adhésion de la Serbie et du Monténégro au Conseil de l’Europe, l’argument de la ‘régionalité’ de la CEDH – peu convaincant en lui-même – ne peut plus être invoqué. Par ailleurs, alors que l’aﬀaire Bankovic concernait des actes de bombardement par des forces aériennes (voir la décision précitée de la Cour), les aﬀaires Behrami et Saramati, ainsi que les aﬀaires subséquentes Gajic et Kasumaj (précitées), étaient liées aux activités militaires et policières de la KFOR sur le territoire même du Kosovo.

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communautaires et aux États membres, ce qui n’était pas le cas de la KFOR, fonctionnant, elle, sur la base d’une simple autorisation et bénéﬁciant d’une latitude importante dans la mise en œuvre de son mandat. Cependant, alors que l’arrêt Bosphorus ne contient pas de référence au chapitre VII de la Charte – le règlement communautaire ayant servi d’écran, laissant le Conseil de sécurité quasiment dans l’ombre – la décision Behrami et Saramati en fait au contraire un argument de taille. La Cour souligne, en eﬀet, le « caractère impératif du but premier de l’ONU », à savoir le maintien de la paix et de la sécurité internationales, et les pouvoirs du Conseil de sécurité en vertu du chapitre VII pour atteindre ce but. Partant du constat que les opérations entreprises sur la base de ce chapitre « sont fondamentales pour la mission de l’ONU », la Cour estime que : [L]a Convention ne saurait s’interpréter de manière à faire relever du contrôle de la Cour les actions ou omissions des Parties contractantes couvertes par des résolutions du Conseil de sécurité et commises avant ou pendant de telles missions. Cela s’analyserait en une ingérence dans l’accomplissement d’une mission essentielle de l’ONU dans ce domaine, voire, comme l’ont dit certaines des parties, dans la conduite eﬃcace de pareilles opérations.74

S’il est vrai que la Cour a montré à plusieurs reprises dans sa jurisprudence sa déférence à l’égard du droit international – ce qui contribue incontestablement à la cohérence de l’ordre juridique international –, cette fois-ci elle a suivi une approche ambiguë. Partant d’une application hautement problématique, à notre sens, des règles du droit international relatives à l’attribution d’un comportement à une organisation internationale – en l’occurrence à l’ONU –, elle a ensuite invoqué le droit onusien pour se désister littéralement de son rôle de gardien de la CEDH en tant qu’ « instrument constitutionnel de l’ordre public européen ». Le passage précité soulève en outre une fois de plus la question éternelle concernant la balance entre le maintien de la sécurité et le respect des libertés individuelles. B. L’éternel ( faux) dilemme entre sécurité et liberté En eﬀet, le passage en question montre clairement que la Cour entendait accorder une priorité absolue aux préoccupations sécuritaires en écartant pratiquement toute possibilité de contrôle, au titre de la CEDH, du comportement des forces multinationales agissant sur autorisation du Conseil de sécurité. En partant de l’interprétation, à notre sens erronée, de l’article 103 de la Charte, une telle autorisation serait susceptible de légitimer quasiment toute violation éventuelle

74

Décision Behrami et Saramati, précitée, para. 149. Voir dans le même sens Ph. Lagrange, op. cit., p. 108.

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des droits de l’homme commise dans le contexte de l’exécution du mandat du Conseil de sécurité. Si cette approche devait être adoptée également par d’autres organes internationaux de contrôle, les mécanismes conventionnels de protection des droits de l’homme deviendraient quasiment inopérants dans ce domaine. On rappelle, par ailleurs, qu’une approche analogue, fondée elle aussi pour l’essentiel sur l’article 103 de la Charte, a été suivie par la Chambre des Lords.75 Si cette manière de voir devait se propager également parmi les plus hautes instances judiciaires nationales, le comportement des forces multinationales serait à l’abri de tout contrôle, national et international. Tout contentieux relatif aux droits de l’homme serait alors impossible. Ces normes perdraient ainsi l’essentiel de leur intérêt. En d’autres termes, on est en passe de créer un véritable « trou noir » en matière de protection des droits de l’homme pour ce qui est des opérations mandatées par le Conseil de sécurité. Sans vouloir extrapoler, force est de constater qu’une observation analogue risquerait d’être valable mutatis mutandis pour le droit international humanitaire. L’argument de la Cour européenne dans le passage précité concernant la conduite eﬃcace des opérations autorisées est lui aussi assez surprenant. Faut-il condamner les normes applicables du droit international à l’autel de l’eﬃcacité ? Faut-il se résigner à admettre que la conduite des opérations militaires bénéﬁcie d’une immunité juridictionnelle absolue ? Il importe de rappeler à cet égard que dans l’aﬀaire des Activités militaires et paramilitaires au Nicaragua et contre celui-ci la CIJ a estimé, à juste titre, que même l’exercice du « droit inhérent » de légitime défense est soumis à un contrôle judiciaire.76 On pourrait peut-être rétorquer que les opérations autorisées par le Conseil de sécurité sont des missions « nobles et désintéressées » et que par conséquent le risque de violations du droit international à l’occasion de la mise en œuvre du mandat des forces multinationales est peu élevé. Or la pratique montre malheureusement que de telles violations sont commises assez souvent. Le Conseil de sécurité lui-même ne cachait pas son inquiétude à cet égard en incluant le paragraphe suivant dans la résolution autorisant la mise en place de l »’opération hybride » NU/UA au Darfour : [L]e Conseil de sécurité . . . Prie le Secrétaire général de prendre les mesures nécessaires pour que la MINUAD se conforme strictement à la politique de tolérance zéro des Nations Unies à l’égard de l’exploitation et des abus sexuels, notamment en élaborant des stratégies et des mécanismes appropriés pour prévenir, identiﬁer et sanctionner toute conduite répréhensible . . . et demande instamment aux pays fournisseurs de contingents de prendre les mesures préventives appropriées notamment . . . en prenant des mesures disciplinaires ou autres pour s’assurer que

75 76

Arrêt Al-Jedda, précité, [2007] UKHL 58, para. 26 ss. (Lord Bingham of Cornhill). Arrêt du 27 juin 1986, CIJ Rec. 1986, para. 193 ss. et passim.

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Lu dans le contexte de la résolution 1769 (2007), ce paragraphe fait apparaître qu’aux yeux du Conseil de sécurité l’impunité des actes décrits ci-dessus risquerait de porter une atteinte grave à la crédibilité de l’« opération hybride » toute entière. Plus généralement, émettre le message suivant lequel les actes ou omissions des forces multinationales et de leur personnel sont au dessus de tout contrôle par une instance judiciaire, nationale ou internationale, nuirait considérablement à la légitimité des opérations autorisées et, partant, à leur crédibilité, voire à leur eﬃcacité. Le plaidoyer de la Cour européenne en faveur de la sécurité au détriment des libertés risque de constituer un boomerang et d’avoir à terme des eﬀets négatifs sur les opérations autorisées. On constate par ailleurs que l’approche timorée de la Cour de Strasbourg contraste avec celle de la CJCE dans le récent arrêt relatif aux aﬀaires Yassin Abdullah Kadi et Al Barakaat International Foundation.78 Il est vrai que cet arrêt concernait les sanctions non militaires, adoptées au titre de l’article 41 de la Charte dans le cadre de la lutte anti-terroriste, et plus particulièrement les « listes noires » du Conseil de sécurité et leur application dans l’ordre juridique communautaire par voie de règlement. Techniquement parlant, ces aﬀaires étaient donc diﬀérentes des aﬀaires Behrami et Saramati, concernant, elles, la mise en œuvre de l’autorisation du Conseil de sécurité de recourir à la force. Il n’empêche que la principale question de fond était commune à l’ensemble de ces aﬀaires. On sait, en eﬀet, qu’en se fondant pour l’essentiel sur l’article 103 de la Charte des Nations Unies, le Tribunal de première instance des Communautés européennes avait décidé que le règlement litigieux, dès lors qu’il visait à mettre en œuvre une résolution obligatoire du Conseil de sécurité au titre du Chapitre VII, ne saurait faire l’objet d’un contrôle juridictionnel quant à sa légalité interne, sauf pour ce qui concernait sa compatibilité avec les normes de jus cogens, et bénéﬁciait donc dans cette mesure d’une « immunité juridictionnelle ».79

77 78

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S/Rés. 1769 (2007), para. 16. Cour de Justice des Communautés Européennes, Yassin Abdullah Kadi and Al Barakaat International Foundation v. Council and Commission, Aﬀaires jointes C-402/05 P and C-415/05 P, 3 septembre 2008. Voir les arrêts du Tribunal de première instance des Communautés européennes du 21 septembre 2005, respectivement, Kadi/Conseil et Commission (T-315/01, Rec. p. II-3649), ainsi que Yusuf et Al Barakkat International Foundation/Conseil et Commission (T-306/01, Rec. p. II3533). Voir également les commentaires contrastés de D. Simon et F. Mariatte, ‘Le Tribunal de première instance des Communautés : professeur de droit international’, Europe, décembre 2005, 6 et de J.-P. Jacqué, ‘Le Tribunal de première instance face aux résolutions du Conseil de sécurité des Nations Unies. ‘Merci Monsieur le Professeur’ ‘, L’Europe des libertés, janvier 2006, n° 19, 2. Voir aussi l’appréciation critique de J. Almqvist, ‘A Human Rights Critique

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En suivant en substance les conclusions de son Avocat général, P. Maduro,80 la CJCE a emprunté une voie bien diﬀérente. La Cour a réaﬃrmé sa jurisprudence antérieure selon laquelle les compétences de la Communauté doivent être exercées « dans le respect du droit international ». Elle a estimé également qu’il n’incombe pas au juge communautaire de contrôler la légalité d’une résolution du Conseil de sécurité, « ce contrôle fût-il limité à l’examen de la compatibilité de cette résolution avec le jus cogens ».81 En d’autres termes, la Cour a montré sa déférence au droit international et aux actes du Conseil de sécurité en refusant toute forme de contrôle de la légalité de ceux-ci. Elle a énoncé également que le respect des engagements pris dans le cadre de l’ONU s’impose, y compris dans le domaine de la paix et de la sécurité internationales. Cependant, la Charte des Nations Unies ne décrète pas « le choix d’un modèle déterminé » pour la mise en œuvre des résolutions du Conseil de sécurité, adoptées en vertu du Chapitre VII.82 Si cette remarque vaut pour les résolutions obligatoires du Conseil, elle vaut a fortiori pour les résolutions permissives contenant de simples autorisations. En d’autres termes, les États bénéﬁcient d’une marge d’appréciation quant à la manière d’appliquer une résolution du Conseil de sécurité. Dans ces conditions, la CJCE a estimé que les principes régissant l’ordre juridique international issu des Nations Unies – autrement dit, l’article 103 de la Charte – n’impliquent pas qu’« un contrôle de la légalité interne du règlement litigieux au regard des droits fondamentaux serait exclu ».83 Et la Cour de rappeler à cet égard que les droits fondamentaux font « partie intégrante » du droit communautaire dont elle assure le respect, tout en soulignant la place particulière qu’occupe la CEDH dans ce contexte. Bien plus, le respect des droits de l’homme constitue une condition de la légalité des actes communautaires. La protection de ces droits fait partie des principes qui relèvent des fondements mêmes de l’ordre juridique communautaire. Il s’ensuit, selon la Cour, que les obligations qu’impose un accord international – en l’occurrence la Charte des Nation Unies – « ne sauraient avoir pour eﬀet de porter atteinte aux principes

80

81 82 83

of European Judicial Review : Counter-Terrorism Sanctions’, ICLQ, 2008, 303 et le commentaire nuancé de A. Vandepoorter, ‘L’application communautaire des décisions du Conseil de sécurité’, AFDI, 2006, 102. Conclusions présentées le 16 janvier 2008, aﬀaire C-402/05 P, Yassin Abdullah Kadi et aﬀaire C-415/05 P, Al Barakaat International Foundation. Dans le même ordre d’idées s’inscrivait également le rapport de D. Marty, ‘Listes noires du Conseil de sécurité et de l’Union européenne’, Commission des questions juridiques et des droits de l’homme de l’Assemblée parlementaire du Conseil de l’Europe, doc. 11454, 16 novembre 2007 ; ainsi que la résolution de l’Assemblée parlementaire 1597 (2008), du 23 janvier 2008. Arrêt précité, points 287, 291. Ibid., point 298. Ibid., point 299.

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constitutionnels du traité CE ».84 En d’autres termes, la Cour n’était pas prête à admettre « une dérogation aux principes de la liberté, de la démocratie ainsi que du respect des droits de l’homme et des libertés fondamentales » consacrés à l’article 6, paragraphe 1 du traité UE en tant que fondements de l’Union.85 Sans remettre en cause la validité des résolutions pertinentes du Conseil de sécurité en tant que telles, la Cour s’est placée sur le terrain du droit communautaire pour en défendre les principes cardinaux. Plus particulièrement, la Cour a constaté que l’absence de toute possibilité de recours judiciaire au proﬁt des requérants, inscrits sur les « listes noires » du Conseil de sécurité, constituait une violation des droits de la défense, en particulier celui d’être entendu, et du droit à un contrôle juridictionnel eﬀectif. Il est vrai, en eﬀet, que malgré les améliorations intervenues récemment concernant le régime des mesures restrictives instauré par le Conseil de sécurité,86 la procédure devant le comité des sanctions demeure essentiellement de nature diplomatique et interétatique, les individus n’ayant pas de possibilité réelle de défendre leurs droits ni de se faire représenter à cette ﬁn. L’opacité de la procédure devant le comité en question n’oﬀre pas une « protection équivalente » des droits de la défense à celle qui est garantie en droit communautaire. Par ailleurs, tout en soulignant que la mesure de gel des avoirs des requérants s’analysait en une mesure conservatoire qui n’était pas censée priver lesdites personnes de leur propriété, la CJCE a estimé qu’il s’agissait là d’une restriction considérable à l’usage du droit de propriété. Tenant compte de l’absence de toute garantie de contrôle juridictionnel et eu égard à la portée générale et à la durée eﬀective des mesures restrictives, la Cour a conclu que la restriction en question était injustiﬁée et que, par conséquent, le moyen tiré de la violation du droit fondamental au respect de la propriété était fondé.87 Partant de ces considérations, la Cour a annulé le règlement litigieux, pour autant qu’il concernait les requérants. Elle a, toutefois, soigneusement évité de mettre en cause les « sanctions intelligentes » du Conseil de sécurité – visant des individus ou des entités non étatiques plutôt que des États – et encore moins les inscriptions sur les « listes noires » en tant que telles. En eﬀet, la Cour a relevé que l’annulation du règlement en question avec eﬀet immédiat serait susceptible de porter une atteinte « sérieuse et irréversible » à l’eﬃcacité des mesures restrictives que ce règlement imposait et que la Communauté se devait d’appliquer. Dans l’intervalle précédant son éventuel remplacement par un nouveau règlement, les

84 85 86

87

Ibid., point 285. Ibid., point 303. Voir notamment S/Rés. 1730 (2006), du 19 décembre 2006 et S/Rés. 1735 (2006), du 22 décembre 2006. Arrêt précité, points 356–371.

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requérants pourraient agir de façon à éviter des mesures de gel de leurs fonds dans l’avenir. Or, la Cour a justement fait remarquer qu’il ne saurait être exclu que, sur le fond, l’imposition de telles mesures aux requérants « puisse tout de même s’avérer justiﬁée ». D’où sa décision de maintenir les eﬀets du règlement litigieux pour une brève période de trois mois à compter du prononcé de l’arrêt, de manière à permettre au Conseil de remédier aux violations constatées, tout en tenant dûment compte « de l’importante incidence des mesures restrictives dont il s’agit sur les droits et libertés des requérants ».88 L’arrêt de la CJCE a le mérite de concilier les impératifs de la sécurité et de la protection des droits de l’homme. Sans contester la validité des résolutions du Conseil de sécurité et tout en aﬃrmant la pertinence des « sanctions intelligentes » et le devoir de la Communauté de les mettre en œuvre, la Cour veille à sauvegarder en même temps les valeurs essentielles dont elle est le gardien. Le message qui ressort de cet arrêt n’est pas ou sécurité ou libertés, mais sécurité et libertés à la fois. Il s’agit là d’une voie qui devrait être suivie, à notre sens, pour ce qui est de la mise en œuvre des résolutions du Conseil de sécurité contenant une autorisation de recourir à la force. D’autant plus que les résolutions en question laissent une marge d’appréciation importante aux États quant aux mesures nécessaires à leur application. En guise de conclusion, on remarque que la mise en œuvre de la responsabilité des agents d’exécution des autorisations du Conseil de sécurité en cas de violation du droit international humanitaire ou des droits de l’homme, loin de nuire potentiellement à l’eﬃcacité des opérations autorisées, constitue au contraire une condition importante de leur crédibilité. En revanche, l’approche selon laquelle les forces multinationales et leur personnel pourraient agir en dehors de tout contrôle judiciaire, national ou international, risque de miner les fondements de l’action du Conseil en rendant à terme un mauvais service à l’Organisation mondiale.

88

Ibid., point 375.

Chapter 8 Targeted Sanctions and Obligations of States on Listing and De-listing Procedures Djacoba Liva Tehindrazanarivelo*

1. Introduction Targeted sanctions appeared in the United Nations (UN) practice in the late 1990s out of eﬀorts to minimize the adverse eﬀects of collective international sanctions and enhance their eﬀectiveness. They tend to replace traditional comprehensive economic sanctions against a State with more targeted and selective measures, such as freezing of funds and other ﬁnancial assets of speciﬁc individuals and entities, investment restrictions, travel restrictions, arms embargo, trade restrictions on particular goods, among others. The power to impose such collective international sanctions was ﬁrst introduced in international relations by Article 16 of the League of Nations Covenant. When the United Nations Organisation succeeded the League of Nations in the aftermath of the Second World War, the same power was granted to the new organisation. Under Article 41 of the UN Charter, the UN Security Council has the competence to decide on non-military measures to be taken by States in order to maintain or restore international peace and security.1

* The author would like to thank Martha Baillargeon, of BU Geneva Program, for proof-reading. Mistakes that remain are author’s own. 1 It is well known that the Security Council will so decide after a determination of the existence of a threat to peace, a breach of the peace or an act of aggression, as provided for in Article 39. Moreover, after such determination and beyond Article 41 measures, the Council could also recommend provisional measures under Article 40 or decide on military measures as contemplated in Article 42. In addition, it has the competence to recommend either means or terms of settlement of any dispute or situation its prolongation may endanger international peace and security. In this study, the focus will be on non-military measures decided under Article 41 of the UN Charter, designated hereafter under the generic term “economic sanctions” – following both the UN practice and scholarly writings – even though the term “sanctions” itself is not seen anywhere in the UN Charter.

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In the UN Charter framework, sanctions measures are deemed to be directed at States, taken as unique entities, without considering the individual authors of the acts or omissions which threaten or breach international peace and security. The drafters of the UN Charter followed thus the basic principle of State responsibility for international wrongful acts which impute acts of State’s agents to that State, granting these agents functional immunity for their oﬃcial acts.2 It is also worth noting that these drafters did not contemplate any UN coercive measures against individuals or private entities. The ﬁrst sanctions imposed under Article 41 of the UN Charter were those against Southern Rhodesia in 1966, by Resolution 232 (1966), consisting of trade, ﬁnancial, travel and diplomatic sanctions.3 While the implementation of these sanctions did succeed in putting an end to the minority and racist rule in that State, and led to the independence of Zimbabwe in 1980, it had already shown the adverse eﬀects of comprehensive sanctions on the economies of the target State and its commercial partners, as well as on the enjoyment of basic rights of the civilian population. During the 1990s, the so-called “Sanctions Decade”,4 such unintended eﬀects were particularly harmful regarding the economic sanctions against Iraq, Haiti and the former Yugoslavia.5 Awareness of these adverse eﬀects emphasised the need for more targeted sanctions in order to minimize their impact on the civilian population and maximize the pressure on the rulers by directing the required measures against the latter. After being used on just a few occasions, this solution to the unintended consequences of sanctions had in turn raised its own undesirable eﬀects, namely the lack of respect of due process and fundamental rights in the listing

2

3

4

5

This is not to say that the imposition of UN sanctions is part of the mechanism of international responsibility. The Security Council is not obliged to rely on a breach of international obligations before imposing coercive measures nor is it bound to react to any violations of international law. It would only react to such violations, or any other facts, that it considers endanger or might endanger international peace and security. This sanctions regime was analysed well by the addressee of this contribution in what has become an authoritative legal work on UN sanctions: V. Gowlland-Debbas, Collective Responses to Illegal Acts in International Law. United Nations Action in the Question of Southern Rhodesia, (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1990). See D. Cortright, and G. A. Lopez, The Sanctions Decade: Assessing UN Strategies in the 1990’s, (Boulder, Co.: Lynn Rienner, 2000). On these secondary eﬀects, see D. L. Tehindrazanarivelo, Les sanctions des Nations Unies et leurs eﬀets secondaires: assistance aux victimes et voies juridiques de prévention, (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 2005), See also, among others, E. D. Gibbons, Sanctions in Haïti, The Washington Papers/177, (Westport: Praeger, 1999); H. C. von Sponeck, A Diﬀerent Kind of War: the UN Sanctions Regime in Iraq, (New York: Berghahn Books, 2006).

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of individuals or entities who are to be the subjects of the sanctions and removal of names from such a list. Having had the privilege to work for some years with Professor Vera Gowlland-Debbas on UN law and sanctions, the present author is particularly pleased to oﬀer her some thoughts on the legal procedures relating to the very basis of targeted sanctions – the identiﬁcation of those who are to be targeted – including the obligations of States with regard to diﬀerent aspects of that identiﬁcation process. Based on the UN, regional and national practice on the implementation of targeted sanctions, this contribution will start with the analysis of the change brought by the emergence of targeted sanctions on the UN sanctions pattern (2). This explains the various human rights concerns raised by these sanctions, which have been the subject of abundant studies highlighting the human rights violated, and the need for the UN to take into account these concerns when imposing sanctions against individuals.6 In light of these remarkable studies, the present contribution will focus on the obligations of States concerning the procedure for nominating individuals to the UN list and vis-à-vis the request for removal made by persons under their responsibility (3). The ultimate goal is

6

Reﬂections on such human rights concerns had started in early 2000s, for example by I. Cameron, Targeted Sanctions and Legal Safeguards, Report for the Swedish Government, (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2002); I. Cameron, ‘Targeted Sanctions: Legal Safeguards and the European Convention on Human Rights’, 72 Nordic J.I.L, 2003; P. Cramér, ‘Recent Swedish experiences with Targeted Sanctions: The Erosion of Trust in the Security Council’, in E. de Wet, and A. Nollkaemper, (eds.), Review of the Security Council by the Member States, (Antwerp, Oxford, New York: Intersetia, 2003); L. Göran, ‘Targeted UN Sanctions: Application of Legal Sources and Procedural Matters’, 72 Nordic J.I.L, 2003. Following judgements of the CJEC and European Court of Human Rights, the number of such studies has increased exponentially. Beyond the multitude of articles, there are three main reports on the topic: I. Cameron, The European Convention on Human Rights, Due Process and United Nations, Report to the Council of Europe, 2006; B. Fassbender, Targeted Sanctions and Due Process, 20 March 2006, a study commissioned by the UN Oﬃce of Legal Aﬀairs; T. J. Biersteker, and S. E. Eckert, Strenghtening Targeted Sanctions Through Fair and Clear Procedures, white paper prepared by the Watson Institute Targeted Sanctions Project, Brown University, 30 March 2006. As for articles, reference may be made to some of the most recent ones: J. Almqvist, ‘A Human Rights Critique of European Judicial Review: Counter-Terrorism Sanctions’, 57 ICLQ, 2008, 303–331; M. Bothe, ‘Security Council’s Targeted Sanctions Againt Presumed Terrorists: The Need to Comply with Human Rights Standards’, 6 Journal of International Criminal Justice, 3, 2008, 541–555; I. Couzigou, ‘La lutte du Conseil de sécurité contre le terrorism international et les droits de l’homme’, RGDIP, 2008, 49–84; J. Dutheil de la Rochère, ‘Sanctions internationales contre les personnes et respect des droits fondamentaux dans le cadre de l’Union européenne’, in: Mélanges en l’honneur de H. Gaudement-Tallon, (Paris: Dalloz, 2008), pp. 229–239; L. van den Herik, ‘The Security Council’s Targeted sanctions Regimes: In Need of Better Protection of the Individual’, 20 Leiden Journal of International Law, 2007, 797–807.

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to assess the role of States in the attainment of the “fair and clear procedures” in targeted sanctions as called for by the UN General Assembly.7

2. Targeted Sanctions and the Change of UN Sanctions Pattern: From State-centred to Individual-focused Measures In UN practice, only the sanctions regimes imposed against Southern Rhodesia, Iraq and former Yugoslavia were comprehensive. In general, this comprehensiveness was attained after successive extensions of existing measures. This is to say that most of the UN sanctions regimes put in place before the end of the 1990s were selective, and were more or less targeted, even though they diﬀered from targeted sanctions as practiced nowadays. A. The Evolution of Targeted Sanctions in UN Practice The ﬁrst two UN sanctions regimes (against Southern Rhodesia and South Africa) and most sanctions applied in the 1990s (starting from the Iraqi sanctions) show that many sanctions regimes did not aﬀect the persons, the conduct of whom was contingent on the lifting of sanctions, unlike the majority of the population who suﬀered from the imposition of a sanctions regime. In most cases during the 1990s, the rulers of the sanctioned States even tended to beneﬁt from the sanctions regime through the smuggling of prohibited items. Aware of these pitfalls, some States undertook studies to ﬁnd a better way to minimize the eﬀects of sanctions on vulnerable people and maximize their impact with regard to State leaders.8 The results of these processes9 were pre-

7

8

9

In its World Summit Outcome Document, the General Assembly “call[ed] upon the Security Council . . . to ensure that fair and clear procedures exist for placing individuals and entities on sanctions lists and removing them . . .” (GA Res. 60/1, of 16 December 2005, para. 109). The Security Council has responded to that call by asking its Sanctions Committees “to ensure that fair and clear procedures exist for placing individuals and entities on the Committee’s list of designees and for removing them” (para. 22 of SC Res. 1844 (2008), of 22 November 2008, on Somalia, one of the latest resolutions which restates what have been said in previous resolutions imposing targeted sanctions). This started in 1999 with the so-called Interlaken Process on targeted ﬁnancial sanctions, initiated by the Swiss Government in collaboration with the UN Secretariat. Building on this ﬁrst process, the German Government launched one year later the Bonn-Berlin Process on travel restrictions and arms embargo. Aware of the need for eﬀective implementation of these targeted sanctions at national level, the Swedish Government sponsored in 2001 a third international discussion on the matter, namely the Stockholm Process aimed at strengthening the national implementation of targeted sanctions. Targeted Financial Sanctions. A Manual for Design and Implementation: Contribution from the Interlaken Process, the Swiss Confederation in cooperation with the UN Secretariat and the

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sented to the UN and were positively received by the Security Council.10 These results were also discussed and further studied by other UN organs, namely the Special Committee on the Charter of the United Nations and the Working Group on General Issues on Sanctions. It could be said, however, that in the history of UN sanctions the three mentioned processes constituted the most decisive step in the design and international advocacy of targeted sanctions. Thanks to these initiatives, the idea of targeted sanctions has been progressively taken into account by the Security Council. It was said that in designing various sanctions it imposed in the late 1990s and early 2000s (sanctions on Ethiopia and Eritrea, Sierra Leone, Liberia, and the Taliban regime of Afghanistan), the Security Council borrowed extensively from the preliminary work of the Interlaken and Bonn-Berlin processes.11 Following, since the beginning of this century, targeted sanctions have become the exclusive type of sanctions imposed by the Security Council. At the same time, this new practice has introduced an important change in the UN sanctions structure. Before emphasising that change, it is important to note that targeted sanctions were not developed in the framework of the ﬁght against terrorism, nor are they a post-9/11 practice. True, targeted sanctions are at times mostly used in the ﬁght against global terrorism. However, they had been implemented before the 9/11 events and there are currently other targeted sanctions which have no link with international terrorism, as will be shown in the next section. Moreover, UN sanctions reacting to some forms of terrorism before September 2001 were not in their totality targeted at individuals.12

10

11

12

Watson Institute for International Studies at the Brown University, 2001; M. Brzoska (ed.), Design and Implementation of Arms Embargoes and Travel and Aviation Related Sanctions: Results of the “Bonn-Berlin Process”, (Bonn: BICC, 2001); P. Wallenstein, C. Staibano and M. Eriksson (eds.), Making Targeted Sanctions Eﬀective. Guidelines for the Implementation of UN Policy Options. Results from the Stockholm Process on the Implementation of Targeted Sanctions, (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2003). See the record of the 4394th meeting of the Security Council considering the reports of the two ﬁrst processes: S/PV.4394, 22 October 2001, and S/PV.4394 (Resumption 1), 25 October 2001. Declaration of Miss Durrant, Permanent Representative of Jamaica, during the presentation of the reports of these processes to the Security Council, S/PV.4394 (Resumption 1), p. 2. For example, the sanctions on Libya following the aerial catastrophe at Lockerbie, which consisted of the severance of diplomatic and consular relations with Libya, and the closure of its tourist and airline oﬃces abroad (see SC Res. 731 (1992), 748 (1992) and 883 (1993)). In this case, it is the refusal by Libya to extradite two of its citizens accused of acts of terrorism that was qualiﬁed by the Security Council as a threat to international peace and security. See also the diplomatic and travel sanctions against Sudanese rulers, not individually designated, regarding the arrest of the authors of the attempted assassination of the Egyptian President, deemed to have sought refuge in Sudan. These sanctions pressed the Sudanese government to ratify various UN conventions against terrorism as a proof of its “renunciation” of terrorism,

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These sanctions regimes could be described as targeted to the extent that they were not comprehensive. This is actually the ﬁrst understanding of targeted sanctions as practiced by the Security Council before the various processes. They are sanctions limited to some products, economic sectors or areas of activities, as opposed to comprehensive economic measures involving a complete ban on the movements of goods, including related ﬁnancial transactions. Such pre-processes targeted sanctions were imposed by the Security Council as the ﬁrst step towards more wide-ranging sanctions, in the context of a progressive enhancement of pressure to induce State compliance with Council decisions. These included embargos on arms and related materials, freezing of external funds and ﬁnancial assets owned by States or enterprises controlled by States, travel restrictions for State leaders and their supporters, aviation bans on speciﬁc countries, closure of national tourism and airline oﬃces abroad, and restrictions in the commerce of natural resources sectors. At that time, sanctions were directed at States in their entirety or at least at categories of persons or entities generally mentioned without any further speciﬁcations, such as the government of the sanctioned State; de facto authorities; “all parties” to a particular conﬂict; entities abroad owned or controlled by the sanctioned State and its rulers; members of the military junta and their immediate family members (SC Res. 917 on Haiti); oﬃcials of a non-State entity (SC Res. 1127 on UNITA – Angola); and members of a former military junta and the rebel group supporting it (SC Res. 1171 on RUF in Sierra Leone).13 These forms of targeted sanctions, with general references to the sanctioned individuals and entities, diﬀer from what is now the practice of the Security Council. B. The Current Practice of Targeted Sanctions In its 2004 report, the UN High-Level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change noted: As a result of growing concern over the humanitarian impact of comprehensive sanctions, the Security Council stopped imposing them after the cases of Iraq, former Yugoslavia and Haiti, and turned exclusively to the use of ﬁnancial, diplomatic, arms, aviation, travel and commodity sanctions, targeting the belligerents and policy makers most directly responsible for reprehensible policies.14

13

14

as demanded by the Council (see SC Res. 1044 (1996) and letter of the government of Sudan to the Security Council, S/2000/513, 1 June 2000). See a list of these targeted entities in V. Gowlland-Debbas (ed.), National Implementation of United Nations Sanctions: A Comparative Study, (Leiden, Boston: Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2004), p. 30. “A more secure world: our shared responsibility”, Report of the High-Level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change, UN Doc. A/59/565, 2 December 2004, para. 80.

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In comparison with previous practice, targeted sanctions that are currently applied by the Council are still selective and limited in their scope, but they are now imposed against persons or entities individually identiﬁed in a list established by the competent Sanctions Committee,15 or by national or regional organs with regards to the implementation of the Security Council resolution 1373 (2001).16 The target of the sanctions has thus moved from States, as an entity, to individuals and private entities who are held responsible for the threat to or breach of the peace. With the adoption of resolution 1390 (2002), the shift from State-centred to individual-centred sanctions has gone even further as the resolution introduced the targeting of individuals or entities who have no link, formal or factual, with a State. These are Usama bin Laden, members of the Al-Qaida network and the Taliban and other associated individuals, groups and entities. At the European Community level, such a shift has required a new legal basis for the Community measures which implement resolution 1390 (2002), namely Article 308 of the EC Treaty, in addition to those used to take economic measures against third States (Articles 60 EC and 301 EC).17 An argument of the EU Commission according to which Articles 60 EC and 301 EC constitute themselves an appropriate and suﬃcient legal basis for the adoption of measures against persons not linked to a governing regime of a third State was rejected by the Court of Justice of the European Communities (hereafter CJEC).18 Our point in this discussion is to stick on the diﬀerence of nature of the targeted measures provided for in resolution 1390 and economic measures taken against States in other resolutions. As the CJEC put it:

15

16

17 18

Sanctions Committees are subsidiary organs of the UN Security Council created to monitor the implementation of a speciﬁc sanctions regime. They are composed of the whole members of the Security Council and take decision by consensus. It should be recalled that Res. 1373 (2001) requires all States to take diﬀerent measures against 1) persons who commit, or attempt to commit, terrorist acts or participate in or facilitate the commission of terrorist acts; 2) entities owned or controlled directly or indirectly by such persons; 3) persons and entities acting on behalf of, or at the direction of such persons and entities, including funds derived or generated from property owned or controlled directly or indirectly by such persons and associated persons and entities; and 4) those who ﬁnance, plan, support, or commit terrorist acts. However, the resolution does not mention any list to be established for the identiﬁcation of the targeted individuals and entities, and does not entrust the Counter-Terrorism Committee (CTC) it has created with such a task. See the 2nd Report of the EU to the CTC, S/2002/928, 16 August 2002, p. 7. See CJEC, Yassin Abdullah Kadi & Al Barakaat International Foundation v. Council of the European Union, Joined Cases C-402/05 P and C-415/05 P, Judgment of 3 September 2008, (hereafter Kadi – Al Barakaat), para. 135. Discussing in length this issue of legal basis, which is beyond the reach of this contribution, the Court concluded on errors in law in some of the Court of First Instance ﬁndings in that regard; see ibid., paras. 166 et seq., para. 214.

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This also shows the variety of individuals and entities that are subjects of the targeted measures imposed by the Security Council. At the time of writing, lists of such individuals and entities are established in nine sanctions regimes in force. In three others, the targeting was already decided but the designation had not yet occurred. These sanctions regimes are examined below in chronological order, beginning with the ﬁrst operation involving targeted sanctions.20 i. The Targeted Sanctions Against Sierra Leone (1998–) The coercive measures against Sierra Leone started with an arms embargo on non-State actors, imposed by resolution 1132 (1997). On 5 June 1998, by its resolution 1171 (1998), the Security Council imposed a travel and transit ban against leading members of the former military junta and of the Revolutionary United Front (RUF), as designated by the Sanctions Committee created under resolution 1132 (1997). It is worth noting that this designation of targeted individuals by the 1132 Sanctions Committee took place before the regimes on targeted sanctions, launched in 1999 by the Interlaken Process. Moreover, the travel restrictions decided by the Security Council do not oblige a State to refuse the entry of its own nationals into its territory. This exemption is provided for in all travel sanctions imposed by the Security Council. The Consolidated List on Sierra Leone, last updated on 9 June 2008, contains six names of individuals: the former leader of the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council junta and ﬁve others who have been indicted by the Special Court for Sierra Leone.21

19 20

21

Ibid., para. 170. Thus, the sanctions regime against Somalia, ﬁrst imposed in 1992 and which is the second oldest of the sanctions regimes in force (after Iraq), is discussed last in the present analysis as it has most recently targeted individuals in 2008. This information on the list, as well as all that will follow with regards to diﬀerent sanctions regimes, are taken from the website of the Sanctions Committees (www.un.org/sc/committees) and the Annex of some SC resolutions. Additional information is also taken from the annual report of the relevant Committee, in this case the report released on 13 February 2009 by the 1132 Committee, S/2009/94.

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ii. The Sanctions Regime Against Al-Qaida, Usama Bin Laden, the Taliban and Associates (1999–) This sanctions regime was ﬁrst imposed by resolution 1267 (1999) on the Taliban and individuals associated with that entity as the de facto rulers of Afghanistan. After the fall of the Taliban from power, resolution 1390 (2002) extended the targeted sanctions to individuals and entities associated with AlQaida, Usama bin Laden and the Taliban wherever it may be located. These individuals and entities are designated by the Sanctions Committee, created under the resolution 1267 (1999). The successive resolutions adopted under this sanctions regime22 require all States to freeze the funds and other ﬁnancial assets or economic resources of the designated individuals or entities; prevent their entry into or transit through States territories; and impose an embargo on arms and related material of all types. Due to the increased use of the internet to pursue intensive terrorism propaganda, with the support of media outlets, it was proposed to include these media outlets and the main individuals and propagandists behind them in the Consolidated List, if their internet activities demonstrate that they have an association with Al-Qaida.23 As of 20 April 2009, the date of the last update, the Consolidated List has 508 entries, composed of 142 individuals associated with the Taliban, 255 individuals associated with Al-Qaida, as well as 111 entities and other groups and undertakings associated with Al-Qaida.24 This is the largest list among sanctions regimes adopted so far, and the one which continues to see a rise in the number of entries.25 iii. The Sanctions Against Individuals, Groups or Entities Linked to Terrorist Activities (2001–) The sanctions against individuals, groups or entities linked to terrorist activities are provided for in resolution 1373 (2001). As mentioned earlier, this resolution does not contain any details concerning the individuals and groups against whom the ﬁnancial and travel sanctions are to be applied. And the CounterTerrorism Committee, created under the same resolution, is not concerned with the listing of those individuals. In the absence of such speciﬁcations, the Court of First Instance of the CJEC (CFI) concluded that

22

23

24 25

SC Res. 1267 (1999), 1333 (2000), 1390 (2002), 1455 (2003), 1526 (2004), 1617 (2005), 1735 (2006) and 1822 (2008). Report of the Analytical Support and Sanctions Monitoring Team, S/2008/324, 14 May 2008, para. 15. See the complete list at www.un.org/sc/committees/1267/pdf/consolidatedlist.pdf. According to the report cited in note 23, the list had 482 entries on 31 March 2008.

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Chapter 8 it is for the Member States of the United Nations (UN) – and, in this case, the Community, through which its Member States have decided to act – to identify speciﬁcally the persons, groups and entities whose funds are to be frozen pursuant to that resolution, in accordance with the rules in their own legal order.26

Such list is adopted by the EU Council acting by unanimity, under the criteria originally spelled out in Article 1 (4) of Common Position 2001/931/CFSP, on which further development will be made later. For the 27 member States of the European Union, the last updated list annexed to the Council Decision 2008/583/EC of 15 July 2008 contains the names of 28 individuals, and 30 groups and entities. Some of these names have been the subject of legal challenge before the Court of First Instance (CFI).27 Other States tend to use the 1267 Committee’s list or do not make a distinction between the two sanctions regimes. iv. The Targeted Sanctions Against Former Iraqi Senior Oﬃcials (2003–) In the aftermath of the US-led armed action against Iraq in 2003, the 13 years of comprehensive sanctions against this country were limited to targeted sanctions against senior oﬃcials of the former regime led by Saddam Hussein.28 The remaining sanctions were put in place by resolution 1483 (2003) which requests all States to freeze funds, ﬁnancial assets and economic resources owned or controlled by senior oﬃcials of the former Iraqi regime and their immediate family members, including entities owned or controlled by them or by persons acting on their behalf. The identiﬁcation of these individuals and entities is entrusted to a Committee created by resolution 1518 (2003), replacing the one created in 1991 under resolution 661.

26

27

28

CFI, Organisation des Modjahedines du peuple d’Iran v Council of the European Union, Case T-228/02, Judgment of 12 December 2006 (OMPI), para. 102. For example, in its judgement of 4 December 2008, the CFI annulled Council Decision 2008/583/EC in so far as it concerns the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran, listed 19th of the 30 groups and individuals in the Annex of the Decision (CFI, People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran v Council of the European Union – hereafter PMOI III, Case T-284/08). The Kurdistan organization PKK has also succeeded in obtaining an annulment of an earlier Council Decision of 2002 (CFI, Osman Ocalan, on behalf of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) v Council of the European Union, hereafter PKK, Case T-229/02, Judgment of 3 April 2008) but its name is still listed as No. 9 in the EU Council Decision of 15 July 2008. AlAqsa, also listed in the latter Decision, brought on 12 September 2007 a petition for the annulment of the previous Decision which was replaced by Decision/2008/583/EC. The case is pending (Al-Aqsa v Council of the European Union, Case T-348/07). Along with the arms embargo which remains in force, with an exemption regarding arms and related materiel required by the new Government of Iraq or the multinational force to serve the purposes of SC Res. 1546 (2004), namely the restoration of peace, security and stability in Iraq.

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The current list published in the Committee’s website contains 89 names of individuals (last updated on 27 July 2005) and 208 entities (last updated on 12 May 2006).29 The absence of more recent updates of the list is due to the absence of any meetings of the 1518 Committee since 2007.30 v. The Targeted Sanctions Against the Former Leaders in Liberia (2003–) These sanctions consist of a travel ban and an assets freeze against individuals and entities designated by the Committee created under resolution 1521 (2003), which replaces two previous Sanctions Committees, dissolved after the departure of the former President Charles Taylor and the formation of the National Transitional Government in 2003. The new sanctions regime targets: a) all individuals who constitute a threat to the peace process in Liberia, or who are engaged in activities aimed at undermining peace and stability in Liberia and the sub-region, including those senior members of former President Charles Taylor’s Government, their spouses, and members of Liberia’s former armed forces who retain links to former President Charles Taylor; b) those individuals determined by the Committee to be in violation of the arms embargo decided by the Security Council; and c) any other individuals, or individuals associated with entities, providing ﬁnancial or military support to armed rebel groups in Liberia or in countries in the region.31 In addition, the Security Council requested all States, in resolution 1532 (2004) of 12 March 2004, to freeze funds, other ﬁnancial assets and economic resources owned or controlled directly or indirectly by the former President Charles Taylor, Jewell Howard Taylor, and Charles Taylor Jr, or by those other individuals, close allies or associates designated by the 1521 Sanctions Committee. The purpose of such ﬁnancial sanctions is to prevent the former President and other targeted individuals from using misappropriated funds and property to interfere in the restoration of peace and stability in Liberia and the sub-region.32 As of 3 February 2009, the travel ban list contains 46 names of individuals while the assets freeze list has 23 names of individuals and 30 entities or companies.

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31

32

The ﬁrst person in the list is the former President Saddam Hussein (1979–2003), who was executed on 20 December 2006 pursuant to a death sentence by hanging pronounced by the Iraqi Special Tribunal. This shows the problem of de-listing deceased individuals, discussed later. See the Committee’s Annual reports of 2007 and 2008: S/2008/109, 19 February 2008; S/2009/79, 3 February 2009. Of course, these reports do not give the reasons of this absence of meetings since two years. The travel ban against those individuals, along with the arms embargo, has been successively renewed by SC Res. 1579 (2004), 1647 (2005), 1731 (2006), 1792 (2007) and 1854 (2008). These ﬁnancial sanctions are imposed without any indication of time limit. Despite a Council’s commitment to review the measures at least once a year, no other resolution has so far been taken to alter the measures imposed in SC Res. 1532 (2004).

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vi. The Targeted Sanctions Against the Ivory Coast (2004–) Like other sanctions on internal conﬂicts, the sanctions regime against the Ivory Coast contains an arms embargo, imposed by resolution 1572 (2004), along with travel restrictions and assets freeze on individuals designated by a Committee established by the same resolution. By its resolution 1643 (2005), the Security Council has also imposed a boycott of all rough diamonds coming from the Ivory Coast. Originally, the travel ban and assets freeze were directed at four categories of persons: a) all persons “who constitute a threat to the peace and national reconciliation process in Côte d’Ivoire”, in particular those who block the implementation of the Linas-Marcoussis and Accra III Agreements; b) any other person determined as responsible for serious violations of human rights and international humanitarian law in the Ivory Coast since 19 September 2002; c) any other person who incites publicly hatred and violence; and d) any other person in violation of the arms embargo.33 The “threat to the peace and national reconciliation process”, mentioned under letter a) above, was extended to “any serious obstacle to the freedom of movement of UNOCI34 and of the French forces which support it, or any attack or obstruction to the action of UNOCI, of the French forces, of the High Representative for the elections and of the International Working Group”.35 The Council asked then the Secretary-General and the French Government to report to it on the existence of such deﬁned threat to peace and national reconciliation in the Ivory Coast.36 That threat was further extended by resolution 1842 (2008) of 29 October 2008 to “any threat to the electoral process in the Ivory Coast, in particular any attack or obstruction of the action of the Independent Electoral Commission in charge of the organization of the elections or the action of the operators mentioned in the Ouagadougou Political Agreement”, signed by the parties to the conﬂict on 4 March 2007. The Security Council underlined then its readiness to impose targeted sanctions against persons determined to be responsible of such threats, readiness already aﬃrmed in resolution 1782 (2007).

33

34 35 36

These sanctions have been renewed successively by SC Res. 1643 (2005), 1727 (2006), 1782 (2007) and 1842 (2008), the latter taking eﬀect until 31 October 2009. United Nations Operation in the Ivory Coast. SC Res. 1643 (2005), para. 4. SC Res. 1727 (2006) adds to such list of persons to be protected against any obstacle to freedom of movement and attack: the High Representative for the elections in the Ivory Coast, and the sole Mediator or his representative in the Ivory Coast. The installation of a single Mediator was decided by the African Union Peace and Security Council to avoid multiple mediation by international organisations, and endorsed by the Security Council in its Res. 1721 (2006).

Targeted Sanctions and Obligations of States

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At present, three persons were listed by the 1572 Sanctions Committee (the list was last updated on 18 December 2006). Two of them are leaders of movements advocating violence against the United Nations and its personnel and foreigners involved in the peace and reconciliation processes. The third is a military leader, determined to be in violation of human rights and international humanitarian law, namely recruitment of child soldiers, abductions, imposition of forced labour, sexual abuse of women, arbitrary arrests and extra-judicial killings, committed by the forces under his command. vii. The Targeted Sanctions Against Sudan Concerning the Situation in Darfur (2005–) The UN sanctions against Sudan with regard to the situation in Darfur started with an arms embargo on all non-governmental entities and individuals, including the Janjaweed, imposed by resolution 1556 (2004). The targeted sanctions against speciﬁed individuals were imposed by resolution 1591 (2005).37 These include travel restrictions and assets freeze against individuals, as designated by the Committee created under resolution 1591, who impede the peace process, constitute a threat to stability in Darfur and the region, commit violations of international humanitarian or human rights law or other atrocities, violate the arms embargo imposed in 2004, or who are responsible for unlawful military overﬂights in the region of Darfur. On 25 April 2006, the Security Council adopted resolution 1672 (2006) by which it designated four individuals, all commanders of non-State forces, to whom the decided travel and ﬁnancial sanctions apply. By its resolution 1679 (2006), the Security Council expressed its intention to consider taking, including in response to a request by the African Union, travel bans and assets freezes, against any individual or group that violates or attempts to block the implementation of the Darfur Peace Agreement of 9 January 2005. This extends the grounds for imposing sanctions laid down in resolution 1591 (2005) relating to the impediment of the peace process. However, the Consolidated List last updated on 7 August 2007 contains no additions to the four names designated in resolution 1672, even though there is now an extensive statement of the facts and acts they are alleged to have committed. In terms of eﬀectiveness of the UN sanctions and the attainment of peace and humanitarian objectives in Darfur, one may expect a synergy between the targeted sanctions imposed by the Security Council and those of the International Criminal Court (ICC) to which the Security Council has referred the

37

The resolution, adopted on 29 March 2005, was followed two days later by SC Res. 1593 (2005) referring “the situation in Darfur since 1 July 2002 to the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court”.

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humanitarian situation in Darfur. This could be achieved through the extension of the grounds for targeted sanctions to individuals who obstruct the work of the ICC in Sudan. This synergy is a legitimate expectation due to the fact that the Security Council has already considered the prosecution of international crimes in internal conﬂicts as a means to building lasting peace,38 and with regard to the precedent in Sierra Leone where the Sanctions Committee included in its list individuals indicted by the Special Court. As will be seen below, this possibility depends however on the submission of such names by States, in the present case by States other than Sudan, as no-one could expect Sudan to propose to the Committee the inclusion of the names of its top oﬃcials, presently indicted by the ICC. viii. The Sanctions Against the Democratic Republic of Congo (2005–) The UN sanctions regime against the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) was initially limited to an arms embargo against all foreign and Congolese armed groups and militias operating in the territory of North and South Kivu and Ituri, and all groups which are not party to the Global and all-inclusive agreement in the DRC, pursuant to resolution 1493 (2003). A Committee was created by resolution 1533 (2004) to monitor the implementation of this embargo. The shift to individual targeted sanctions started two years after the arms embargo, with the imposition by resolution 1596 (2005) of travel restrictions to all persons designated by the 1533 Committee as acting in violation of that embargo. The resolution also imposed a freeze of funds, assets and economic resources owned or controlled by the previous category of individuals, or by any persons acting on their behalf or at their direction. There were six successive extensions of the persons targeted by the Council’s travel and ﬁnancial measures. The ﬁrst extension was the targeting of political and military leaders of foreign armed groups and Congolese militias who impede the processes of disarmament, demobilisation and reintegration of combatants.39 Six months later, these 38

39

This was the case of the creation of the International Criminal Tribunal for former Yugoslavia (1993) and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (1994). See the analysis of the legal basis for the creation of these tribunals, and thus the link between criminal justice and peace, in ICTY Appeals Chamber, Prosecutor v. Duško Tadić (Decision on the Defence Motion for Interlocutory Appeal on Jurisdiction), Judgment of 2 October 1995, IT-94–1–AR72, in particular Chapter II. See also ICTR Trial Chamber II, The Prosecutor v Joseph Kanyabashi (Decision on the Defence Motion on Jurisdiction), Judgment of 18 June 1997, ICTR-96–15–T. Further, the Security Council has maintained in the list of persons subject to travel restrictions imposed since 1998 ﬁve persons indicted by the Special Court on Sierra Leone. Only these individuals, and the leader of the former military junta in the Sierra Leone, remain present on the Consolidated List of the 1132 Committee, after the de-listing of 24 individuals in June 2008, UN Doc. S/2009/94, para. 15. SC Res. 1649 (2005), 21 December 2005, para. 2.

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measures were further expanded by resolution 1698 (2006) to: a) political and military leaders who recruit or use children in armed conﬂict in violation of applicable international law, and b) individuals who commit serious violations of international law involving the targeting of children in situations of armed conﬂict, including killing and maiming, sexual violence, abduction and forced displacement. On 13 March 2008, by its resolution 1804, the Security Council speciﬁed that the measures directed at political and military leaders of foreign armed groups mentioned in previous resolutions are applicable to leaders of the Front de Libération du Rwanda (FDLR), ex-FAR/Interahamwe and other Rwandan armed groups as designated by the 1521 Committee. Resolution 1807 (2008) adds new entities/individuals who are subject to the travel and ﬁnancial measures. These are: a) entities – in addition then to individuals – acting in violation of the arms embargo; b) political and military leaders of foreign armed groups operating in the DRC who impede the voluntary repatriation or resettlement of combatants belonging to those groups; c) political and military leaders of Congolese militias receiving support from outside the DRC, who impede the participation of their combatants in disarmament, demobilisation and reintegration processes; d) individuals operating in the DRC and committing serious violations of international law involving the targeting of women in situations of armed conﬂict; and e) any persons or entities acting on the behalf of these individuals and entities or at their direction. The last extension, to date, was established by resolution 1857 (2008) of 22 December 2008 and applies to individuals obstructing the access to or the distribution of humanitarian assistance in the eastern part of the DRC, as well as individuals or entities supporting the illegal armed groups in the DRC region through illicit trade of natural resources. In its last updated list of 3 March 2009, the 1533 Sanctions Committee has designated 20 individuals, 6 companies and commercial societies, and one NGO, the latter determined as having violated the arms embargo. ix. The Sanctions Regime Against Iran (2006–) Contrary to other sanctions mentioned in this section, the coercive measures taken against Iran and some individuals therein are not based on a formal determination of a threat to the peace under Article 39 of the UN Charter. Preceded by provisional measures calling for Iran to take the steps required by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) Board of Governors and to suspend all enrichment-related and reprocessing activities,40 the Security Council’s coercive measures in this country appear to act as a way of ensuring the eﬀective implementation of the Treaty on Non-proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT).

40

Adopted under SC Res. 1696 (2006) of 31 July 2006, with an express reference to Article 40 of the UN Charter.

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Indeed, by examining the last two paragraphs in the Preamble to resolution 1737 (2006), imposing the ﬁrst set of sanctions,41 the legal justiﬁcations of these measures seems to be, at ﬁrst blush, the determination of the Security Council “to give eﬀect to its decisions” – i.e. the provisional measures contained in the previous resolution – and, second, the Council’s concern with the proliferation risks presented by the Iranian nuclear program and the latter’s continuing failure to meet the requirements of the IAEA. It is in view of these concerns, and mindful of its primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security, that the Council decided to take coercive measures under Article 41 of the UN Charter against Iran.42 The travel restrictions provided for in resolution 1737 (2006) are directed against individuals who are engaged in, directly associated with or providing support for Iran’s proliferation-sensitive nuclear activities or for the development of nuclear weapon delivery systems. The Security Council designated these individuals in the Annex of the resolution and required all States to notify the Committee established by the same resolution of the entry into or transit through their territories of these persons, as well as of additional persons that might be designated by the Security Council or the Committee as being engaged in the nuclear program activities speciﬁcally designated by the Security Council. As for the ﬁnancial sanctions, all States must freeze the funds, other ﬁnancial assets and economic resources owned or controlled by the persons or entities designated in the Annex, as well as those of additional persons or entities designated by the Security Council or the Committee as being engaged in, directly associated with or providing support for Iran’s proliferation-sensitive nuclear activities or the development of nuclear weapon delivery systems, or by persons or entities acting on their behalf or at their direction, or by entities owned or controlled by them, including through illicit means. The Annex to resolution 1737 (2006) contains seven entities and seven persons involved in the nuclear programme, three entities and four persons involved in the ballistic missile programme, and one person involved in both the nuclear and ballistic missile programmes. Subsequent resolutions 1747 (2007) and 1803 (2008) added other names in their respective Annex. Overall, after the last resolution of 3 March 2008, there are currently ﬁve individuals

41

42

Composed of an embargo on arms and nuclear-related materials, including the prohibition of technical and ﬁnancial assistance or other services related to the embargoed materials; and then targeted travel and ﬁnancial sanctions. The subsequent SC Res. 1747 (2007) and 1803 (2008) do not any more contain any formal determination under article 39, neither in the Preamble nor in the operative part, even – for example – a reaﬃrmation early in the preamble “that proliferation of nuclear, chemical and biological weapons, as well as their means of delivery, constitutes a threat to international peace and security”, as done in SC Res. 1718 (2006) on North Korea.

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subject to assets freeze and travel ban, 35 individuals subject to assets freeze and travel notiﬁcation requirement, and 35 entities subject only to assets freeze. In addition to these nine sanctions regimes, there are three others in which the individual addressees of sanctions are not yet designated. x. Decided Travel and Financial Sanctions Awaiting the Designation of their Targets: Lebanon (2005), North Korea (2006), Somalia (2008) In the sanctions regimes on Lebanon, North Korea and Somalia, the Security Council has already taken the decision to impose travel and ﬁnancial sanctions against some individuals. However, the eﬀective implementation of such sanctions is in some way postponed until the designation of those individuals by the relevant Sanctions Committee. The travel and ﬁnancial sanctions on Lebanon, imposed by resolution 1636 (2005) of 31 October 2005, are targeted against all individuals suspected of being involved in the planning, sponsoring, organising or perpetrating of the terrorist bombing of 14 February 2005 in Beirut that killed former Lebanese Prime Minister Raﬁq Hariri and others. These individuals have to be designated by the International Independent Investigation Commission43 or the Government of Lebanon, upon notiﬁcation of such designation and with the agreement of the Sanctions Committee established by resolution 1636 (2005). At the moment of writing, no individuals had yet been designated by the Committee. The sanctions regime on North Korea imposed by resolution 1718 (2006) is composed of an embargo on nuclear related materiel, freeze of funds or other ﬁnancial assets and economic resources, and a travel ban. The assets freeze is directed against persons or entities designated by the Committee or by the Security Council as being engaged in or providing support for North Korea’s nuclearrelated, other weapons of mass destruction-related and ballistic missile-related programmes; or by persons or entities acting on their behalf or at their direction. The travel restrictions apply to persons designated as being responsible for, including through supporting or promoting North Korea’s policies on nuclear, ballistic missile and other weapons of mass destruction-related programmes, together with their family members. No designation of these individuals and entities has been made so far. As for the sanctions regime on Somalia, it was initially and for more than a decade limited to a general and complete arms embargo on the country. This was ﬁrst imposed by resolution 733 (1992).44 In its resolution 1814 (2008) of 15 May 2008, the Security Council expressed its intention to take measures

43 44

Created by SC Res. 1595 (2005) of 7 April 2005. The arms embargo was later elaborated and amended by SC Res. 1356 (2001), 1425 (2002), 1725 (2006), 1744 (2007) and 1772 (2007), which also introduced some exemptions and

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against those who seek to prevent or block a peaceful political process, threaten the Transitional Federal Institutions (TFIs) of Somalia or the African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM) by force, take action that undermines stability in Somalia or the region, breach the arms embargo, and those who support them in doing so. Subsequently, it decided on 20 November 2008 – for the ﬁrst time after 16 years of sanctions regime – to impose targeted sanctions against individuals or entities who: a) engage in or provide support for acts that threaten the peace, security or stability of Somalia, including acts that threaten the Djibouti Agreement of 18 August 2008 or the political process, or threaten the TFIs or AMISOM by force; b) have acted in violation of the general and complete arms embargo; and c) obstruct the delivery of humanitarian assistance to Somalia, or access to, or distribution of, humanitarian assistance in Somalia.45 The decided targeted sanctions consist of a travel ban, funds and assets freeze, and individual ban on arms transfer. The mentioned individuals and entities are to be designated by the Committee established under resolution 751 (1992), which had its mandate expanded to that end. At the time of writing, the list had not yet been established. C. Evaluation These twelve sanctions regimes presently in force show the variety of threats to the peace tackled by the Security Council through the imposition of targeted sanctions, as well as the diversity of the categories of individuals and entities speciﬁcally sanctioned. Those named in a consolidated list range from State leaders individually designated by the relevant Sanctions Committee, to rebel groups ﬁghting for power or economic control of a part of the territory; individuals or entities endangering peace processes; individuals or groups who commit, ﬁnance or support in any other manner terrorist acts; and individuals and groups associated with terrorist organisations and networks situated in any part of the earth. One important development has been the targeting of individuals threatening peace and national reconciliation process in internal crises, with an enlarged deﬁnition of such threats. Hence, those violating an arms embargo, obstructing the implementation of peace agreements, electoral process, DDR program, or attacking international peacekeeping forces or international mediators are now targeted by travel and ﬁnancial sanctions.

45

exceptions for the Transitional Federal Institutions (TFIs) and the African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM). SC Res. 1844 (2008), 20 November 2008, para. 8. The obstruction to the delivery of humanitarian assistance to Somalia concerns principally various acts of piracy oﬀ the coast of the country, which include attacks on vessels transporting foodstuﬀs on behalf of UN programs.

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The application of these targeted sanctions has reduced to a great extent their unintended economic and humanitarian eﬀects on the civilian population and commercial partners of the targeted States. That diminution is supported by the provisions of humanitarian exemptions and exceptions to the travel and ﬁnancial sanctions in all relevant resolutions mentioned above.46 At the same time, regional and national implementations of targeted sanctions have raised various legal issues, as evidenced by many judicial proceedings challenging the legality of measures taken by States and the European Union,47 and various studies commissioned by other organisations.48 In this author’s view, these issues could be said as expected consequences of the use of targeted sanctions, for two reasons. First, once the UN Security Council starts directing its measures at individuals, not States, the measures will in any manner infringe on the rights of these individuals. Indeed, moving from State-centred to individual-focused coercive measures implies a change of the rights to be considered while implementing these measures: from the rights of States to the rights of individuals. Second, the use of targeted sanctions is not the result of a long process of intergovernmental negotiations, in which all of the details of the new regime were discussed, including the remedies to its more than probable consequences on the rights of targeted individuals. In reality, such use came about in the late 1990s from the progressive consideration by the Security Council of States’ initiatives on the ways to mitigate the humanitarian impact of comprehensive sanctions. Faced with this impact and in light of the practical proposals presented to it by the three processes on targeted sanctions, the Security Council has started using this new concept of sanctions, chieﬂy for the immediate advantages it presents, and with little regard to its possible secondary eﬀects. The use of individually targeted sanctions is thus a reactive measure to the UN sanctions’ ﬂaws, that began even before the 1999 Interlaken Process.49 At this stage, it is interesting to observe that the listing and de-listing procedures have the same

46

47

48

49

Humanitarian derogations to sanctions existed already in the ﬁrst sanctions regime against Southern Rhodesia, and have been broadened and gained a better consistency since the 1990s. For an extensive analysis of the UN practice on the matter up to 2004, see D. L. Tehindrazanarivelo (2005), supra (note 5), pp. 148–201. For a quasi-comprehensive list of these cases, see J. Almqvist (2008), supra (note 6), footnotes 2 to 6; and the analysis of the OMPI judgment of 12 December 2006 by Christina Eckes in 44 Common Market Law Review, 2007, pp. 1117–1129, footnote 1. See the studies, mentioned supra (note 6), of Ian Cameron and Bardo Fassbender, and the White Paper prepared by the Watson Institute Targeted Sanctions Project which was distributed as UN Doc. A/60/887 – S/2006/331. See supra the targeted sanctions on Sierra Leone imposed by SC Res. 1171 (1998).

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reactive character, as they have been developed and progressively improved in view of the eﬀects of targeted sanctions on the rights of listed persons. A more than decade-long practice of targeted sanctions has revealed the speciﬁc human rights infringed upon by these sanctions, in particular the right to property, the freedom of movement, and – more directly related to the listing and de-listing issue – the rights of the defence, which include according to the CJEC the right to a fair hearing and the right to eﬀective judicial protection,50 presented also as the rights to a fair trial and an eﬀective remedy,51 or as standards of judicial control granted by Article 6(1) of the European Convention on Human Rights and Article 14(1) of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights.52 As observed earlier, many outstanding studies have been completed on this topic, and their ﬁndings need not be restated here. Yet, as any proper examination of the listing and de-listing procedures cannot completely avoid the question, the present contribution will scrutinize the obligations of States in various aspects of these procedures. Indeed, the rights of individuals in these procedures, recognised in national and regional courts’ judgments, entail corresponding obligations of States, not only with respect to human rights obligations but also other speciﬁc obligations.53 Thus, if the recognition of the fundamental rights to be respected in the establishment of the consolidated list is necessary and of high importance, the respect of such rights would be more eﬀective with the clariﬁcation of the obligations of States in that regard.

50 51 52

53

CJCE, Kadi – Al Barakaat (2008), supra (note 18), para. 334. T. Biersteker & S. Eckert, supra (note 6), p. 10. Swiss Federal Supreme Court, Youssef Nada v SECO, Administrative appeal judgment of 14 December 2007, Case No 1A 45/2007, BGE 133 II 450, reported in Oxford Reports on International Law in Domestic Courts (ILDC), 2007, 461, para. H7. Existing studies have mentioned some problems linked to the non-clariﬁcation of such obligations, but have not focused on the obligations themselves. For example, Larissa van den Herik in her study on targeted sanctions regimes, supra (note 6), rightly pointed out the lack of “substantive review of intelligence information by an independent and impartial organ” (p. 798), which will lead us in the present contribution to look at the arrangement found by the Security Council between the need for certain duty of States in that matter and the necessity to keep undisclosed some information for defence and security reasons. The same author has also spoken about the importance for the success of a de-listing request, of States’ backing any such request (p. 805), which for us calls for the clariﬁcation of States’ obligation towards their citizens or residents who make such an application.

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3. Current Listing and De-Listing Regulations and States’ Obligations The regulations on listing and de-listing individuals are the result of successive improvements introduced by the Security Council, following criticism from States, NGOs and scholars, as well as judgments of national and regional courts declaring that the process for placing and removing individuals from the list does not respect the fundamental rights of these individuals. Changes to the listing/de-listing process have thus evolved over a number of years, and may further be improved in the future. Among several relevant legal texts, current listing and de-listing procedures are mainly based on three resolutions.54 The ﬁrst is resolution 1730 (2006) of 19 December 2006, which establishes a “Focal Point” to which individuals and entities can directly address their petition for de-listing. The second important text is resolution 1735 (2006) of 22 December 2006 which delineates the criteria for listing individuals to be applied by the Sanctions Committee. Addressed to the 1267 Committee on Al-Qaida and Taliban sanctions, the resolution was followed by many others relating to other sanctions regimes. These resolutions have more or less the same structure, with provisions on the renewal or strengthening of the existing sanctions regime, those on listing, on de-listing, and other subject-matters. In line with resolution 1735 (2006), resolution 1822 (2008) of 30 June 2008 introduced two further improvements: 1) the posting on the 1267 Committee’s website, after a name is added to the Consolidated List, of “a narrative summary of reasons for listing”, and the same online access of narrative summaries of reasons for listing for all existing entries on the Consolidated List at the date of adoption of the resolution (para. 13); 2) the review, by 30 June 2010, of all the names on the Consolidated List at the time of the adoption of the resolution (503 names at that time), in order to ensure that the Consolidated List is as updated and accurate as possible and to conﬁrm that listing remains appropriate (para. 25). The improvements brought by this third landmark resolution have been followed in other sanctions regimes.55

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The regulations discussed in this contribution are those in force as of 30 April 2009. For example, in SC Res. 1857 (2008) on DRC, para. 18; and SC Res. 1844 (2008) deciding targeted sanctions on Somalia (para. 13). In the last case where the designation of the concerned individuals have not yet been made, the review of all names by 2010 was replaced by a provision on regular review of the list with a view to keeping it as updated and accurate as possible and to conﬁrm that listing remains appropriate (para. 11 f ).

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A. The Listing Process The listing process starts with the designation of the persons to be included in the list, and the publication of the list by the relevant Sanctions Committee. i. The Establishment of the List As rightly pointed out, “[t]argeted individuals and entities are not informed prior to their being listed, and accordingly do not have an opportunity to prevent their inclusion in a list by demonstrating that such an inclusion is unjustiﬁed under the terms of the respective Security Council resolution(s)”.56 This observation, made in 2006, is still valid as there is, at the moment, no prior hearing of listed individuals. In addition to its human rights implication,57 this fact raises the question of the source of the names included in the list. In other words, how do Sanctions Committees designate individuals and include their names in the sanctions list? Important progress has been brought by the Security Council at this stage of the listing process. The names are proposed by member States to the Sanctions Committees, on the basis of their own sources of information, most of them intelligence information, regarding the link of the designated persons with the prohibited activities. Such proposal is called for by the Security Council in its relevant resolutions when it “encourages” member States to submit names to the concerned Sanctions Committee for inclusion in its list of designees. The progress made at this stage is on the setting up of some criteria regarding the State’s submission of names, which appeared only in 2004. Beforehand, the sole international criteria on the matter were found in the EU practice, based on Common Position 2001/931, adopted to implement SC resolution 1373 (2001). Article 1 (4) of the said Common Position provides that the EU list is to be drawn up on the basis of precise information or material in the relevant ﬁle which indicates that a decision has been taken by a competent authority in respect of the individuals or entities concerned. “Competent authority” refers to judicial authority or, where judicial authorities have no competence in the relevant area, an equivalent competent authority in that area. Thus, States could only propose the names of persons already subject to a formal national decision on the link of those persons with the prohibited activities.58 Of course,

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B. Fassbender (2006), supra (note 6), p. 4. The CJEC held that such situation prevented it from undertaking the review of the lawfulness of the contested regulation in so far as it concerns the targeted persons, with the result that it must be held that the fundamental right to an eﬀective legal remedy which they enjoy has not, in the circumstances, been observed; Kadi – Al Barakaat (2008), supra (note 18), para. 351. It remains to be analyzed what happens if the national decision at the basis of the inclusion in an international list has been repealed. This question, raised in the PMOI case before the CJEC, is linked to the problem of de-listing and will be discussed later.

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these regulations do not apply to all UN members. They are limited to the 27 member States of the EU. Equivalent States’ obligations at the UN level were ﬁrst introduced by resolution 1526 (2004), and they have been further clariﬁed by subsequent resolutions. At present, States shall, when submitting new names to a Sanctions Committee’s list, include identifying information and background information, to the greatest extent possible, that demonstrates the individuals’ and/or entities’ association or involvement with acts founding the imposition of sanctions.59 The desired content of that statement of case was clariﬁed by resolution 1735 (2006). The statement should include: i) speciﬁc information supporting a determination that the individual or entity meets the criteria above; (ii) the nature of the information and (iii) supporting information or documents that can be provided; States should include details of any connection between the proposed designee and any currently listed individual or entity (para. 5).

The 1267 Sanctions Committee reiterates the same requirements in its current guidelines (of 9 December 2008). Additionally, it recommends States, when proposing names and if they deem it appropriate, to approach the State(s) of residence and/or nationality of the individual or entity concerned to seek additional information. It observes also that a “criminal charge or conviction is not necessary for inclusion on the Consolidated List as the sanctions are intended to be preventive in nature.”60 This makes a diﬀerence with the requirement of Article 1 (4) of the EU Common Position 2001/931, and leaves more latitude to States in proposing names. The designation process in the EU legal order provides more neutrality and impartiality as the proposals of names, generally made by the executive branch of the States, must be based on a decision of the judicial authority.61 If the three mentioned Security Council resolutions relate to the ﬁght against terrorism, the obligation to state reasons for listing is now applied in other

59

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This was ﬁrst recommended by the Security Council in its SC Res. 1526 (2005), para. 17, and then imposed in SC Res. 1617 (2005), where the Council “[d]ecides that, when proposing names for the Consolidated List, States shall act in accordance with paragraph 17 of resolution 1526 (2004) and henceforth also shall provide to the Committee a statement of case describing the basis of the proposal” (para. 4), emphasis added. http://www.un.org/sc/committees/1267/pdf/1267_guidelines.pdf, par. 6 c). To help States to identify individuals and entities to be sanctioned, the Security Council has clariﬁed the meaning of various expressions, such as “associated with” Usama bin Laden, Al Qaeda and the Taliban (in SC Res. 1617 (2006)), or “means of ﬁnancing or support” of Al Qaeda and the Taliban (SC Res. 1822 (2008), para. 10). In a State where there is no effective separation of powers, this safeguard is of little relevance.

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sanctions regimes.62 The absence of such an obligation in the past was considered as a failure to discharge the burden of proof of the involvement of the targeted persons in the prohibited activities.63 According to the CJEC, the observance of the obligation to communicate the grounds for listing aims at enabling the persons to whom restrictive measures are addressed to defend their rights in the best possible conditions, and to decide, with full knowledge of the relevant facts, whether there is any point in their applying to the relevant judicial body. Furthermore, such observance is necessary to put the relevant judicial organ fully in a position in which it may carry out the review of the lawfulness of the contested measure.64 Upon reception of the names proposals with the accompanying information and justiﬁcations, the Sanctions Committees will take the decision to include such names in a list by consensus, through a procedure of non-objection within ﬁve working days. It is at this stage that States could demonstrate their commitment to the respect of fundamental human rights by objecting to the inclusion of names having no statement of reasons or an insuﬃcient narrative description of the information that justiﬁes the listing. This objection will in fact block certain inclusions in the list, pending further information from the designating States. This may be politically sensitive but legally positive in terms of the respect of human rights to which all States declare to be committed. The obligation to provide a statement of reasons was supplemented in June 2008 by the posting of narrative summaries of reasons for listing on the websites of Sanctions Committees.65 The narrative summaries are based on the statement of case, coversheet accompanying the names submission or any other oﬃcial information provided by States to the Committee, or any relevant information available publicly from oﬃcial sources, or any other information provided by the designating States or Committee members. The cooperation of States is then crucial in this regard. Each narrative summary includes the date of listing, the basis for listing, according to relevant resolutions adopted by the Security Council, as well as any other relevant information available after the date of listing that would be provided when conducting the review of the same names. At present, such narrative summaries exist for some individuals, entities and undertakings associated with Al-Qaida, but not yet for all 508 entries.66 Pending

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See SC Res. 1844 (2008) on Somalia, para. 13; 1857 (2008) on DRC, para. 17. See the discussion of this question of burden of proof in the case before the CJEC, PMOI III (2008), supra (note 27), paras. 49 et seq. Kadi – Al Baraakat (2008), supra (note 18), para. 337. The Security Council directed the 1267 Sanctions Committee to do so in its SC Res. 1822 (2008). The same order was addressed to other Sanctions Committees in SC Res. 1844 (2008) on Somalia, para. 14; and 1857 (2008) on DRC, para. 14. See the 1267 Committee website: www.un.org/sc/committees/1267/narrative.shtml.

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the full establishment of these summaries, it was reported that following the ruling of the CJEC in the Kadi – Al Barakaat case on 3 September 2008, and at the request of the Presidency of the European Union (EU), the 1267 Committee provided on 21 October 2008 the narrative summaries of reasons for listing for Mr Yasin Kadi and Barakaat International Foundation.”67 This shows that the UN is sensitive to external judicial ﬁndings against its sanctions measures. Moreover, for each name States propose to be included in the Consolidated list, they “shall identify those parts of the statement of case that may be publicly released”68 for the purpose of both the narrative summary of reasons to be posted online and the notiﬁcation to the concerned individual or entity, which will be discussed below. This States’ obligation to identify publicly releasable information seems to be a middle-way arrangement reached by the Security Council between two seemingly contradicting interests: the right of targeted individuals and entities to access to all information on which States have based their decision of inclusion, on the one hand, and the legitimate interest of States to hold information which is generally secret or conﬁdential. The latter is part of what the US Court of Appeals called “the state secrets privilege” which could not be challenged unless the relevant law pre-empted it.69 That was exactly the case regarding the challenge to such privilege in order to have information on reasons for listing, before the introduction of the mentioned obligation to indicate releasable information. The CJEC acknowledges the necessity to keep some information secret. But it seems to be stricter on the right of States to keep secret information on the basis of the listing of individuals and entities. Pronouncing on the impossibility to hear targeted persons before their inclusion in the list, the Court observed that the acknowledgment of the practical and security reasons for such a non prior hearing does not mean, with regard to the principle of eﬀective judicial protection, that coercive measures escape all judicial review, once it has been claimed that the act laying them down concerns national security and terrorism.70 On the claim for conﬁdentiality itself, the Court denounced the contradiction 67

68

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Brieﬁng by the Chairman of the 1267 Committee of 20 November 2008, para. 5b. The briefing speciﬁed that this was done “on a non-precedent basis”. SC Res. 1526 (2004), para. 18; 1617 (2005), para. 5; 1735 (2006), para. 6; and 1822 (2008), para. 13. Al-Haramain Islamic Foundation v. Bush, 507 F.3d 1190, 1202–04 (9th Cir. 2007). This case concerns an alleged unlawful government surveillance which led to the listing of Al-Haramain Foundation. Actually, 14 branches of Al-Haramain Foundation, a charity organisation, are listed by the 1267 Committee; for example the Afghanistan, Bosnia, Comoros, Ethiopia, Kenya, Netherlands, Indonesia, Tanzania, and USA branches. The appellate court held on 16 November 2007 that the State secrets privilege asserted by the US Government prevented the case from going forward; cited in S/2008/324, Annexe I, para. 7. Kadi – Al Baraakat (2008), supra (note 18), para. 343.

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between the acceptation by the designating State to communicate allegedly secret documents to a political organ – in that case the EU Council – and the refusal to transmit them to the Court.71 As a result, it held that “the Council is not entitled to base its funds-freezing decision on information or material in the ﬁle communicated by a Member State, if the said Member State is not willing to authorise its communication to the Community judicature whose task is to review the lawfulness of that decision”.72 The UN practice has not yet gone so far. However, it should be noted that the Security Council has authorised the 1267 Sanctions Committee to use the statement of case submitted by the designating State in responding to queries from Member States whose nationals, residents or entities have been included on the Consolidated List. The Council has also allowed a slight exception to the States’ full control on the public release of information contained in the statement of case, when the Committee was authorised to decide on a caseby-case basis to release information in the list to other parties, “with the prior consent of the designating State, for example, for operational reasons or to aid the implementation of the measures”.73 This is, of course, a small opening as the designating State has to approve the Committee’s decision on disclosure of information and it does not yet grant the Sanctions Committee the right to take such decision for all purpose. Finally, some ﬂaws still exist in the current lists despite various improvements made so far. For example, government oﬃcials and representatives of banks complain that some entries on the Consolidated List lack enough details to allow a conﬁdent identiﬁcation of the targeted individuals.74 This poses ﬁrst the risk of applying the sanctions to wrong individuals. It also raises the question of the relevance of maintaining these entries in the list, and for the future, the acceptation by the Sanctions Committees of such incomplete entries proposed by States, which “have limited or non operational value”.75 For the eﬀectiveness of sanctions, the lack of operational value of incomplete entries in a Consolidated List creates the same risk on which States justify the non hearing of individuals before their listing. Actually, like any individuals who would be

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PMOI III (2008), supra (note 27), para. 72. Ibid., para. 73. SC Res. 1617 (2005), para. 6. 8th report of the Monitoring Team of the 1267 Sanctions Committee, S/2008/324, para. 24, according to which 57 entries for individuals do not contain a full name and date of birth; 26 have a name, date and place of birth but no other identiﬁers, such as nationality, address or country of residence. Ibid., para. 26. The Monitoring Team suggests that the competent Sanctions Committee keep these entries under constant review and consider placing them in a separate category within the list, pending suﬃcient identiﬁers.

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heard before their inclusion in the list, those already included in the list with insuﬃcient identiﬁers have the possibility to move their assets and economic resources or use other means to escape the expected sanctions. It is then better to avoid such incomplete entries as they may weaken the eﬀectiveness of sanctions. This remains true even though there is now an obligation to notify any new addition of names to the list to both concerned persons and their States of nationality or residence. ii. The Notiﬁcation of the Listing to the Concerned Individuals and Entities The notiﬁcation to the concerned individuals of their inclusion in a sanctions list is declared as part of their fundamental rights to a fair hearing and eﬀective judicial remedies. As the CJEC puts it: Because the Council neither communicated to the appellants the evidence used against them to justify the restrictive measures imposed on them nor aﬀorded them the right to be informed of that evidence within a reasonable period after those measures were enacted, the appellants were not in a position to make their point of view in that respect known to advantage. Therefore, the appellants’ rights of defence, in particular the right to be heard, were not respected.76

At the UN level, the Security Council ﬁrst “encourage[d] all States to inform, to the extent possible, individuals and entities included in the Committee’s list of the measures imposed on them” as well as the Committee’s guidelines on listing and de-listing procedures.77 It then requested the Secretariat to communicate to States the Committee’s list “at least every three months”.78 Subsequent to the adoption of resolution 1730 (2006) on de-listing procedures, the Security Council entrusted the Secretariat to notify, after the publication but within two weeks after a name is added to the Consolidated List, the Permanent Mission of the country or countries of residence or nationality of individuals, or that of location for entities. Such notiﬁcation shall include a copy of the publicly releasable portion of the statement of case, a description of the eﬀects of designation, the Committee’s procedures for considering de-listing requests, and available exemptions.79 Since June 2008, the time limit for the Secretariat’s notiﬁcation was reduced to one week.80 Upon reception of the Secretariat’s notiﬁcation, States should take, in accordance with their domestic laws and practices, all possible measures to notify or

76 77 78 79 80

Kadi – Al Barakaat (2008), supra note 18, para. 348. SC Res. 1526 (2005), para. 18; 1617 (2005), para. 5. SC Res. 1526 (2005), para. 19. SC Res. 1735 (2006), para. 10. See also SC Res. 1822 (2008) and 1844 (2008). SC Res. 1822 (2008) on Al-Qaida and Taliban, para. 15; 1844 (2008) on Somalia, para. 15; 1857 (2008) on DRC, para. 19.

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inform in a timely manner the listed individual or entity of the designation and to include with this notiﬁcation a copy of the accompanying information sent by the Secretariat.81 States are called to report on the steps taken with regard to such notiﬁcation.82 This does not mean, however, that States are obliged to communicate the information sent by the Secretariat to individuals or entities. The Monitoring Team observed that “listed persons will see this statement of case only if the notifying State delivers it to them and, in any case, there is no provision for distribution of these statements to the broader public”.83 Moreover, the Security Council does not determine a clear time limit for a State to notify the concerned citizens or residents of their inclusion in a UN list. As the relevant resolutions indicated, the States’ notiﬁcation should be made “in a timely manner”. iii. The Regular Review and Update of the List If one looks at the CJEC’s justiﬁcations of the non hearing of targeted persons before their listing, they are linked to the need to ensure the eﬀectiveness of the targeted measures by taking advantage of a surprise eﬀect; to reasons connected to the objective pursued by the contested decision; and to overriding considerations to do with safety or the conduct of international relations.84 The surprise eﬀect does not hold with regard to the maintenance of names in the list. Therefore, the obligations of States vis-à-vis the right of targeted persons to be heard should be diﬀerent at this stage. The CJEC makes, in this regard, a diﬀerence between the right to a fair hearing at the initial listing and the exercise of that right in the process of the maintenance of names in the list, pursuant to a regular review of the list. Such regular review is considered as “the only safeguard ensuring that a fair balance is struck between the need to combat international terrorism [or other objectives of targeted sanctions] and the protection of fundamental rights.”85 At the European Community level, this review shall be made at least once every six months,86 where each Member State of the EU Council has the right to express itself on all of the entries on the list individually and to indicate its position in relation to all or any of those entries.87

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SC Res. 1822 (2008), para. 17; 1844 (2008), para. 16. Ibid., respectively paras. 18 and 17. S/2008/324, para. 44. See Kadi – Al Barakaat (2008), supra (note 18), paras. 340–342. PMOI III (2008), supra (note 27), para. 75. Common Position 2001/931, Article 1 (6). According to an explanation given by the EU Council during the proceeding before the CJEC, as reported in PMOI III (2008), para. 31.

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At the UN level, regular review of the Consolidated List is also provided for in relevant Security Council resolutions88 in order to ensure that it is as updated and accurate as possible and to conﬁrm that listing remains appropriate. The periodicity of such review is not systematically speciﬁed in these resolutions or in the Sanctions Committees guidelines. The 1521 Sanctions Committee on Liberia reviews its list every three months.89 Resolution 1822 (2008) on Al-Qaida and the Taliban directed the 1267 Committee to conduct an annual review of its Consolidated List (para. 26). Beyond this periodic review, the Committee’s List is updated regularly on the basis of relevant information provided by Member States and regional organizations. The List published on 20 April 2009 reﬂects the tenth update of the 1267 Committee’s List.90 Actually, the practical purpose of the review is to add or correct identifying information, or identify and remove deceased persons from the list. The review is based on communications between the Sanctions Committees on the one hand and, on the other, the designating States and States of nationality or residence, with an invitation to these States to submit, at any time, any additional information that might be relevant. Any modiﬁcations to the lists will be promptly communicated to all Member States through a Note Verbale from the Chairman of the concerned Sanctions Committees, or by the Secretariat, following the same procedure as that for the notiﬁcation. According to a 2008 report, the UN Secretariat has circulated updates to a list by e-mail to over 480 addresses. These include the Permanent Missions of Member States in New York, State oﬃcials in capital cities, international bodies, and regional organizations.91 In addition to the periodic review, the 1267 Sanctions Committee – which manages the largest list – has been called upon in June 2008 to conduct a one-time review of all names on its Consolidated List (489 of the present 508 entries) within two years.92 Implementing that resolution, the Committee has decided to circulate each semester a subset of these names to the designating States and States of residence or nationality, to ask these States to submit to the Committee within three months any updated information on the reasons for listing as well as any additional information. These States are also urged to

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SC Res. 1822 (2008) on Al Qaeda and Taliban, para. 26; SC Res. 1844 (2008) on Somalia, para. 11 f ; SC Res. 1857 (2008) on DRC, para. 6 a, through an extension of the mandate of the concerned Sanctions Committees in the last two cases. Guidelines of 12 June 2007, para. 16 b. SC/9639, of 20 April 2009, approving amendment to one entry in the List as regards to his address and change of location, from UK to Somalia. S/2008/324, para. 34. Pursuant to paragraph 25 of SC Res. 1822 (2008) of 30 June 2008, this should be done by 30 June 2010.

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indicate whether they deem the listing still appropriate. If a State determines that a listing is no longer appropriate, that State may submit a de-listing request following the relevant procedures. If no decision has been taken by the Committee to remove a name under review from the Consolidated List, the listing of that name shall be conﬁrmed to remain appropriate and those names shall remain on the Consolidated List.93 This presumption of appropriateness of the listing in case of silence is not satisfactory as it does not oblige States to submit information justifying the continuing relevance of each entry in the list. A reverse conclusion would have been more in line with the general commitment to ensure fair and clear procedures in targeting individuals and entities. Here, we are in the same situation as in the previous practice where sanctions were imposed without time limitation, which implied that they remain indeﬁnitely in force unless a new resolution – which could be blocked by one of the permanent members of the Council (P5) – is adopted to lift them. This led for example to the maintenance of the economic sanctions against Iraq for 13 years. With the introduction of a time limit to the measures imposed by the Security Council since the end of 1990s, these measures are deemed to end at the ﬁxed period unless the Council adopts another resolution prolonging it. Proposed to limit the abuse of the “reverse veto”, through which one of the P5 may block the lifting of sanctions, this practice was not applied to the entries in the Consolidate Lists, whereas it is followed with regard to the resolutions imposing the sanctions, imposed generally for a period of twelve months. That being said, the regular reviews of names on the Consolidated List do not preclude the submission of de-listing requests at any time, in accordance with the relevant procedures set out in the Security Council resolutions and Sanctions Committees’ guidelines. B. The De-listing Procedure “Committed to ensuring that fair and clear procedures exist for placing individuals and entities on sanctions lists and for removing them, as well as for granting humanitarian exemptions”, the Security Council has adopted a de-listing procedure in the Annex of its resolution 1730 (2006) of 19 December 2006, and directed the acting Sanctions Committees to revise their guidelines accordingly.94 Resolution 1730 (2006) is the Council’s response to the call made by the Heads of State and Government of the UN Member States during the 2005

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For more detailed information on this one time review, see the Section 9 of the 1267 Committee Guidelines, of 9 December 2008. SC Res. 1730 (2006), last paragraph of the Preamble and paras. 1 & 2.

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World Summit.95 Since this resolution, the Security Council has consistently encouraged its Sanctions Committees “to continue to ensure that fair and clear procedures exist for placing individuals and entities on the Consolidated List and for removing them as well as for granting humanitarian exemptions, and directs the Committee to keep its guidelines under active review in support of these objectives”.96 In these resolutions and guidelines, two channels for de-listing are available: through the State of citizenship or residence of the targeted individuals or entities; or through direct access of the latter to a UN organ, the so-called Focal Point. This Focal Point process constitutes, indeed, an important step in the eﬀorts to ensure fair and clear procedures in targeted sanctions, even though it still has some limits. i. The Focal Point Process: Achievements and Limits The Focal Point was established at the UN Secretariat as a forum where targeted persons may send their de-listing requests, using the contact information posted on the website of the Sanctions Committees and following the procedures detailed in the Annex of resolution 1730 (2006).97 A proposal to send the request either to the Focal Point in New York or to the nearest UN oﬃce from the State of citizenship or residence was not accepted.98 i) The submission of the request The Focal Point is accessible only to targeted persons included in a list. Thus, any individuals, groups, undertakings, or entities on a Consolidated List may submit a petition for de-listing. These petitioners can now directly contact UN organs, where previously they had to pass through the channel of diplomatic protection, which as a rule is ﬁrst a State’s right, exercised at its discretion, and, second, limited to citizens. Such direct access is the ﬁrst advantage of the establishment of the Focal Point. The second is better protection of foreign residents who request the removal of their names from a list, due to the limitation of diplomatic protection aﬀorded to citizens, meaning that foreign residents previously had to contact their national State and convince it to exercise its diplomatic protection. In the present procedure, a State can decide through a

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See the relevant passage in the World Summit Outcome document, cited supra note 7. Wordings of SC Res. 1822 (2008) on Al Qaeda and Taliban, para. 28. Similar encouragement to Sanctions Committees is made in SC Res. 1844 (2008) on Somalia, para. 22; 1857 (2008) on DRC, para. 25. The resolution, adopted by unanimity, was submitted by Argentina, Denmark, France, Greece, Japan, Peru, the Russian Federation, Slovakia, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the United States of America, on which France and the United States did the preliminary work; Record of the SC meeting adopting the resolution, S/PV.5599, p. 2. S/PV.5599, p. 4.

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declaration addressed to the Chairperson of the relevant Sanctions Committee that, as a rule, its citizens or residents should address their de-listing requests directly to the Focal Point.99 This means that these citizens or residents should submit their requests directly to the Focal Point for de-listing and that the concerned State will redirect to the Focal Point any persons submitting their request to that State. At the moment, only France has submitted such a declaration.100 As mentioned above, only targeted individuals and entities could personally submit a de-listing request, in exclusion of other persons, such as representatives or families. For the de-listing of deceased individuals however, the petition shall be submitted either directly to the Committee by a State, or through the Focal Point by his/her legal beneﬁciary. That beneﬁciary petitioner shall provide an oﬃcial documentation certifying his/her status, and the statement of case supporting the de-listing request shall include a death certiﬁcate or similar oﬃcial documentation conﬁrming the death. Moreover, the submitting State or the petitioner should ascertain and inform the Committee as to whether or not any legal beneﬁciary of the deceased’s estate, or any joint owner of his/her assets, is on the Consolidated List.101 The request should be submitted in written form by the listed individuals or entities, or by their State of citizenship or residence. A standard form for the submission of a de-listing request can be found in the de-listing section of the 1267 Committee’s website. According to this form, requests by listed individuals, undertakings or entities should be addressed to the Focal Point, whereas a request passing through the State of nationality or residence is sent directly to the Sanctions Committee Secretariat. For the 1521 Committee on Liberia, de-listing requests received directly from individuals will be promptly forwarded to the Focal Point.102 After the written submission, the rest of the delisting procedure involves only States and the relevant UN organs. This means that listed persons are heard neither by UN oﬃcials receiving the request in the Focal Point, nor by the competent Sanctions Committee. This is far from satisfactory in terms of the right of listed persons to a fair hearing. In his or her written submission, a petitioner must provide a description of the basis for the de-listing request, including an explanation for why he or she no longer meets the criteria described in relevant resolutions, such as a link to

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SC Res. 1730 (2006), Annex, footnote 1. The declaration reads as follows: “. . . in accordance with the procedure set out in the annex to SC Res. 1730 (2006), . . . citizens or residents of France who wish to submit a de-listing request to the Committee should do so through the focal point established pursuant to resolution 1730 (2006).” Guidelines of the 1267 Committee, Section 7 h. Guidelines of the 1521 Committee, of 12 June 2007, para. 16 a.

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terrorist activities, an association with Al-Qaida or the Taliban, constituting an impediment of a peace process or national reconciliation process, being in violation of arms embargo, obstructing the activities of a peacekeeping operation or an international mediator, being in serious violation of international law, and so forth.103 This statement of the basis for de-listing is to be accompanied by any additional documentation that supports the request, with an explanation of the relevance of such documentation.104 How is such a request dealt with by the Focal Point? ii) The handling of the request by the Focal Point To begin with, not all requests are automatically considered by the Focal Point since the relevant resolutions or guidelines impose some conditions for the admissibility of a request. In resolution 1735 (2006) on Al-Qaida, Taliban and associates, only requests based on a mistake of identity, or on the fact that the individual or entity no longer meets the criteria set out in relevant resolutions, are receivable. The latter criterion concerns the death of a listed person, or the proof that “the individual or entity has severed all association, as deﬁned in resolution 1617 (2005), with Al-Qaida, Usama bin Laden, the Taliban, and their supporters, including all individuals and entities on the Consolidated List”.105 Moreover, only new requests are treated by the Focal Point. Any repeated request, containing no additional information, is returned to the petitioner.106 This was the case of one of the twenty de-listing requests submitted to the 1521 Committee on Liberia. Finally, de-listing requests addressed to Sanctions Committees which review their lists every three months must be received within a speciﬁc period of time: not less than 48 hours for those addressed to the Committees on Liberia and Sudan/Darfur sanctions; ﬁve working days prior to the commencement of the quarterly review process for a request sent to the Ivory Coast Sanctions Committee.107 Upon the reception of a request, the Focal Point acknowledges such receipt to the petitioner and informs him or her on the general procedure for processing that request. Such procedure108 starts with the forwarding of the request, for

103 104 105 106

107

108

See supra, pp. 134–144, the various reasons for listing in the 12 targeted sanctions presently in force. See Section 7 of the 1267 Committee’s guidelines; SC Res. 1735 (2006), para. 14. Guidelines of the Committees on Liberia (para. 16 ( f ) ii and iii), on Al-Qaida and Taliban (section 7 (g) ii and iii). See respectively the guidelines of the Committees on Liberia (para. 16 b and c), Sudan / Darfur (para. 9 c), and Ivory Coast (para. 10a). The followings are uniform procedure detailed in the guidelines of the Committees on Liberia (para. 16 f ), Al-Qaeda and Taliban (section 7 g), Côte d’Ivoire (para. 10 e), Somalia (section 7 g), Sudan / Darfur (para. 9). Any speciﬁc procedure will be so indicated.

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information and possible comments, to the designating State and to the State of nationality or residence. The Focal Point encourages these States to consult each other about the position to be taken regarding the request, either support or reject the request. Pursuant to these consultations, any of these States – designated as the reviewing States – may recommend the removal of the petitioner’s name from the list. This recommendation is to be sent to the Focal Point or directly to the Chairman of the relevant Committee, accompanied by an explanation from the recommending State. It is only upon the reception of a State’s recommendation that the Chairman will place the de-listing request on the Committee’s agenda. A proposition enabling the Focal Point to make such recommendation for de-listing was not taken up.109 In case of any opposition by a reviewing State, the Focal Point will inform the relevant Sanctions Committee and provide it with a copy of the de-listing request. Any member of the Committee, which possesses information in support of the de-listing request is encouraged to share such information with the reviewing States. If after a reasonable amount of time, generally three months, the Focal Point does not receive any communication on the request from the reviewing States, it will duly notify all 15 members of the relevant Sanctions Committee and provide copies of the de-listing request. Any of the Committee’s members may, after consultation with the designating State(s), recommend de-listing by forwarding the request to the Chairman, accompanied by an explanation. The absence, after one month, of such a recommendation for de-listing by a Committee member is considered as a rejection of the de-listing request. The Chairman of the Committee must then inform the Focal Point accordingly. After this four-month long procedure, or shorter if a decision is taken sooner, it is the Focal Point that informs the petitioner of the decision of the relevant Sanctions Committee: an acceptation of the de-listing request, or a tacit rejection if no recommendation for de-listing was made either by the reviewing States or by one of the 15 members of the concerned Sanctions Committee. The notiﬁcation process is more or less the same as that of the notiﬁcation of the inclusion in the list, starting with a letter from the Secretariat to the Permanent Mission of the State of nationality or residence of the concerned persons within one week after the decision of the relevant Committee, and then the informing of the individuals or entities by that State in a timely manner according to its domestic laws and procedures. As of 2 April 2009, the Focal Point has received 36 de-listing requests in total, of which 20 relate to the Liberia Committee’s sanctions list, 11 concern the Al-Qaida and Taliban Committee’s list, four relate to the Liberian Commit-

109

See the declaration of Qatar pursuant to the adoption of SC Res. 1730 (2006), S/PV.5599, p. 3.

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tee’s list, and one for the Iraqi Committee’s list. Details of these statistics could be consulted in the Sanctions Committees’ websites.110 It is just to be noted that a unique request may concern an individual and numerous entities, for example the request from one individual together with twelve entities included in the list established by the 1267 Committee, or a request submitted by one individual together with eight entities before the 1521 Committee on Liberia. For the moment, no speciﬁc reasons for each de-listing case or details on the position of the reviewing States could be found in the Sanctions Committees websites or in their annual reports. An overall reason was given by the Committee on Sierra Leone sanctions concerning the de-listing on 9 June 2008 of 24 individuals included in its List, aﬀected by the travel restrictions imposed by paragraph 5 of resolution 1171 (1998).111 The Committee stated that the de-listing decision “was made possible in part by the improved security situation in Sierra Leone”, according to a report of the Secretary-General on the United Nations Integrated Oﬃce in Sierra Leone, in particular the continued eﬀorts of the Government of Sierra Leone to implement its agenda for peace consolidation and economic recovery, and the commitment of the leaders of the Mano River Union countries to a peaceful resolution of the issues confronting them.112 Two and a half years after the establishment of the Focal Point, these statistics demonstrate a strangely minimal use of that mechanism in view particularly of the overall number of listed persons, the number of cases brought before national and regional courts, and the critiques on the absence of any mechanism for de-listing before 2006. Does this scarce use of the Focal Point come from the concerned individuals’ or entities’ ignorance of the mechanism, or a lack of support by their State of citizenship or residence? Or is it a sign of some dissatisfaction with the mechanism as it presently stands? Actually, some States expressed such dissatisfaction from the beginning and observed that the “eﬀectiveness of such a mechanism depends primarily on its independence, neutrality and fairness and on eﬀective recourse by those listed to delisting and just compensation”.113 Others called for the establishment of an independent review mechanism for de-listing.

110 111

112 113

www.un.org/sc/committees. The request was made through a letter sent on 1 May 2008 by the Permanent Representative of Sierra Leone to the United Nations, and considered on 30 May 2008 by the Committee during informal consultations; a decision thus reached within ﬁve to six weeks following the request; see S/2009/94, 13 February 2009, paras. 11–14. It should be reminded that a request made through the State of nationality or residence of the listed individuals is to be sent directly by that State to the Sanctions Committee. S/2009/94, para. 15. Declaration of Qatar pursuant to the adoption of SC Res. 1730 (2006), S/PV.5599, p. 3.

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iii) The call for an independent review mechanism In the discussion on the means to ensure fair and clear procedures in removing persons from the sanctions list, Denmark put forward in October 2005 a proposal to establish an independent review mechanism that would consider individual petitions for de-listing from individuals and entities and make recommendations to the Council. Though not taken up by the Security Council in its landmark resolution 1730 (2006) on de-listing procedures, the idea was supported by some of the Council’s members in their declaration subsequent to the adoption of that resolution.114 In the discussion of resolution 1822 (2008), which brings further improvements to the procedure, the need for an independent mechanism was advocated again. Costa Rica, for example, believes that, “although the establishment of a focal point under resolution 1730 (2006) was an important achievement, it is also necessary to establish a review mechanism. [It] believe[s] that the States members of the Security Council should seriously consider the proposal, made by Denmark, Germany, Liechtenstein, the Netherlands, Sweden and Switzerland, aimed at agreeing mechanisms to fully protect the basic rights of listed individuals.”115 In its address to the Security Council in response to the 8th progress report of the Monitoring Team of the 1267 Committee of 19 May 2008, the International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH) recalled the importance, for the eﬀectiveness and credibility of the UN sanctions, of the independence, neutrality and fairness of the sanctions mechanism and the existence of eﬀective de-listing procedures for those listed. Pronouncing on the current de-listing mechanism, the organization concludes that: The confusion of power is one of the reasons fairness is questioned with regards to the 1267 Committee, since the Members of the Security Council not only establish the rules, take sanction against individuals and entities, but also are the only ones in charge of reviewing their own decisions. The United Nations cannot promote the universal application of human rights on the one hand and violate them within its own procedures.116

By its judgment of 3 September 2008, the CJCE concluded that the Focal Point does not yet meet the standard of the human right to an eﬀective judicial protection. For the Court, that procedure “does not oﬀer the guarantees of judicial protection”.117 It pointed out that,

114 115 116

117

S/PV.5599, 19 December 2006, pp. 2 (Denmark) and 3 (Greece, Qatar). S/PV.5928, 30 June 2008, p. 2. FIDH, Open Letter to the Members of the Security Council, New York, 21 May 2008, downloaded from the FIDH website on 30 April 2009, www.ﬁdh.org. Kadi – Al Baraakat (2008), supra (note 18), para. 322.

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although it is now open to any person or entity to approach the Sanctions Committee directly, submitting a request to be removed from the summary list at what is called the ‘focal point’, the fact remains that the procedure before that Committee is still in essence diplomatic and intergovernmental, the persons or entities concerned having no real opportunity of asserting their rights and that committee taking its decisions by consensus, each of its members having a right of veto.118

Going further into an evaluation of the current UN de-listing procedure, the Court noted that the Guidelines of the Sanctions Committee, as last amended on 12 February 2007, make it plain that an applicant submitting a request for removal from the list may in no way assert his rights himself during the procedure before the Sanctions Committee or be represented for that purpose, the Government of his State of residence or of citizenship alone having the right to submit observations on that request. Moreover, those Guidelines do not require the Sanctions Committee to communicate to the applicant the reasons and evidence justifying his appearance in the summary list or to give him access, even restricted, to that information. Last, if that Committee rejects the request for removal from the list, it is under no obligation to give reasons.119

Various practical proposals for an independent review were made, such as the institution of an ombudsman chosen by the UN Secretary-General and the establishment of a small review panel of experts to examine de-listing requests and make a recommendation to the Security Council committee, or the creation of an independent arbitral panel to consider and hear individual de-listing requests with a decision which would be binding upon Sanctions Committees.120 After the establishment of the Focal Point, and inspired by the example of the World Bank inspection panels, it was also proposed to establish a panel of three independent, impartial and judicially qualiﬁed persons to which the Focal Point would forward de-listing requests it receives for an examination according to general principles of international law concerning fair procedure. Within three months after receiving the petition, the review panel would recommend to the concerned Sanctions Committee either the de-listing if the evidence available to it does not justify the listing, or the rejection of the request. The ﬁnal decision would rest on the Sanctions Committees, but the review panel’s recommendations are to be made public.121

118 119

120 121

Ibid., para. 323. Ibid., paras. 324–325. This observation remains valid with regard to the current guidelines, last amended on 9 December 2008. See T. Biersteker & S. Eckert (2006), supra (note 6), pp. 45–47. See the ‘Discussion Paper on Supplementary Guidelines for the Review of Sanctions Committees’ Listing Decisions’ (3 p.) and ‘Explanatory Memorandum’ (7 p.), presented by Professor Michael Bothe at a Roundtable in New York on 8 November 2007, in the framework of

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These proposals were not taken by the UN even though it is fully aware of the pitfalls and underlying legal issues of its targeted sanctions procedures. Following the 2005 World Summit recommendation for fair and clear procedures in targeted sanctions, the Secretariat’s Policy Committee, chaired by the Secretary-General and comprising 12 top UN oﬃcials with political responsibilities, asked the Oﬃce of Legal Aﬀairs to address the issue. This led that Oﬃce to commission Professor Bardo Fassbender to prepare the already mentioned study on Targeted Sanctions and Due Process.122 The report contained the necessary elements of procedural and substantive due process which were absent from the guidelines of Sanctions Committees, and it was reviewed by a group of international law experts at a special seminar arranged by the Oﬃce of Legal Aﬀairs. Professor Fassbender’s study was also expected to be reviewed by the Secretariat Policy Committee, which would then make recommendations to the 1267 Committee through the Secretary-General. However, this approach was not followed as the 1267 Committee decided that it would consider only proposals put forward by Committee members, subsequently putting aside Professor Fassbender’s recommendations. In lieu of procedures fully respecting due process of law, the Security Council members have only reached the arrangement for a de-listing process before the Focal Point as presented above. In response to the continuing calls for an independent review mechanism, the 1267 Committee informed that in May 2008 it met with the representatives of Denmark, Liechtenstein, Sweden and Switzerland on this issue, for an exchange of ideas and viewpoints, and encourages Member States to send representatives to meet it for such interaction.123 On 20 October 2008, the Committee also met with Mr. Martin Scheinin, UN Special Rapporteur on the promotion and protection of human rights and fundamental freedoms while countering terrorism, for a exchange of views on issues related to the fairness and clearness of the Committee’s procedures, in particular as far as listing and de-listing are concerned.124 The 1267 Committee recognizes that this review of its de-listing decision by an independent panel remains a major issue, despite a series of incremental improvements to its procedures, which address many of the concerns expressed about the fairness of targeted sanctions. On this respect, the Committee observes that:

122 123 124

the ‘Targeted Sanctions and Due Process Initiative’, sponsored by Denmark, Liechtenstein, Sweden, and Switzerland. Cited supra, note 6. Annual report of the 1267 Committee, S/2008/848, para. 35. Brieﬁng by the Chairman of the 1267 Committee of 20 November 2008, para. 22.

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It is diﬃcult to imagine that the Security Council could accept any review panel that appeared to erode its absolute authority to take action on matters aﬀecting international peace and security, as enshrined in the Charter. This argues against any panel having more than an advisory role, and against publication of its opinions, to avoid undercutting Council decisions. It would argue too for the Council retaining authority to select or approve the membership of a review body. Finally, solutions also would have to be found to the many evidentiary problems associated with a review panel. Although the panel might be allowed access to the conﬁdential statements of case presented to justify listings, Committee members also draw on intelligence and law-enforcement information available to them nationally or through other sources, including information obtained through bilateral exchanges, which could not easily be made available to reviewers.125

This Committee’s observation has the merit of highlighting the practical, political and security obstacles for the establishment of an independent, non-political review panel of de-listing requests. But this does not mean that the procedure should remain unchanged. That instead invites States and other stakeholders to reﬁne their proposal for such independent mechanism taking due account of these Security Council concerns. In conclusion, it could be said that despite these limits, it remains that in the various Sanctions Committees the Focal Point mechanism has made the procedure more accessible, clearer and standardized. It also ensures that all submissions will be considered by the Sanctions Committees within a reasonable time.126 For its part, Denmark, while supporting a more independent review mechanism, rightly observed that the actual mechanism is “the best achievable result at this point in time, and certainly a step in the right direction”.127 It demonstrates the commitment of the Security Council to introducing a fairer and clearer procedure in targeted sanctions and thus to enhancing UN sanctions. From a formal point of view therefore, the establishment of the Focal Point undeniably facilitates access for the individual. However, “it remains to be seen what the implications are in the practice and whether an individual who has no backing whatsoever from a state has any chance at all of success in a political delisting procedure before a subsidiary organ of the Security Council where decisions are made on the basis of consensus”.128 This observation basically raises the question of the obligations of States in the various stages of the Focal Point process and the role they could play in ensuring a fair, clear and independent de-listing procedure. Actually, the attainment of such a fair and clear procedure depends ultimately on the commitment

125 126

127 128

Annual report of the 1267 Committee, S/2008/848, para. 41. See the Declaration of the representative of France, one of the sponsor of the Focal Point, after the adoption of SC Res. 1730 (2006), S/PV.5599, p. 2. S/PV.5599, p. 2. L. van den Herik, supra (note 6), p. 805.

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of the most concerned States to respect their obligations under the UN Charter and under those international rules that are still applicable, despite the rule of primacy of their UN obligations over other conventional obligations, as provided for in Article 103 of the UN Charter. ii. The Obligations of the Petitioned and Designating States The most aﬀected States in the de-listing process are the States which have submitted the names to the Sanctions Committees (the designating States) and the States of nationality or residence of the listed individuals or entities (the petitioned States), to which these persons may send their de-listing requests and the Focal Point asks to enter into consultations with the designating States and take position on the requests. A third category of concerned States could be those having frozen funds in a ﬁnancial institution situated in their territory, without being the designating States or the States of nationality or residence. What are then the obligations vested on these States in the relevant Security Council resolutions and Sanctions Committees guidelines, and how could these States improve the current mechanism in fulﬁlling these obligations? These obligations relate to the transmission of the petition that a State has received from its citizens or residents, and the consideration of the request by the designating State. These are linked to the decision of that State to pursue the de-listing process pursuant to a request not sent directly to the Focal Point. According to the guidelines of various Sanctions Committees,129 if a listed individual or entity decides to send a request for de-listing to his or her State of nationality or residence, that State should review all justiﬁcation information submitted by the listed person in order to evaluate if the request has merit. Once convinced of the merit of the case, the petitioned government should approach bilaterally the designating government to seek additional information and to hold consultations with them on the de-listing request. In the targeted sanctions on former Iraqi leaders, the government of Iraq should also be approached by the petitioned State for additional information. After this information gathering phase, the petitioned State may decide either to stop the procedure or pursue the de-listing request. The decision is objectively based on the accuracy of the relevant information justifying the request, convincing or not. Yet, a decision to stop the process may also come from reasons of opportunity. At that stage, States are in the same situation as in the

129

See notably guidelines of the 1518 Committee on Iraq, 14 December 2005, paras. a), b), d) and e); guidelines of the 1572 Committee on Côte d’Ivoire, 20 April 2007, para. 10; guidelines of the 1521 Committee on Liberia, 12 June 2007, para. 16; guidelines of the 1591 Committee on Sudan/Darfur, 27 December 2007, paras. d); guidelines of the 1267 Committee on Al-Qaida and Taliban, 9 December 2008, Section 7 h).

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traditional process for diplomatic protection where they have no obligation to uphold a claim made by their citizens against another State. The diﬀerence here is that the backing of the de-listing request may concern non-citizens and the rights at stake are fundamental procedural rights of the listed persons, in addition to the right to property more common in the majority of diplomatic protection cases. The solution to this limitation is the sending of the de-listing request directly to the Focal Point, by proper initiative of the petitioner, or through automatic redirection by a State having made the declaration provided for in SC resolution 1730 (2006), a declaration made only by France to date. After the decision of the petitioned government to pursue the request, it has to enter into negotiations with the designating government to persuade it to submit jointly or separately a request for de-listing to the Committee. A joint submission of the de-listing request will accelerate the procedure as the relevant Sanctions Committee will not have to enquire about the designating State’s position regarding the request.130 However, the petitioned State may submit individually the request for de-listing to a Sanctions Committee, without any accompanying request from the designating State. It should be reminded that for a de-listing request submitted directly by individuals or entities to the Focal Point, the States mentioned above have three months after the Focal Point forwards them the request to conduct the consultations on the review of the information supporting the de-listing and take a decision on the request, in the form of a recommendation for de-listing to the relevant Sanctions Committee, directly or through the Focal Point. This recommendation is then the equivalent of a de-listing request of the petitioned State or a joint request with the designating State. At the level of the Sanctions Committees, the decision on the de-listing request or recommendation submitted by the reviewing States is taken pursuant to a procedure of non-objection, in the sense that the reviewing States’ request – not the initial one from the listed persons – are deemed accepted if none of the 15 members of the Sanctions Committee objected to it. On the other hand, this voting procedure means that an objection by one of the Committee’s members will lead to the rejection of the de-listing request. It is also to be noted that, in case the reviewing States do not submit a recommendation for de-listing to the concerned Sanctions Committee after three months, the Sanctions Committee informed of this fact is presumed to have rejected the de-listing request if none of its members has recommended the de-listing after one month.

130

For the de-listing of former Iraqi leaders, the 1518 Committee, upon receipt of a de-listing request, will invite the Permanent Mission of Iraq to the UN to oﬀer its views on the individuals or entity/entities concerned.

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In view of what precedes, it is quite obvious that the designating State has a prominent role in the process of de-listing individuals or entities. Any request is to be forwarded to it in order to have its views, and if it is a member of the Security Council it could provoke the rejection of the de-listing request by opposing it within the Sanctions Committees. This has as a practical consequence that an international organ willing to de-list individuals or entities who secured a judgment annulling the measures listing them still requires the full cooperation of the designating State to put in eﬀect the de-listing. The PMOI case also shows that the abrogation of the original State’s decision which served as the basis for the listing may not lead to the de-listing by the competent international organ. That organ would maintain the names in the list if another State decides to become the new designating State of the same individuals or entities, despite the fact that the original State have considered that the latter no longer meet the criteria for their inclusion in the list; or even if the second national decision does not meet all the requirements for the listing.131 It is in that sense that any de-listing request without the backing of the State of nationality or residence of the listed individuals has no chance for success. As individuals are not heard by the Focal Point or the Sanctions Committee and cannot approach the designating State, they have to rely on the good will of their national or resident State to consult and persuade the designating State to consider the request and ultimately accept to submit a joint de-listing request to the Sanctions Committee. How can the State of residence or nationality be compelled to do so in a meaningful manner, and the designating State to consider objectively any request forwarded to it? It is here that one may invoke the primary responsibility of States to protect the population within their territory, without distinction of nationality. This is the basic idea behind the concept of the “Responsibility to Protect”, largely recognized by the international community.132 It is actually

131

132

See PMOI III (2008), supra (note 27), paras. 28 and 40 et seq. on UK’s abrogation of its decision designating the PMOI as a terrorist organization and the EU reliance on France’s judicial inquiry against “alleged” members of PMOI as the new basis of the listing. Professor Antonio Cassese saw a “conspicuous ﬂaw” in the whole EU Council decision-making process to keep PMOI in the EU list. He wrote: “Reportedly the French investigations . . ., which began in 2001, to a large extent relied on the EU List of terrorists and terrorist organizations, which included PMOI. At present the Council, in its turn, to justify its keeping the PMOI on the List refers back to the French prosecutorial decisions. This is indeed a circular argument . . .” and constitutes, he concluded later, an abuse of procedural powers, Antonio Cassese, ‘The Illegality of the EU Council Decision 2008/583/EC concerning PMOI. Expert Opinion’, 10 September 2008, paras. 63–64, accessed at www.scribd.com on 20 April 2009. See The Responsibility to Protect, Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS), published by the International Development Research Centre, Ottawa, Canada, December 2001. In 2004, the concept was endorsed by the UN High-Level

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hard to objectively support that the protection of fundamental rights in the context of listing and de-listing procedures falls completely apart from that responsibility if one considers this concept from its basic rationale as a responsible sovereignty, beyond then the unique protection of individuals against international crimes.133 Many States that supported the universal acceptation of the concept of the Responsibility to Protect are part of those which – as a matter of fact, not of law – freeze the funds, assets and economic resources of persons, groups and entities included in the UN Consolidated List. The targeted persons and the rest of the population may have legitimate expectations that States will also fulﬁl their responsibility to protect people within their territory who are victims of the violation of their fundamental rights. In a “democratic society” or in a State including the promotion and protection of human rights among the pillars of its foreign policy, it would be hard to understand that such States would not fulﬁl the responsibility to protect their citizens and residents against the infringement of their fundamental rights by the actions of another State or of international organisations. They could do so by considering objectively any de-listing requests forwarded to them and by seeking any relevant information linked to the request which cannot be consulted by private persons. As the 1267 Committee which runs more than 500 names is inviting Member States to give brieﬁngs on their eﬀorts to implement the measures, including any challenges that may hinder their full implementation,134 States shall take this opportunity to expose their dilemmas between implementing fully the UN sanctions and respecting the fundamental human rights of listed individuals; that pursuant to the ﬁndings of international judicial or quasi-judicial bodies, based on international law, they might have no choice but respect these

133

134

Panel of Eminent Persons on Threats, Challenges and Change, in its report A More Secure World: Our Shared Responsibility (A/59/565, 2 December 2004, par. 203); then by the UN Secretary General in his report In Larger Freedom (A/59/2005, 24 March 2005, par. 135); the General Assembly in the 2005 World Summit Outcome Resolution (GA Res. 60/1, 16 September 2005, paras. 138–139) and the Security Council 1674 (2006) on the protection of civilians in armed conﬂict, 28 April 2008, para. 4. See for proactive and larger understandings of the Responsibility to Protect: SFDI, La responsabilité de protéger, Colloque de Nanterre, 2008; and the recent UN Secretary-General Report, “Implementing the Responsibility to Protect”, A/63/677, 12 January 2009. According to this report, “Respect for human rights . . . is an essential element of responsible sovereignty”; and States could help to advance the prevention and protection goals relating to the responsibility to protect by working domestically and internationally to advance the broad and vital mandate of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights and of the Human Rights Council. To that end, the report suggests that the Council’s universal periodic review mechanism could be an important instrument for advancing human rights and, indirectly, goals relating to the responsibility to protect (para. 16). Annual report of the 1267 Committee, S/2008/848, para. 35.

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fundamental rights. This was advocated by the representative of Slovenia, speaking in the name of the EU and other European States, before the Security Council following the brieﬁng of the Chairmen of the three Committees relating to terrorism (1267, 1373 and 1540 Committees). He stressed that any measures taken to ﬁght [terrorism] must be in accordance with obligations under international law in particular international human rights law, refugee law, and international humanitarian law. Eﬀective counter-terrorism measures and the protection of human rights are not conﬂicting, but rather complementary and mutually reinforcing, goals. Our action must be ﬁrmly based on due process and the rule of law.135

4.

Concluding Observations

In comparison to the ﬁrst years of practice of targeted sanctions, the current listing and de-listing regimes constitute indeed a remarkable achievement. Nowadays, those who are the subjects of the sanctions, designated in lists established by the Sanctions Committees, are notiﬁed in due time of their inclusion in one of these lists. The notiﬁcation includes the statement of speciﬁc reasons for such inclusion. The list is now regularly reviewed, and a mechanism, allowing the targeted persons to defend their case and present their point on the decision of inclusion in the list, has been put in place. Those persons, natural or legal, now have direct access to such UN mechanism, the so-called Focal Point. Moreover, the continued relevance of the maintenance of their names in the list is regularly reviewed, within a period speciﬁed by the Security Council. The decision on that maintenance shall indicate such continued relevance, by showing that the activities of individuals or entities in question are still part of the threat to international peace and security as determined by the Security Council. Finally, an important step has been taken to improve the quality of existing lists, in terms of the identiﬁcation of listed persons, the accuracy of the listing and its continuous adaptation to the nature of threat facing the UN. These achievements were made possible due to the successive measures taken by the Security Council and its subsidiary organs, in reaction to criticism received about targeted sanctions, and the legal challenges brought by listed individuals, States, other international organisations and judicial bodies. In view of all this, it could be concluded that the international community has taken the right direction towards the long desired “fair and clear procedures” for placing individuals and entities on, and removing them from, sanctions lists,

135

S/PV.5886, 6 May 2008, p. 23.

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called for by the General Assembly and acknowledged by the Security Council itself. Despite these achievements, the objective is not yet completely attained due to the political nature of the whole process for de-listing and the lack of independent review mechanisms. There is also the continuing lack of speciﬁcation of the designating States’ obligations with regard to requests for names removal, under the cover of secrecy and national security interests. This is a kind of “grey zone” which States seem to prefer keeping out of the ambit of law. As far as the ﬁght against terrorism is concerned, nowhere in the current regulations is there an obligation for States to disclose any relevant information on which their decision is based to designate individuals or entities subject to sanctions. It is quite understandable that States do not wish to disclose such sensitive information to individuals and private entities, but it is not certain that the sharing of relevant information to a petitioned State or to the Sanctions Committees, for the sake of verifying the relevance of the designation, poses a threat to security of the designating State. Finally, nowhere is there an express obligation for the petitioned State to support the de-listing request made by its citizen or resident, whereas the majority of States continue to proclaim their commitment to human rights and due process of law. Bearing in mind that States are both the subjects and the creators of international law, able in the latter capacity to ﬁll normative gaps observed from practice or correct incoherence between existing rules, they should consider some forms of commitments with regard to the disclosure of relevant information in the de-listing process, beyond mere recommendations to do so, and at least vis-à-vis other States and judicial bodies. This would ensure an eﬀective respect of fundamental human rights of listed persons. This would also lead to a better consistency of their international position and action on the respect for human rights and rule of law. States cannot hide behind the decisions of the Security Council or the Sanctions Committees, which have proved to be in violation of these rights, and do nothing to uphold their own responsibility in that respect. This insistence on States’ obligations in the listing and de-listing procedures relies on the awareness that international organisations and courts may recognize the necessity to respect fundamental rights and due process of law in placing and removing individuals or entities into a consolidated list, but these may not become eﬀective if the obligations of States in this regard are unclear, ill-deﬁned or not accepted by States. The realisation of clear, fair and transparent procedures in targeted sanctions is indeed linked to the degree of States’ readiness to accept clear obligations in the listing and de-listing procedures, both as designating and petitioned governments.

Part III International Law, Human Rights and Humanitarian Law Droit international, droits de l’homme et droit humanitaire

Chapter 9 Fear’s Legal Dimension: Counterterrorism and Human Rights Andrea Bianchi

The main explanation is fear1

1. While somewhat unconventional, recourse to psychological considerations as explanatory of normative phenomena is less eccentric an exercise than one might be tempted to think. A long-established corporatist reﬂex among lawyers consists of explaining legal phenomenology on the basis of a set of rules the enactment and enforcement of which is the responsibility of neutral operators and immaterial entities (the legislator, the court, the State, the international community and so on). However, if one is ready to concede that law is grounded on an underlying social reality and that legal acts are but the result of human activities, it would be hard to see why individuals’ emotional states should not aﬀect what they do, just as well as their upbringing, education, culture and personal history. What may appear as a truism to many will almost certainly attract criticism from those jurists who would consider it a disgrace (also for their professional career) if the law were to lose that almost mystical character, which explains its evocative force as well as its capacity to impose itself to the societal body. And yet, acknowledging the simple truth that law is a human activity may help better understand the dynamic of legal phenomena. Even if one concedes that psychological states may be relevant to legal processes, it might be reasonably objected that it should not be the jurist’s task to inquire about them, as this pertains to psychology and not to law. This contention is unlikely to be determinant, if, short of any epistemological ambition, the analysis is limited to developing the simple intuition that most of the normative instruments used to counter terrorism were adopted at a time when the prevailing emotional state was fear. Over time, as fear subsided, a sense of angst and

1

Jack Goldsmith, The Terror Presidency, (London, New York: WW Norton & Company, 2007), p. 105.

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anxiety set in, which certain actors realized could be used instrumentally to achieve diﬀerent purposes. The following remarks deal with the complex interplay of the psychological states of diﬀerent social actors that are called upon to perform varying roles in legal processes. Two categories of readers are strongly discouraged to pursue this reading any further: those who are persuaded that law is alien to human nature (and its weaknesses) and those who have never experienced fear or such other feelings as anguish, anxiety and apprehension that the presence of an actual or potential danger may engender in a human being. 2. To deﬁne fear in scientiﬁc terms is not the purpose of this paper. I rely on common sense and personal experience to describe its characteristic traits. The sense of bewilderment and the sudden alert of all the senses before an identiﬁable danger trigger a strong physical as well as emotional reaction. If fear may cause in the single individual a sense of annihilation, paralysis and impotence, in the individual within a group it usually triggers an instinct of self-defence. The primordial instinct of self-preservation, which manifests itself in situations of extreme danger, tends to materialize in the adoption of self-help measures aimed at the preservation of the life of both the individual and the group to which he or she belongs. In one of the most awesome cinematographic representations of fear, “The birds”, Alfred Hitchcock shows dramatically well, at a time when special eﬀects could not make up for a director’s lack of talent, the reaction fear can bring about. To escape from the calamitous ﬂock of birds – a real and readily identiﬁable danger – the protagonists lock themselves in the house. Self-defence is the leading instinct. Fear alerts the senses. Pieces of furniture are moved or torn away to build up barricades and block oﬀ all the openings. Nobody thinks of leaving a way out. What matters is to escape the immediate danger. There is no future. The terrorist threat materialized on 11 September 2001, by tragically spectacular modalities. The inevitable broadcast of the dramatic event by the media ampliﬁed its impact worldwide. The sense of dismay and bewilderment slowly turned to fear of an identiﬁable and terribly concrete danger. The UN Security Council’s reaction reﬂects this climate of fear. Resolution 1373, adopted on 28 September, is somewhat paradigmatic. The Security Council (SC) acts as a lawmaker by enacting general and abstract rules imposing on States obligations aimed at preventing and punishing terrorism-related oﬀences. By the same resolution the SC also creates a subsidiary organ, the Counter-Terrorism Committee (CTC), entrusted with the task of monitoring the implementation by States of the obligations laid down in the resolution.2 At the time, nobody

2

See Paul Szasz, ‘The Security Council Starts Legislating’, 96 AJIL, 2002, 901–905.

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called into question the legitimacy of the SC’s action. Not even the General Assembly objected to it. Most likely, this was due to the widespread perception that a prompt normative response of general applicability was needed to face a serious and imminent danger. A general state of fear provided the background and justiﬁcation for such normative developments to occur. This is indirectly conﬁrmed by subsequent practice. When Resolution 1540 on the acquisition of weapons of mass destruction by non-State actors was adopted, States stressed that their acceptance of law-making resolutions was limited to instances in which there is an urgent need to regulate by the adoption of generally applicable rules subject matters that are not adequately covered by international regulation.3 It is stunning to realize that most of the legal measures that have turned out to encroach on human rights were adopted in a relatively short time span following the 9/11 attacks, when the prevailing feeling was fear. The joint resolution adopted by Congress to authorize the US President to use all necessary military force to counter terrorism was passed on 18 September;4 the Patriot Act was adopted on 26 October 2001.5 The Military Order whereby the US President originally established military commissions is dated 13 November.6 In the UK, the Anti-terrorism Crime and Security Act was passed on 14 December. The military intervention against Afghanistan was launched on 7 October.7 In a situation of danger it is the ‘notables’ (the mayor of New York, the States, the Security Council) who lead the community. It is up to them to spot the danger and to organize the group’s reaction. When facing an immediate danger what matters is to defend oneself. The basic instinct is that of preserving the life of the community. The ‘notables’ bear the responsibility of making decisions. They act in a psychological state that is no diﬀerent from that of the people they are supposed to protect. Nobody worries about the future. There will be no future if the group succumbs to the danger. The analysis as well as the action is not rational. It is emotional.

3

4

5

6 7

See the statement of the representative of Algeria: ‘[i]n the absence of binding international standards, and because of the seriousness and the urgent nature of the threat, the response to it needs to be articulated and formulated by the Security Council’: S/PV. 4950, at 5. See also S/PV.4956, particularly the statements of France (at 2), Pakistan (at 3), and Spain (at 8). Authorization for Use of Military Force, Pub. L. 107–40 (S.J. Res. 23), 115 Stat. 224, Sept. 18, 2001. Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act of 2001 (USA Patriot Act), Pub. L. 107–56, 115 Stat 272, Oct. 26, 2001. 66 F. R. 5783 (Nov. 16, 2001). [2001] Chapter 24.

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3. Over time the sentiment of fear gives way to a sense of anxiety and uncertainty. The danger is no longer readily identiﬁable, let alone foreseeable in its manifestations. Terrorists are expected to strike again. But it is far from certain that they will do so by using the same modalities of 9/11. Citizens and decision-makers alike are anxious. After having reacted instinctively out of fear to counter a hierarchically structured paramilitary group capable of attacking the civilian population on a large scale, institutional actors now hesitate about what to do next. Angst is also palpable at the international level. The number of institutional adjustments envisaged by the SC to enhance the eﬀectiveness of the sanctions attests to the inadequacy of the normative strategy adopted to counter terrorism.8 In order to revitalize the CTC an Executive Directorate was created with a view to improving the sanctions monitoring process. The CTC also laid down a plan to provide technical assistance to States as well as to develop a set of ‘best practices’ to be used in the various areas of counterterrorism.9 Also as regards targeted sanctions numerous adjustments have been made to the original supervisory machinery, which revolved around the Sanctions Committee. By means of Resolution 1333 the Sanctions Committee was complemented by a ‘Committee of Experts’ with the task of consulting with the Member States. By the same resolution, the Sanctions Committee was asked to consider, when and where appropriate, visiting countries bordering Afghanistan or any other country as may be necessary to improve the full implementation of freezing orders. The unsatisfactory results produced by the sanctions in terms of eﬀectiveness led the SC in Resolution 1363 to create both a ‘Monitoring Group of Experts’ based in New York as well as a ‘Sanctions Enforcement Team’, located in the territory of states bordering Afghan territory. Both organs were to report to the Council through the Sanctions Committee. Following the enactment of Resolutions 1373 and 1390, whereby the scope of the ﬁnancial sanctions was expanded to prevent funds being made available to the Taliban, Usama Bin Laden and Al-Qaida, Resolution 1455 called for better coordination between the Sanctions Committee and the CTC and imposed new reporting requirements on States. Resolution 1526 further expanded the mandate of the Sanctions Committee by entrusting it with the tasks of assessing information for the SC’s review and recommending improvements to the current regime. The same resolution also established an ‘Analytical Support

8

9

See Andrea Bianchi, ‘Assessing the Eﬀectiveness of the UN Security Council’s Anti-terrorism Measures: The Quest for Legitimacy and Cohesion’, EJIL, 2006, 881–919, p. 900 ss. See the Report of the Counter-Terrorism Committee to the Security Council for Its Consideration as Part of Its Comprehensive Review of the Counter-Terrorism Committee Executive Directorate, UN. Doc. S/2005/800.

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and Sanctions Monitoring Team’ to provide technical assistance to the Sanctions Committee and to produce on a biannual basis a report to the SC on the implementing measures taken by Member States.10 The SC ﬁnds it diﬃcult to carry out an eﬀective control of the implementation of sanctions. The overall legitimacy of the sanctions regime is called into question, thus causing the SC to carefully consider its future course of action.11 If the instinctive reaction to the big fear which followed the 9/11 attacks led to the adoption of legal measures which will subsequently turn out to encroach on fundamental human rights, the next phase, characterised by a collective state of anguish and anxiety, will soon prove to be fertile ground for power assertions and manipulation strategies by several actors. The dynamic that will lead to such a development is hardly surprising from a psychological perspective. The psychology of an angst-stricken group presents recurrent traits: negative emotional states spread rapidly and collective judgments can be easily inﬂuenced. The latter tend to be absolute and Manichean in character. Critical spirit and the sense of individual responsibility are weakened or altogether absent. States, by far the main political actors in this dynamic, soon realized the ample room for manipulating the societal body. Unexpectedly, they beneﬁted from a double legitimisation. On the one hand, at the national level, public opinion, initially scared and later anxious about the future, channels its hope into the State, and particularly into the executive branch of government, as the most suitable actor to provide eﬀective protection against terrorism. At the same time, the role of the State in combating terrorism is emphasized and therefore legitimized by international measures, the domestic implementation of which requires action by States. This double legitimisation, both internal and external, strengthens the role of States that start using logics of power not necessarily connected to the original mandate of countering international terrorism. 4. Such logics of power are exercised in a manner, which will soon lead to encroachment on fundamental human rights. The reach and scope of application of criminal law has remarkably expanded. This phenomenon, which originates with an international obligation originally laid down in SC Res. 1373, which requires States to make certain terrorism-related conduct criminal oﬀences, allows States to make extensive use of criminal enforcement. An oﬀence such as ‘participation in a terrorist group’ leaves the interpreter with

10

11

The mandate of the Monitoring Team was extended by Res. 1735 (see para. 32 of the Res. and Annex II attached thereto). See the Study commissioned by the UN Oﬃce of Legal Aﬀairs on ‘Targeted Sanctions and Due Process’, by Prof. Bardo Fassbender of Humboldt University (20 March 2006).

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a wide latitude of interpretation. Both Article 2 of the 2002 EU Framework Decision on combating terrorism12 as well as the notion of ‘material support’ in US legislation13 are apt illustrations of this trend. Some States went so far as to adopt legislative measures aimed at punishing conduct on the basis of questionable and non-rigorous parameters. For instance, Article 421–2–3 of the French criminal code makes it an indictable oﬀence to carry on a lifestyle which cannot be justiﬁed on the basis of the accused’s revenues if that individual has a habitual relationship with one or more persons involved in terrorist activities. States also take advantage of the widespread anxiety within the population by adopting special measures under a state of emergency. The notion of state of emergency has ancient roots in the history of political thought,14 but it has taken up speciﬁc connotations under international human rights law. Under so-called ‘derogation clauses’, States may derogate from some of the rights and liberties enshrined in the relevant instrument, while respecting others, which are regarded as non-derogable, at all times.15 Moreover, States have a procedural obligation to notify internationally a state of emergency to guarantee a certain degree of transparency in the determination of the applicable legal standards. In this respect, it is of note that several States, including the United States, have failed to lodge a request for derogation under Article 4 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), despite having declared a state of emergency at the domestic level. More serious violations of Article 4 restrictions concern non-derogable rights.16 Interrogation practices inconsistent with the prohibition of cruel and inhumane treatment or even torture, and the so-called ‘shoot to kill’ policy carried out by law enforcement oﬃcers in some States, are among the most signiﬁcant allegations of violations to non-derogable rights.17 If one is ready to concede, in accordance with the interpretation provided in General Comment No. 29 of the Human Rights Committee, that also some procedural guarantees of a fundamental character such as habeas corpus

12

13

14 15

16

17

Council Framework Decision on Combating Terrorism, 13 June 2002, in OJEC, L 164/3–7, 22 June 2002. David Cole, ‘Terror Financing, Guilt by Association and the Paradigm of Prevention in the War on Terror’, in A. Bianchi and A. Keller (eds.), Counterterrorism: Democracy’s Challenge, (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2008), pp. 234–250. See Giorgio Agamben, State of exception, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005). See Rosalyn Higgins, ‘Derogations under Human Rights Treaties’, 48 BYIL, 1976–1977, 281. See, for instance, the Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee on the second and third reports submitted by the United States under the ICCPR (UN Doc. CCPR/ C/USA/CO/3/Rev. 1, 18 December 2006). See the Report of the Special Rapporteur (Martin Sheinin) on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms while Countering Terrorism, 29 January 2007, UN Doc. A/HRC/4/26, p. 21 ss.

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should be regarded as non-derogable under Article 4, there is no doubt that their blatant violation has occurred in some instances.18 The state of anxiety permeating the societal body and institutional structures also favoured the creation of the ‘external enemy’ category. Legally, this trend materialized in domestic statutes distinguishing between citizens and aliens, such as immigration laws, or by the adoption of ‘proﬁling’ techniques aimed at selectively controlling certain categories of persons, regardless of their individual conduct. While immigration laws have been fertile ground for discriminatory practices, and their inconsistency with human rights standards has been ascertained by, among others, the House of Lords and the Supreme Court of Canada, the use of proﬁling as an instrument for preventing terrorism has been harshly criticized by the UN Special Rapporteur on the protection of human rights while countering terrorism in a recent report.19 Another speciﬁc phenomenon that counterterrorism policies have generated is legal indeterminacy in respect of some measures adopted to ﬁght against international terrorism. Legal indeterminacy references the fairly heterogeneous set of measures, encroaching on fundamental human rights, the legal foundation of which is lacking or remains uncertain. The uncertain status under domestic law of the ‘Consolidated List’, attested to by many national reports submitted to the SC, is merely an example of this trend.20 At the international level, such indeterminacy can be traced to some SC resolutions, the legal eﬀects of which are doubtful. For instance, if one looks at Resolution 1624, which proscribes incitement to commit acts of terrorism, there is a certain ambiguity about whether or not it is legally binding. On the one hand, it is easy to note that it was not expressly adopted under Chapter VII of the Charter and that nothing in the text leaves room for reaching the conclusion that it is a binding resolution. And yet, by directing the CTC to include in its dialogue with the Member States their eﬀorts to implement the provisions laid down in the resolution, the resolution indirectly gives the CTC the task of reviewing its implementation by Member States as if it were a legally binding one. It is diﬃcult to envisage how States that must account for the implementation of resolution 1373 and that have been called upon to report on the steps they have taken to implement resolution 1624 before the same monitoring body, the CTC, could treat the two resolutions diﬀerently.21 If, in theory, a distinction between the

18

19

20

21

Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 29 on Article 4 ICCPR, UN Doc. CCPR/ C/21/Rev.1/Add. 11, 31 August, 2001. See Report of the Special Rapporteur (Martin Sheinin) on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms while Countering Terrorism, cit., p. 6 ss. See Andrea Bianchi, Security Council’s Anti-terror Resolutions and their Implementation by Member States, 4 Journal of International Criminal Justice, 2006, 1044–1073, 1056 ss. Ibid., 1046–1047.

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legally binding eﬀects of the two resolutions can be drawn, in practice such a divide is blurred. 5. The manipulative transformation of psychological states of fear and angst into logics of power has caused detrimental structural eﬀects in the democratic states that have more or less consciously had recourse to it. Reference is made to the institutional short-circuit among the diﬀerent branches of government that in some states have been incapable of striking a balance in adopting and implementing counterterrorism laws and policies. In this respect, what has happened in the US is paradigmatic. Congress, the Executive and the Supreme Court have been the protagonists of an inter-institutional conﬂict bearing on the legality and legitimacy of some of the measures adopted in the framework of the so called ‘war on terror’. Suﬃce to think of the original establishment of the military commissions as well as the qualiﬁcation of certain individuals as ‘unlawful enemy combatants’ by the President of the US, reviewed critically for the ﬁrst time by the Supreme Court in 200422 and of the subsequent enactment by Congress of the Detainee Treatment Act (DTA),23 aimed, inter alia, at stripping federal courts of jurisdiction over habeas corpus relief claims presented by Guantanamo detainees. Following its 2004 decision, the Supreme Court intervened once again in the 2006 Hamdan case by holding the DTA inapplicable to pending cases and ﬁnding military commissions to be in breach of domestic and international humanitarian law.24 In December 2006, Congress passed the Military Commissions Act, providing military commissions with a statutory basis and specifying both their functioning and the applicable law, while suspending habeas corpus rights for enemy combatants.25 Finally, in 2008, in Boumediene the Supreme Court restored habeas corpus rights stressing their fundamental importance to American democracy.26 Even such cursory overview of the strained relationship between the legislative, executive and judicial powers is suﬃcient to realize how much counterterrorism laws and policies have impacted on the smooth functioning of long-established democracies, aﬀecting particularly one of its fundamental pillars: the principle of separation of powers.27 The other structural consequence that counterterrorism has brought about concerns the permanent character of many of the legal measures adopted by

22 23 24 25 26 27

Rasul v. Bush 542 US 466 (2004); Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, 542 US 507 (2004). Detainee Treatment Act, Pub. L. No. 109–148, 119 Stat. 2680 (2005). Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, 126 S. Ct. 2749 (2006). Military Commissions Act of 2006, Pub. L. No. 103–366, 120 Stat. 2600 (2006). Boumediene v. Bush, 553 US_(2008). See Andrea Bianchi and Alexis Keller (eds.), Counterterrorism: Democracy’s Challenge, (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2008).

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States. If there is no reason to exclude the possibility that special measures can be adopted to face extraordinary circumstances, it would be preferable that States had recourse to measures of a temporary character. Most measures have been taken, instead, in the form of legislation, the validity and scope of which is rarely subjected to time restraints. Against the background of General Comment No. 29, the unlimited duration of such measures ought to be considered as inconsistent with the requirements of Article 4. Besides showing that special measures are necessary, as normal legal instruments are insuﬃcient to put up with a state of emergency, States are under the obligation to limit their duration to the time strictly required to restore a state of normalcy. Unfortunately, it is highly unlikely that such measures, often adopted by States for an indeﬁnite duration, will be soon withdrawn or repealed. 6. The instrumental use by governments of the collective psychological states generated by the threat of international terrorism over time spurred a widespread reaction of the societal body, both nationally and internationally, aiming at delegitimising its presuppositions and countering its eﬀects. Such a reaction hinged almost exclusively on the protection of human rights, the encroachment of which by antiterrorism laws caused a variety of actors to express strong criticism. Starting in 2002, the General Assembly annually produced a resolution calling on the Member States to respect human rights while countering terrorism. Finally, in September 2006 it adopted the UN Global Counter-Terrorism Strategy.28 Other initiatives within the UN, particularly special procedures which, either indirectly or even principally, by the appointment of a special rapporteur on this subject matter, have drawn attention on the need for States not to carry out counterterrorism policies that may negatively aﬀect human rights.29 Other international organizations have dealt with this issue. The Council of Europe, for instance, adopted at the level of the Committee of Ministers a set of directives on the need for States to respect human rights in the ﬁght against terrorism30 and commissioned an independent study on the same issue.31 Transnational civil society has also undertaken numerous initiatives. Many NGOs have made the protection of human rights in the ﬁght against terrorism a priority through monitoring States’ behaviour and by promoting resounding initiatives such as the establishment of a panel of eminent persons to debate the question and keep the world public opinion focussed on the 28 29

30 31

See A/RES/60/288. This practice is carefully assessed in the Report of the Secretary-General on ‘Protecting human rights and fundamental freedoms while countering terrorism’ (A/61/353), submitted to the GA pursuant to Resolution 60/158. See A/RES/60/288. See A/RES/60/288.

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issue.32 Professional associations and academic networks have equally contributed to keeping States’ conduct under scrutiny, not merely by the traditional academic modalities of researching and writing, but also by advancing concrete normative proposals.33 Also international judicial organs have expressed their preoccupation with the need to strike a fair balance between security and human rights concerns. In particular, they have stressed the need, sometimes ambiguously, not to yield to the imperatives of collective security at the price of jeopardizing fundamental human rights. In this context, the case of EU judicial organs is of particular note. Their exercise of judicial review over anti-terrorism sanctions has been very important in promoting awareness of the risks inherent in the enforcement of anti-terror sanctions. Little matters whether the basis for the exercise of such judicial review has been controversial or whether some of the arguments used were not deprived of inconsistencies and ambiguities. Suﬃce to think of the diﬀerent approach to the Kadi case respectively taken by the Tribunal of First Instance and the European Court of Justice.34 What needs be underscored is the Court’s clearly expressed willingness not to abdicate from its responsibility to ensure respect for fundamental rights in the name of an alleged supremacy of SC measures.35 The paradox, or irony, inherent in the above-described reaction is that the social forces that triggered it have themselves beneﬁted from, or perhaps knowingly taken advantage of, the same psychological state of angst that had previously allowed governments to adopt sweeping security measures. The instrumental use by governments of such feelings of anguish and anxiety has generated over time another kind of fear and deep anxiety, this time directed against the State. The State started being perceived as oppressive, brutal and despotic. Owing to

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On the mandate and activities of the Eminent Jurists Panel consult the ICJ website at . See the recently adopted ‘Ottawa Principles on Anti-terrorism and Human Rights’, available at . See the judgments of the CFI of September 21, 2005 in Ahmed Ali Yusuf and Al Barakaat International Foundation v Council of the EU and Commission of the EC (Al Barakaat CFI Judgement), Case T-306/01, and Yassin Abdullah Kadi v Council of the EU and the Commission of the EC (Kadi CFI Judgement), Case T-315/01 (OJ 2005 C 281, at 17); and the more recent decision by the European Court of Justice in Joined Cases C-402/05 P and C-415/05 P, Yassin Abdullah Kadi and Al Barakaat International Foundation v Council of the EU and Commission of the EC (ECJ Judgement), Sept. 3, 2008, available at http://curia.europa.eu/en/ content/juris/index.htm (visited on Dec. 10, 2008). Contra see Behrami v. France and Saramati v. France, Germany and Norway. Joined App. Nos. 71412/81 & 78166/01, European Court of Human rights (Grand Chamber), May 2, 2007 (at http://www.echr.coe.int/echr); R (On the application of Al-Jedda)(FC) v. Secretary of State for Defence, [2007] UKHL 58, House of Lords, Appellate Committee, December 12, 2007.

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the mobilization of civil society by NGOs and other organized social groups, governmental power attracts increasing criticism. The fear of its abusive exercise, particularly in Western countries, creates a new fear and new forms of anxiety. This remark is all the more important as it shows that the manipulation of collective psychological states is rarely a one-way route. Rather, it is a terrain in which complex manipulation dynamics are at play, the patterns of which escape rigid schemes of interpretation. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that the reaction by the societal body sets limits to the aggregation of power, at both national and international levels, as well as to its unfettered exercise. However diﬃcult it may prove to demonstrate the existence of a direct causal relationship between this reaction and the subsequent shift in terms of normative strategies by relevant actors, it is of note that the SC dramatically changed its attitude when, starting from Resolution 1624, it reminded UN Member States of their duty to comply with their other obligations under international law, including in relation to human rights, when implementing SC resolutions.36 In this way, the SC arguably shifted the burden of striking a balance between security concerns and respect for human rights to States, the sole entities responsible for implementing SC resolutions and, ultimately, for their eﬃcacy. 7. In such an emotional and easily inﬂuenced context, it is not obvious for the law to arbitrate, as law-making, adjudication and enforcement processes are also likely to be aﬀected by the psychological states of the individuals that are in charge of them. It is interesting to note, however, that it is often up to the judiciary – at least in democratic countries – to strike the balance between heterogeneous or conﬂicting interests. The autonomy and independence of the judiciary, a necessary prerequisite for discharging this function, make this branch of government better suited than the others to ensure a fair balance between dramatically diﬀerent concerns, particularly in a state of emergency, when the institutions of the organized community are endangered. A cursory comparative overview of domestic case law in the aftermath of 9/11 conﬁrms the judiciary’s vocation to act as guarantor and arbitrator in situations of emergency, particularly vis-à-vis executive’s policies. Even if judicial decisions have to be contextualized and analyzed against the background of both the domestic legal system in which they are rendered alongside the particularities of underlying factual matrices, some similarities can be traced. On this basis, some room for generalization is likely possible, particularly in terms of outcomes and interpretive techniques used by domestic courts. The decisions rendered by the Israeli Supreme Court in its exercise of judicial review over two highly controversial practices of the Israeli Defence Forces,

36

SC Res. 1624 (2005), para. 6.

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namely human shielding and targeted killing, are illustrative of the judicial approach to check executive action in times of emergency.37 In particular, in its 2006 decision the Supreme Court categorically refused the contention set forth by the executive that its acts were non-justiciable and instead resorted to balancing techniques and the principle of proportionality to evaluate the lawfulness of targeted killings. Although the judgment attracted criticism from those who would have wished the Court to condemn targeted killings tout court, rather than assessing their lawful character on a case by case basis in light of relevant circumstances, there is no doubt that the Israeli Supreme Court wanted to assert its role as watchdog of the executive’s conduct (even in areas clearly amenable within the executive’s prerogatives) as well as guarantor of fundamental human rights. In doing so it drew heavily from international law arguments. Similar considerations apply to the 2004 judgment in the Belmarsh detainees case, in which the House of Lords held the UK legislation allowing for the indeﬁnite detention of foreign terrorist suspects in cases where they could not be returned to their home country, to be in breach of the Human Rights Act, the UK enabling legislation for the European Convention on Human Rights.38 While acknowledging the executive’s power to determine the existence of a state of emergency, the House of Lords proceeded to exercise its judicial review against the backdrop of Strasbourg case law. The Court eventually held the measures inconsistent with the requirements of the Human Rights Act for their lack of proportionality as regards the aim pursued and for their discriminatory character as regards the treatment of foreign nationals. The principle of proportionality seems to have provided the rule of decision also in the decision by the German Bundesverfassungsgericht in the case concerning the constitutionality of the legislation that allowed, in certain circumstances related to terrorist hijacking, the shooting down of civilian aircraft.39 The Court found the legislation in breach of the constitutional provisions protecting human dignity and stressed that anti-terror measures must be proportionate to the aim pursued. Also the recent decision by the Supreme Court of Canada in the Charkahoui case is worth mentioning in this context.40 The Court ascertained the inconsistency of aliens’ deportation on the basis of intelligence information with the

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40

Adalah (The Legal Center for Arab Minority Rights in Israel) et al. v. GOC Central Command, IDF et al., Case No. HCJ 3799/02, Supreme Court of Israel Sitting as the High Court of Justice, June 23, 2005; and Public Committee against Torture in Israel v. Government of Israel, Case No. HCJ 769/02, Supreme Court of Israel, sitting as the High Court of Justice, December 13, 2006. A (FC) v. Secretary of State for the Home Department, [2004] UKHL 56. Judgment of the ﬁrst Senate of 15 February 2006, 1 BvR 375/05 (English translation available at: tp://www.bundesverfassungsgericht.de/entscheidungen/rs20060215_1bvr035705en.html). Charkaoui v. Canada (Citizenship & Immigration), [2007] S.C.C. 9, Ca. Sup. Ct. LEXIS 9.

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Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. In exercising its judicial review in the case at hand the Court went well beyond what it had previously said in 2002 in Suresh.41 At closer scrutiny, however, even as regards Suresh the Court had set limits on the executive’s conduct. While admitting in the abstract the possibility of returning an individual to a country in which she or he would risk being subjected to human rights violations, by requiring the executive to put in writing the reasons for its decision, the Court imposed a requirement which the government cannot easily meet. Finally, it is also worth noting that the US Supreme Court, less sensitive than other national high courts to external inﬂuences, has occasionally resorted, albeit ad abundantiam, to international law arguments in order to ascertain the unconstitutionality of some domestic law provisions. This was the case in Hamdan, in which the Supreme Court, in holding military commissions established by Presidential authority unconstitutional, made reference to common Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions. In particular, the Court held that military commissions were inconsistent with the provisions of the Uniform Code of Military Justice and gave rise to a violation of the ‘regularly constituted court’ requirement of common Article 3.42 The acknowledgement of the Geneva Conventions standards as appropriate legal parameters for a constitutional decision is certainly a novelty for the US. Even if this argument was somewhat ancillary, as it did not provide the rule of decision, reference by the Court to international humanitarian law standards allowed the incorporation into the US legal system of normative values, the use of which remains rare in the US. The issue here is not whether the Supreme Court made a correct use of Article 3, in particular as regards its scope of application. Rather, what is relevant is that the Supreme Court for the ﬁrst time made reference to international standards in assessing the lawfulness of measures taken in the context of the ‘war on terror’. 8. The common features of this line of decisions rendered by domestic courts in terrorism-related cases quite neatly come to the surface. First, it must be noted that rarely do courts refuse their exercise of judicial control on jurisdictional grounds or on the basis of considerations of constitutional competence. This attitude is quite telling of a willingness to perform their role and to discharge their functions even at times of public emergencies. Even when they seem to show a degree of deference to the executive’s prerogatives, courts are unwilling to abdicate their responsibility. Sometimes, such as in the Canadian cases, they exercise judicial scrutiny in a disguised manner, by imposing requirements on the executive’s conduct. Second, the judicial power rarely trespasses on the

41 42

Suresh v. Canada (Minister of Citizenship & Immigration), [2002] 1 S.C.C. 3. Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, 126 S. Ct. 2749 (2006).

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limits imposed by the separation of powers principle, to which it always pays due heed. This is important, as in democratic regimes the preservation of such fundamental principle is primarily the responsibility of the judiciary. Furthermore, as regards the need to balance the conﬂicting needs of protecting national security on the one hand, and human rights on the other, courts have often had recourse to such ﬂexible legal standards as reasonableness and proportionality. The application of these parameters has allowed outcomes that can be adjusted to the speciﬁcities of each particular case, thus avoiding rigid interpretive solutions. In highly sensitive and politically charged contexts balancing techniques and ﬂexible standards are certainly more suitable for providing tailored solutions which do not risk jeopardizing future decisions in diﬀerent contexts and circumstances. Another interesting ﬁnding is that supreme courts, with the notable exception of the US Supreme Court, seem engaged in a transnational judicial dialogue. Frequent cross-references and citations as well as recourse to similar interpretive techniques attest to a common sensitivity. They are also most likely an attempt at mutual legitimisation, particularly in cases in which political pressure is considerable. By referring to other national courts, a given court can draw strength and legitimisation by showing that other courts in other countries adopt analogous or similar solutions. This phenomenon has recently attracted a great deal of scholarly interest. Some commentators believe that this transnational coalition of judicial organs aims to counter the prevailing international political and economic forces.43 While the other branches of government are less prone to resist the inﬂuence of such forces, national judiciaries have coalesced not so much on the basis of internationally shared values but in the attempt to reappropriate the capacity of determining national policies which are increasingly coerced by dominant international forces. Quite apart from the reasons that may have prompted courts to gather and act together, it is undeniable that their cooperation particularly vis-à-vis issues of common concern contributes to the creation of a communal transnational ethos that is likely to have an inﬂuence on the future shaping of national and international counterterrorism policies. Finally, it seems necessary to highlight that national courts have primarily exercised their judicial scrutiny over anti-terror measures primarily against the background of fundamental human rights. The fact that judicial review is often carried out on the basis of constitutional parameters should not be overestimated and can be explained by the fact that such decisions are usually rendered by constitutional courts. Recourse to international legal arguments, however,

43

See Eyal Benvenisti, ‘Reclaiming Democracy: the Strategic Uses of Foreign and International Law by National Courts’, 102 AJIL, 2008, 241–274.

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remains signiﬁcant, particularly if one realizes that most of the time such reference is redundant, as it does not provide the rule of decision in the case. This last ﬁnding is all the more interesting given the diﬀerences among national legal systems. Of particular interest in this context is the notion of ‘judicial ontology’, which Perelman identiﬁes with those institutional, personal and environmental factors that bear on judicial activities. Judicial ontology varies a great deal even within democratic countries.44 The concept can be used also to explain why the US Supreme Court is reluctant to join in the transnational judicial dialogue described above. In fact, the prevailing judicial ontology in the US, particularly as regards the current composition of the Supreme Court, does not favour any opening up to ‘external’ values. The juxtaposition between the ‘nationalist’ and the ‘liberal’ jurisprudential traditions has long characterised the constitutional law debate in the United States. Such opposite approaches, to which also the Supreme Court’s justices subscribe, presuppose a very diﬀerent attitude towards judicial interpretation.45 The current majority of justices little inclined to take international or comparative judicial trends into consideration prevents, at least for the time being, the Supreme Court from joining in the dialogue with other national supreme courts. The very same concept of judicial ontology can also explain the opposite phenomenon of the increasing transnational interplay and coordination between judicial organs. In particular it seems that the protection of fundamental human rights both in its constitutional and international dimensions has emerged as a common trait of some kind of judicial ontology that seems to be steadily consolidating. However premature it may be to foresee the consequences of this process, it is reasonable to say, even at this stage, that it will be increasingly diﬃcult for judicial organs to depart from those legal standards and interpretive techniques that have become part of such ontology. 9. The lessons to be learned from what we have been discussing are numerous. First, law and psychology are not completely alien to each other. Law as a social process practiced and implemented by human beings – let us not forget that the State is a ﬁction even if positivism pretends it to be an immaterial entity capable of having and manifesting its own will – can be strongly aﬀected

44

45

See Chaïm Perelman, ‘Ontologie juridique et sources du droit’, 27 Archives de Philosophie du Droit, 1982, 23–31. Some commentators have framed domestic courts’ terrorism-related case law against the background of Perelman’s concept of judicial ontology: see, for instance, Iain Scobbie, ‘The Last Refuge of the Tyrant? Judicial deference to Executive Actions in Time of ‘Terror’, in: Andrea Bianchi and Alexis Keller, Counterterrorism: Democracy’s Challenge, (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2008), pp. 277–312. For a general framing of the issue see Andrea Bianchi, ‘International Law and US Courts: the Myth of Lohengrin Revisited’, 15 EJIL, 2004, 751–781.

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by the feelings and emotions under which human beings act. This is all the more apparent when action is taken in psychological states of fear and anguish caused by terrorist attacks. The instinctive and highly emotional reaction in the aftermath of 9/11 was channelled into the adoption of emergency measures, having a predominantly repressive nature. Such measures quickly turned out to be detrimental to fundamental human rights and to the institutional balance of democratic regimes. Over time, the necessity of their adoption, the eﬃcacy of their eﬀects in countering terrorism and the opportunity of keeping them in force, have been called into question. A further reﬂection that springs to mind is that fear and anguish, as both individual and collective psychological states, provide ample room for potential manipulation. This phenomenon is far from simple. As already stressed, it is not just States that have taken advantage of the widespread collective climate of anguish and uncertainty to impose repressive policies and to increase consent amongst a population rightly worried of its own security. At some point, civil society turned its anxiety against the State and international organizations increasingly perceived as cynical violators of fundamental rights and liberties. Certainly, this simpliﬁed illustration is far from being an accurate representation of the complexity of the relations and interests underlying counterterrorism laws and policies. However, it is to be hoped that this cursory analysis may facilitate identiﬁcation of the most relevant stakes and provide lawyers – too often constrained in their analysis to narrow contextual technicalities – with a novel looking glass through which to see such complex phenomena. The other salient feature is the relevance of human rights. On the one hand, their respect has become a legal parameter for ascertaining the legitimacy of national and international anti-terror measures. International human rights law has caused a new sensitivity to emerge even at the national level. Respect for human rights is increasingly perceived as a priority, and arguably as a matter of identity, in democratic States. The steady consolidation of the international human rights doctrine after the Second World War represents a major diﬀerence with respect to the situation in which States had previously tackled the issue of how to strike a balance between the security of their citizens and the respect of their fundamental freedoms.46 Human rights are the substratum on which the above-mentioned transnational judicial dialogue could thrive. It is by using conceptual categories borrowed from human rights that domestic courts have been able to eﬀectively guarantee democratic values and to act as counterweight in relation to the

46

See the interesting remarks made by Jack Goldsmith, The Terror Presidency, (London, New York: WW Norton & Company, 2007) passim, as regards the attitude of the judiciary in times of emergency under diﬀerent American Presidencies.

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other branches of government. In other words, human rights have somewhat harmonized judicial ontology at the transnational level. By adopting similar approaches, courts in diﬀerent jurisdictions have legitimized and reinforced one another. More generally, human rights have also provided the basis and common inspiration for civil society to react against national and international anti-terror measures, which, rightly or wrongly, have been perceived more as inspired and shaped by logics of power and control over the conduct of individuals than by genuine security concerns. The language of human rights has once again proved to provide the most eﬀective critique of power. Hannah Arendt maintained that the historical and political events that led in 20th century Europe to the materialization of absolute evil, in the form of totalitarian regimes that brought humanity on the brink of total destruction, could be explained by a general ‘moral collapse’, in which it had become virtually impossible to distinguish between good and evil.47 It is somewhat comforting to realize that nowadays, thanks also to the international human rights doctrine, it would be diﬃcult to imagine that such a total moral collapse may occur again. Ultimately one could say, by paraphrasing President Roosevelt’s famous speech in the midst of the massive economic and ﬁnancial crisis of the 1930s, that what we must fear the most is fear’s legal dimension and its detrimental eﬀects on the organized community.48 Fear cannot be the founding principle of liberal democracies,49 except for short periods of time and under strict judicial control. Indeed, national courts have proved to be more eﬀective than other actors in dealing with and controlling altered collective psychological states. Self-consciously aware of their role as guarantors and counter-weights to power, they have successfully imposed balanced solutions, particularly at a time when governments and parliamentary assemblies seemed prone to give absolute priority to security concerns to the detriment of human rights. In fact, it would be a naivety of sorts to believe that judges themselves are not aﬀected by those collective states of mind that they are meant to govern. As compared to other institutional actors, however, they seem to be in a better position to handle those psychological states. First, judicial intervention generally occurs at a later stage, allowing for more pondered consideration of the eﬀects of legal measures as well as of the contingencies of their adoption. 47 48

49

Hannah Arendt, Responsibility and Judgment, (New York: Schocken Books, 2003). Franklin D. Roosevelt, Inaugural Address, March 4, 1933, as published in Samuel Rosenman (ed.), The Public Papers of Franklin D. Roosevelt, Volume Two: The Year of Crisis, 1933 (New York: Random House, 1938), pp. 11–16. This is also the main thesis of Corey Robin’s, Fear: the History of a Political Idea, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004).

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Furthermore, at least in those States in which the judiciary is an independent power, the courts’ institutional mandate of exercising judicial scrutiny legitimizes their role as guarantors and arbitrators in critical situations. Finally, courts may rely on interpretive techniques and jurisprudential doctrines which present a degree of ﬂexibility and capacity to adjust to speciﬁc circumstances that general commands and control instruments do not possess. The issue is that once such extreme psychological states have dissipated, most legal eﬀects of the measures adopted under their inﬂuence will remain and continue to encroach on those fundamental rights and liberties that are at the very core of liberal democracies. Paradoxically, democracies’ main challenge is to protect their foundational tenets not only from the exogenous threat of international terrorism but also from the creeping endogenous risk represented by the measures taken to counter it and by the institutional imbalances that their implementation may create.

Chapter 10 The Human Rights Council and the Challenges of the United Nations System on Human Rights: Towards a Cultural Revolution? Vincent Chetail*

Among her manifold ﬁelds of interest (including the collective security system, the International Court of Justice and international refugee law), Professor Vera Gowlland-Debbas has made an important contribution to the role played by the political organs of the United Nations in the development of international law.1 Her in-depth analysis of the inﬂuence and limits of UN sanctions has shed a particularly interesting light on the disjuncture between the development of the fundamental values and interests of the international community and the lack of a correlative centralised and institutionalised mechanism to ensure their respect and enforcement.2 Human rights law represents another way to

* Part of the ideas and materials developed in this contribution is based on two previous articles: ‘Le Conseil des droits de l’homme des Nations Unies: l’An I de la réforme’, 26 Refugee Survey Quarterly, 2007, 134–165; ‘Le Conseil des droits de l’homme des Nations Unies: réformer pour ne rien changer ?’, in: V. Chetail (ed.), Conﬂits, sécurité et coopération/Conﬂicts, Security and Cooperation. Liber Amicorum Victor-Yves Ghebali, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2007), pp. 125–167. 1 See in particular: V. Gowlland-Debbas, ‘The Responsibility of the Political Organs of the UN for Palestine in Light of the ICJ’s “Wall” Opinion’, in: Marcelo Kohen (ed.), Promoting Justice, Human Rights and Conﬂict Resolution through International Law. Liber Amicorum Lucius Caﬂisch, (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2007), pp. 1095–1119; id., ‘The Relationship between Political and Judicial Organs of International Organizations: The Role of the Security Council in the New International Criminal Court’, in: L. Boisson de Chazournes (ed.), International Organizations and International Dispute Settlement: Trends and Prospects, (Ardsley, New York: Transnational Publisher, 2002), pp. 195–218; id., ‘The Functions of the United Nations Security Council in the International Legal System’, in: M. Byers (ed.), The Role of Law in International Politics: Essays in International Relations and International Law, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 277–313. 2 Among her numerous publications on this subject, see in particular: Vera Gowlland-Debbas (ed.) National Implementation of United Nations Sanctions: A Comparative Study, (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2004); id. (ed.), United Nations Sanctions and International Law, (The

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approach this dichotomy between norms and institutions in the contemporary international legal system. On the one hand, fundamental rights and freedoms have played a key role in the development of jus cogens norms that protect certain overriding universal values. On the other hand, they reveal the existential dilemma of realizing fundamental values in a heterogeneous world through an essentially decentralized international legal system. One of the most recent and telling illustrations has been given by the creation of the Human Rights Council. The establishment of this new UN body constitutes one of the few tangible results of the vast UN reform programme initiated by the World Summit of September 2005.3 After a period of thorny negotiations, the General Assembly ﬁnally abolished the much criticized Commission on Human Rights and replaced it on 15 March 2006 with the new Human Rights Council.4 Like many observers, Louise Arbour – the former UN High Commissioner for Human Rights – praised what she saw as a “quiet revolution”,5 which constituted “a historic opportunity to improve the protection and promotion of fundamental freedoms of people around the world.”6 The creation of the Human Rights Council “has served to return human rights to their rightful place ﬁrmly at the centre – indeed, at the very foundations – of the United Nations.”7 The

Hague/Boston/London: Kluwer Law International, 2001); id., ‘Judicial Insights into Fundamental Values and Interests of the International Community’, in: A. S. Muller et al. (eds.), The International Court of Justice. Its Future Role after Fifty Years, (The Hague/Boston/London: Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1997), pp. 327–366; id., ‘Security Council Enforcement Action and Issues of State Responsibility’, 43 International and Comparative Law Quarterly, 1994, pp. 55–98; id., Collective Responses to Illegal Acts in International Law: United Nations Action in the Question of Southern Rhodesia, (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1990). 3 For a brief assessment, see: V. Chetail, ‘La réforme de l’ONU: bilan et perspective depuis le Sommet mondial de 2005’, Relations internationales, N° 128, 2006, 79–92. Another concrete result of the World Summit is the creation of the UN Peacebuilding Commission in December 2005 as an intergovernmental advisory body aimed at improving the coordination between all the actors involved in post-conﬂict peacebuilding process. For a presentation of the UN peacebuilding architecture, see: V. Chetail, ‘Introduction: Post-Conﬂict Peacebuilding – Ambiguity and Identity’, in: V. Chetail (ed.), Post-Conﬂict Peacebuilding: A Lexicon, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 1–33. 4 A/RES/60/251 (2006). 5 Statement by High Commissioner for Human Rights to the last meeting of Commission on Human Rights, 27 March 2006, available at: http://www.unog.ch/80256EDD006B9C2E/ (httpNewsByYear_en)/28515508EE56B325C125713E004E3E32?OpenDocument. 6 Statement by High Commissioner for Human Rights, 15 March 2006, available at: http://www .unog.ch/unog/website/news_media.nsf/(httpNewsByYear_en)/B573D6679F0EB3D1C12571 32005FA7DA?OpenDocument. 7 Above mentioned statement of 27 March 2006.

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former UN Secretary-General, who made a signiﬁcant contribution in support of its creation, echoed this sentiment, stating that “a new era in the human rights work of the United Nations has been proclaimed.”8 For Koﬁ Annan, this new era should pave the way for a genuine “change in culture”: “in place of the culture of confrontation and distrust, which pervaded the Commission in its ﬁnal years, we must see a culture of cooperation and commitment”.9 Now that the Human Rights Council has been established and is functioning for three years, it is more important than ever to undertake a preliminary assessment of this unprecedented reform of the UN’s human rights system. Has the cultural revolution ﬁnally taken place? To what extent has the Council broken with the practices of the past? How can the culture of confrontation be replaced by a culture of dialogue? What means have been given to the Council for achieving this goal? The establishment of the Human Rights Council clearly arouses as many expectations as it does questions. Its ambitious promise is to (re)situate human rights at the forefront of the world organisation’s goals and principles, in accordance with Article 1(3) of the UN Charter. To better identify the multiple challenges posed by the creation of the Human Rights Council, the present article will retrace in Part I the diﬃcult and sometimes tortuous path which led to the reform, and in Part II analyse its content and implications for the UN human rights system.

1. The Long March of Reform: From the Commission to the Council The creation of the Human Rights Council is the result of a long and complex process which originated in the turbulent history of the Commission on Human Rights. The Commission became involved almost from its inception in a movement of perpetual reform.10 This dynamic of change led to successive expansions of its composition and its mandate (covered in Section A). Then this

8

9 10

Secretary-General’s address to the Human Rights Council, 19 June 2006, available at: http:// www.un.org/apps/sg/sgstats.asp?nid=2090. Ibid. For an overview on the Human Rights Commission, its mandate and evolution, see: S. Hoare, ‘The UN Commission on Human Rights’, in: E. Luard (ed.), The International Protection of Human Rights, (London: Thames & Hudson, 1967), pp. 59–97; R. Cassin, ‘La Commission des droits de l’homme de l’ONU, 1947–1971’, in: Miscellanea W.J. Ganshof van der Meersch, Vol. 1, (Brussels: Bruylant, 1972), pp. 397–433; J. Humphrey, ‘The United Nations Commission on Human Rights and Its Parent Body’, in: René Cassin Amicorum Disipulorumque Liber, Vol. I, (Paris: Pédone, 1972), pp. 108–113; H. Tolley, The UN Commission on Human Rights, (London, Boulder: Westview, 1987); P. Alston, ‘The Commission on Human Rights’,

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movement accelerated suddenly (see Section B) as a result of ever-more-virulent criticism, which eventually led to the Commission’s demise. A. Autopsy of the Commission on Human Rights The disappearance of the Commission on Human Rights is largely due to its lack of credibility, which itself is attributable to the politicization of the institution and the selectivity of its work. These are now evaluated in terms of both the evolution of its composition (point 1) and of its mandate (point 2). 1) The politicization of the Commission on Human Rights: a weakness inherent to its composition? As explicitly stated in the preamble to Resolution 60/251, the objective of creating the Human Rights Council is “the elimination of double standards and politicization”. This criticism, which has been the focus of so much attention, is nothing new in itself and was in fact voiced throughout the period the Commission on Human Rights was in existence.11 One cannot really be surprised: the Commission was by deﬁnition a political body because of its very intergovernmental composition. This is true of both the Commission on Human Rights in particular and the United Nations in general. Such intergovernmental bodies are nothing more, nothing less, than what their Member States make of them. One should, however, distinguish between the political nature of an organisation and the misuse this characteristic can cause in its functioning. The Commission on Human Rights was no exception. It is also important to recognize that its sphere of activity was particularly susceptible to politicization, as the issue of human rights is regularly the victim of double-speak where both ethical and diplomatic considerations are mixed together.12 Furthermore,

11

12

in: P. Alston (ed.), The United Nations and Human Rights. A Critical Appraisal, Clarendon Press, (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1992), pp. 126–210. See for instance: T. H. Van Boven, ‘United Nations and Human Rights: A Critical Appraisal’, in: A. Cassese (ed.), UN Law/Fundamental Rights: Two Topics in International Law, (Aalphen aan den Rijn: Sijthoﬀ & Noordhoﬀ, 1979), pp. 119–135; G. Smoger, ‘Whither the Commission on Human Rights: A Report of the 35th Session’, 4 Vanderbilt Journal of Transnational Law, 1979, 943–968; J. Donnelly, ‘Recent Trends in UN Human Rights Activity: Description and Polemic’, 35 International Organization, 1981, 633–655; H. Tolley, ‘Decision-making at the United Nations Commission on Human Rights 1979–82’, 5 Human Rights Quarterly, 1983, 27–57; R. Brody & D. Weissbrodt, ‘Major Developments at the 1989 Session of the UN Commission on Human Rights’, 11 Human Rights Quarterly, 1989, 586–611. See on the concept of politization in the ﬁeld of human rights: T. Van Boven, ‘Politisation et droits de l’homme’, in: N. Jéquier (ed.), Les organisations internationales entre l’innovation et la stagnation, (Lausanne: Presses polytechniques romandes, 1985), pp. 125–138; C. Wells, The UN, UNESCO and the Politics of Knowledge, (London: MacMillan Press, 1987), pp. 1–22;

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over and above the plethora of manipulation which may occur, the promotion of human rights is by its very nature a thoroughly political objective, revolving around the relationship between the State and the individual. It thus rejoins the original meaning of the word politics, the etymology of which is from the Greek words politicos, meaning “pertaining to citizens”, and polis, meaning city or State.13 It is precisely because the Commission was an eminently political body that it occupied an original position among the many other human rights bodies, and that its resolutions participated in what is commonly called “the mobilisation of shame”. It was even considered, in its prime, as “the most important intergovernmental organ of the United Nations in the area of human rights.”14 Its intergovernmental composition was a deliberate choice in its establishment by Economic and Social Council Resolution 9 (II) of 21 June 1946. Contrary to the initial proposal that independent experts be nominated to sit on the Commission on Human Rights,15 the ECOSOC opted for a body composed of eighteen Member State representatives elected by the Council for three years on the basis of an equitable geographical representation. In a sort of compromise, it was agreed that the UN Secretary-General would be consulted before the state representatives were nominated by their governments and conﬁrmed by the Council.16 But this consultation procedure proved to be a simple formality without any real weight. Subsequently, the number of state representatives was increased periodically to ensure a better geographical balance, going up from 18 in 1946 to 21 in 1962, to 32 in 1967, 43 in 1980, and remaining at 53 from 1992 until its closure. The only exception to the intergovernmental nature of the Commission concerned its subsidiary body: the Sub-Commission on Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities. It was composed of independent experts whose number was originally ﬁxed at 12 and then increased to 26, also to be selected on the basis of an equitable geographical representation. The Sub-Commission has often been described as a think-tank whose principal role was to do research on human rights issues.17 Moreover, although the 53 Member States were the only participants with the right to vote, the status of observer has been

13 14

15 16 17

M. W. Mutua, ‘The Ideology of Human Rights’, 36 Virginia Journal of International Law, 1995, 589–657. Oxford English Dictionary, Second Edition, 1989. J. A. Pastor Ridruejo, ‘Les procédures spéciales de la Commission des droits de l’homme des Nations Unies’, RCADI, Vol. 228, 1991, pp. 201–202. E/38/Rev. 1 (1946). E/RES/9 (II) (21 June 1946), § 2 (b). A. Eide, ‘The Sub-Commission on Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities’, in: P. Alston (ed.), The United Nations and Human Rights, op. cit., pp. 211–264.

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recognized to all representatives of UN Member States and UN institutions invited to do so by the Secretary-General as well as to those representatives of non-governmental organisations (NGOs) possessing consultative status within ECOSOC. Although all these stakeholders were excluded from the decisionmaking process, the Sub-Commission and the NGOs acted as a crucial stimulus for the Commission, whose functions were constantly expanding. 2) The proliferation of mandates at the Commission on Human Rights and the spectre of stigmatisation The initial mandate entrusted to it by ECOSOC was expressed in general – even vague – terms, which facilitated its progressive expansion. Its mandate was made clearer and broader as time went on, becoming a complex blend of diverse activities. As varied as it was, the Commission’s work focused on two major functions: the elaboration of international standards, in the form of declarations or conventions, and the investigation of human rights violations. Recent criticism has crystallised around the latter function, caricaturing it so much that the Commission’s original mission has often been forgotten. The ﬁrst and principal mission with which the Commission must be credited is the considerable normative work it accomplished during the sixty years it existed. In the course of only two sessions held in 1947 and 1948, it drafted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which was adopted by the General Assembly some six months later, on 10 December 1948. Continuing its pioneering work, the Commission established in 1954 the drafts of two UN Covenants, addressing, respectively, economic, social and cultural rights,18 and civil and political rights,19 which were ﬁnally adopted by the General Assembly in 1966. These two major treaties were subsequently enriched and reinforced by more speciﬁc instruments, such as the Convention against Torture and other Cruel Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment of 10 December 198420 and the Convention on the Rights of the Child of 20 November 1989,21 in the drafting of which the Commission on Human Rights played a key role.22 The intergovernmental composition of the Commission constituted a powerful asset for fulﬁlling its norm-setting function. By involving governmental delegates in 18 19 20 21 22

999 UNTS 3. 999 UNTS 171. 1465 U.N.T.S 85. 1577 UNTS 3. However this has not been always the case for all the human rights treaties adopted under the auspices of the United Nations. For instance, the Commission has even been excluded by the General Assembly from the drafting of the International Convention on the Protection on the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families of 18 December 1990, 2220 UNTS 93.

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the drafting of future treaties, it was able to duly take into account their views and positions, which naturally facilitated the adoption and the later ratiﬁcation of these treaties. However, the intergovernmental nature of the Commission on Human Rights proved to be a weakness with regard to its second main function – the examination of alleged human rights violations.23 As early as its ﬁrst session in 1947, the Commission illustrated its cautious attitude towards such a sphere of activity. While an ever-growing number of complaints alleging human rights violations were ﬂowing in, the Commission stated that it had “no power to take any action in regard to any complaints concerning human rights.”24 Although criticised by many observers, this “abdication”25 was conﬁrmed by ECOSOC in its Resolution 75 (V) of 5 August 1947. It elaborated in 1959 a summary procedure for receiving complaints, which however did not guarantee any serious follow-up.26 This purely bureaucratic approach to addressing human rights violations obviously did nothing to meet the goals, set out by the United Nations Charter, of promoting and encouraging “universal respect for, and observance of, human rights and fundamental freedoms for all”. The so-called “no-power” doctrine was ﬁnally abandoned twenty years later in 1967, as a result of the recent enlargement of the Commission’ composition. Indeed the newly independent countries, being particularly concerned by the human rights violations committed in South Africa, brought fresh and decisive energy to the Commission on Human Rights. In response to its request, the ECOSOC’s noted Resolution 1235 (XLII) of 6 June 1967 conﬁrmed “the decision of the Commission on Human Rights to give annual consideration to 23

24 25

26

In addition on the above-mentioned references see on this mission: T. Van Boven, ‘The United Nations Commission on Human Rights and Violations of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms’, 15 Netherlands International Law Review, 1968, 374–393; M. Schreiber, ‘La pratique récente des Nations Unies dans le domaine de la protection des droits de l’homme’, RCADI, Vol. 145, 1975, pp. 297–398; J.-B. Marie, ‘La pratique de la Commission des droits de l’homme de l’ONU en matière de violation des droits de l’homme’, 15 Revue belge de droit international, 1980, 355–380; L. B. Sohn, ‘Human Rights: Their Implementation and Supervision by the United Nations’, in: T. Meron (ed.), Human Rights in International Law: Legal and Policy Issues, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), pp. 369–401; A. P. Vijapur, ‘The UN Mechanisms and Procedures for the Promotion and Implementation of Human Rights’, 25 Indian Journal of International Law, 1985, 576–611; A. Dormenval, Procédures onusiennes de mise en œuvre des droits de l’homme : limites ou défauts ?, (Paris: PUF, 1991); F. Z. Ksentini, Les procédures onusiennes de protection des droits de l’homme. Recours et détours, (Paris: Publisud, 1994). Report of the Commission on Human Rights, 1st session, E/259 (1947), chap. V, para. 22. H. Lauterpacht, International Law and Human Rights, (London: Stevens, 1950), p. 247. See also: R. Cassin, ‘La Déclaration universelle et la mise en œuvre des droits de l’homme’, RCADI, Vol. 79, 1951, pp. 263–266. ECOSOC Resolution 728 F (XXVIII) (1959).

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the item ‘Question of violation of human rights’ ” (para. 1). This new function played a critical role in the work of the Commission, rapidly becoming the focus of all attention. Thanks to the active participation of NGOs, the Commission thus served as an important forum for victims of human rights violations throughout the world. In addition to this essentially deliberative function, Resolution 1235 also “decides that the Commission on Human Rights may, in appropriate cases, and after careful consideration of the information thus made available to it . . . make a thorough study of situations which reveal a consistent pattern of violations of human rights” (para. 3). However it was not until May 1970 that the ECOSOC Resolution 1503 (XLVIII) established a procedure to screen and examine individual communications that “appear to reveal a consistent pattern of gross and reliably attested violations of human rights” (para. 1).27 In 1974, the Commission was ﬁnally called upon for the ﬁrst time by its Sub-Commission in charge of verifying the admissibility of such complaints. This long and complicated procedure has two key characteristics – often criticised – related, ﬁrst, to its conﬁdential nature and, second, to the priority it gives to cooperation with the implicated State. Nevertheless, at the end of the procedure, the Commission could decide to address recommendations to the ECOSOC. Furthermore, since 1978, the Chair of the Commission has published the list of those states whose situation was under investigation. Through this procedure and until 2005, between 5,000 and 220,000 communications were processed each year concerning a total of 84 diﬀerent countries.28 In parallel with the complaint procedure, the Commission developed country-speciﬁc procedures for examining, within the framework of public debate,

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For an overview of this procedure, see in particular: D. Ruzié, ‘Du droit de pétition individuelle en matière de droits de l’homme. A propos de la résolution 1503 (XLVIII) du Conseil économique et social des Nations Unies’, 4 Revue des Droits de l’Homme, 1971, 89–101; F. Ermacora, ‘Procedure to Deal with Human Rights Violations: a Hopeful Start in the United Nations?’, 7 Human Rights Journal, 1974, 670–689; M. E. Tardu, ‘United Nations Response to Gross Violations of Human Rights: The 1503 Procedure’, 20 Santa Clara Law Review, 1980, 559–601; H. Tolley, ‘The Concealed Crack in the Citadel: The UN Commission on Human Rights’ Response to Conﬁdential Communications’, 6 Human Rights Quarterly, 1984, 448–449; M. F. Ize-Charrin, ‘1503: A Serious Procedure’, in: G. Alfredsson et al. (eds.), International Human Rights Monitoring Mechanisms. Essays in Honour of Jakob Th. Möller, (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2001), pp. 293–310. M. Abraham, A New Chapter for Human Rights : A Handbook on Issues of Transition from the Commission on Human Rights to the Human Rights Council, op. cit., p. 63; World Federation of United Nations Associations (WFUNA), Report of the Seminar on the Commission on Human Rights, (July 2004), p. 19, available at: http://www.wfuna.org/atf/cf/%7B84F00800-D85E4952-9E61-D991E657A458%7D/WFUNA_HRC_report1.pdf.

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the overall state of human rights violations in a given country.29 This supplementary process made it possible, as authorised by Resolution 1235, to designate an investigative body – in the form of a special rapporteur or a group of independent experts – mandated to report on the said violations. The ﬁrst special procedure involved South Africa (1967) and was then applied to the Palestinian territories occupied by Israel (1967) and Chile (1974), before being more extensively employed in the 1980s. In addition to this country-oriented approach, a thematic procedure was created for the purpose of focusing on a speciﬁc aspect of human rights without geographical restrictions.30 This new extension of the Commission’s sphere of activity ﬁrst appeared in 1980 with the creation of a Working Group on forced disappearances. The reasons for this innovation are far from trivial, as the thematic Working Group was instituted following intense diplomatic manoeuvring by Argentina, which had thus managed to avoid the establishment of any country-speciﬁc procedure which would directly concern it.31 From then on, the thematic approach proved all the more appealing given that it had the inherent advantage of avoiding stigmatisation of any state in particular. By seeking to address all violations regardless of who was responsible, the thematic mechanism could not be accused of the selectivity which characterised, by deﬁnition, the country-speciﬁc procedure. The use of special procedures – both country and thematic mandates –, largely improvised according to circumstances and political ﬂuctuations, ﬁnally established itself as the UN’s preferred method of intervention in the area of human rights violations. In June 2006, when the Commission was replaced

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See on the country-speciﬁc procedure: M. J. Bossuyt, ‘The Development of Special Procedures of the United Nations Commission on Human Rights’, 6 Human Rights Law Journal, 1985, 179–210; M. Nowak, ‘Country-Oriented Human Rights Protection by the UN Commission on Human Rights and Its Sub-Commission’, 22 Netherlands Yearbook of International Law, 1991, 39–90; I. Nifosi, The UN Special Procedures in the Field of Human Rights, (Oxford: Intersentia, 2005). See notably on the thematic procedure: D. Weissbrodt, ‘The Three Theme Special Rapporteurs of the UN Commission on Human Rights’, 80 AJIL, 1986, 685–699; M. T. Kamminga, ‘The Thematic Procedures of the UN Commission on Human Rights’, 34 Netherlands International Law Review, 1987, 299–323; H. M. Cook, ‘International Human Rights Mechanisms. The Role of the Special Procedures in the Protection of Human Rights. The Way Forward After Vienna’, International Commission of Jurists Review, No. 50, 1993, 31–55; J. Gutter, Thematic Procedures of the United Nations Commission on Human Rights and International Law: In Search of a Sense of Community, (Antwerp: Intersentia, 2006). D. Kramer & D. Weissbrodt, ‘The 1980 UN Commission on Human Rights and the Disappeared’, 3 Human Rights Quarterly, 1981, 18; I. Guest, Behind the Disappearances. Argentina’s Dirty War Against Human Rights and the United Nations, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990), pp. 190–201.

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by the Human Rights Council, a total of 28 thematic mandates were in place, covering a broad range of civil, political, economic and social rights, as well as 13 country mandates.32 Thus, over a sixty-year life-span, the Commission was able to establish ex nihilo a complex set of competencies which, far from monolithic, were fundamentally empirical in nature and evolving constantly. But the proliferation of its mandates, coupled with the growing number of repetitive and often unequal resolutions, inevitably begged the question of the coherence of such ad hoc construction. B. The Beginning of the End: The Path to Certain Death The ﬁrst symptoms of malaise were identiﬁed as of 1993, and the palliative measures taken did not really stabilise the situation (point 1 below), with the result that everyone involved ended up hoping for the collapse of the Commission on Human Rights (see point 2). 1) Preliminary diagnoses and the failure of palliative measures The idea of better rationalising the diﬀerent mechanisms established by the Commission on Human Rights ﬁrst came into full view in 1993 at the World Conference on Human Rights.33 The Working Group entrusted with follow-up of the Vienna Declaration and its Programme of Action drew up, soon after, a whole series of proposals intended to harmonise special procedures.34 Although

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The thematic mandates have been related to: enforced disappearances (established in 1980), extrajudicial summary or arbitrary executions (1982), torture (1985), freedom of religion (1986), sale of children, child prostitution and child pornography (1990), arbitrary detention (1991), freedom of opinion and expression (1993), contemporary forms of racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia and related intolerance (1993), independence of judges and lawyers (1994), violence against women (1994), illicit movement and dumping of toxic and dangerous products and wastes (1995), right to education (1998), human rights and extreme poverty (1998), migrants (1999), right to food (2000), adequate housing (2000), human rights defenders (2000), structural adjustment policies and foreign debt (2000), indigenous people (2001), problems of racial discrimination faced by people of African descent (2002), right to health (2002), internally displaced persons (2004), traﬃcking in persons (2004), mercenaries (2005), minority (2005), international solidarity (2005), human rights while countering terrorism (2005), and transnational corporations and other business enterprises (2005). Country mandates focused on the following countries: Myanmar (established in 1992), Cambodia (1993), Palestinian territories occupied since 1967 (1993), Somalia (1993), Haiti (1995), Cuba (2002), Liberia (2003), Belarus (2004), Burundi (2004), Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (2004), Democratic Republic of the Congo (2004), Sudan (2005) and Uzbekistan (2005). A/CONF.157/24 (25 June 1993), Section II.A, para. 95. For a comment on these proposals, see: M. Schmidt, ‘What Happened to the “Spirit of Vienna”?: The Follow-Up to the Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action and the Man-

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the Group’s immediate results were inconclusive, this initiative gave momentum to the idea of reform of the Commission on Human Rights, which would ultimately result in its demise. Even so, it was the Commission itself that took up the issue at the time of the ﬁftieth anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The Bureau of the ﬁfty-fourth session was mandated to review the eﬀectiveness and coherence of all the mechanisms and bodies reporting to the Commission. The Bureau’s report, submitted in December 1998 after numerous consultations, praised the empirical method that had marked the progressive expansion of the Commission’s functions, while also highlighting the risks inherent to the size and the complexity of a system elaborated on an ad hoc basis.35 The diﬀerent measures proposed to reinforce and better co-ordinate existing mechanisms were constructed around a central aim, but one which does little to mask the deep divisions within the Commission itself. According to the Bureau: All of these conclusions are inspired by a simple guiding purpose: to enhance the capacity of the United Nations to promote and protect internationally recognized human rights and contribute to the prevention of their violation. This purpose can and should be approached in dispassionate, technical terms, by organizing and managing the Commission’s mechanisms on the basis of the highest standards of objectivity and professionalism, as free as possible of extraneous political inﬂuences; but it also requires political will, for the eﬀectiveness of Commission mechanisms ultimately rests on the responsibility of all governments to cooperate fully with them.36

There is no better way to describe the chronic schizophrenia aﬄicting the Commission on Human Rights. Such schizophrenia was indeed a genetic predisposition, inherent in the interstate nature of its membership. Indeed, it was the Member States’ split personalities that ultimately led to institutional suicide by the very same members of the institution. While all agreed to condemn the politicization of its functioning, the remedies proposed to combat it diﬀered considerably, as each had his own distinct idea about what made up this much criticised politicization. The term “politicization” became a convenient anathema used by states to criticise others while hiding more or less eﬀectively their own ulterior motives. The late UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Sergio Viera de Mello clearly identiﬁed the hypocrisy of such a rhetorical posture, arguing that: “For some to accuse

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date of the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights’, 64 Nordic Journal of International Law, 1995, 600–605. Report of the Bureau of the ﬁfty-fourth session of the Commission on Human Rights submitted pursuant to Commission decision 1998/112. Rationalization of the work of the Commission, E/ CN.4/1999/104 (23 December 1998), para. 10, p. 11. Ibid., p. 3.

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others of being political is a bit like ﬁsh criticizing one another for being wet. It has become a way to express disapproval without really saying what is on our mind.”37 For some states, the term politicization described a post-colonial stigmatisation that targeted the countries of the South, while for others it referred to the manipulation employed by those countries guilty of human rights violations to get themselves elected to the Commission and thus avoid criticism. The Report of the Bureau of the Commission concluded in the same line of reasoning that: Depoliticizing country proceedings could be achieved through a reduction in the tendency of governments to perceive and to portray diﬃcult human rights issues through the prism of bilateral, regional or other bloc interests or as matters of ‘north-south’ conﬂict. Furthermore, mutual conﬁdence could be further enhanced if all states were to engage constructively and cooperatively in deliberations that relate to the promotion and protection of international human rights standards within their own countries.38

However, the various solutions proposed by the Bureau were very coldly received by the Asian Group and the Like-Minded Group.39 As the Commission was unable to reach an agreement on this report, it was decided – as is often the case in such circumstances – to set up a Working Group on Enhancing the Eﬀectiveness of the Mechanisms of the Commission on Human Rights.40 The report it drafted proved less forceful than the one prepared by the Bureau.41 The few speciﬁc measures adopted as a result in 2000 even aggravated the symptoms without seeking to address the causes of the problem. Under the pretext that it

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United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Commission’s Structures Are Sound, Problems Can Be Surmounted, High Commissioner Says As Main Human Rights Body Ends Session (25 April 2003), available at: http://www.unhchr.ch/huricane/huricane.nsf/0/ 997CB87D98CAB294C1256D16002B1276?opendocument Report of the Bureau of the ﬁfty-fourth session of the Commission on Human Rights submitted pursuant to Commission decision 1998/112, op. cit., p. 15. Rationalization of the work of the Commission. Letter dated 26 February 1999 from the delegations of Algeria, Bhutan, China, Cuba, Egypt, India, Iran (Islamic Republic of ), Malaysia, Myanmar, Nepal, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Sudan and Viet Nam addressed to the secretariat of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/1999/120 (9 March 1999); Letter dated 9 March 1999 from the Permanent Mission of the Republic of Korea to the United Nations Office at Geneva, acting as Coordinator of the Asian Group, addressed to the secretariat of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/1999/124 (19 March 1999). Commission on Human Rights, Report on the Fifty-ﬁfth session, E/1999/23-E/CN.4/1999/167 (22 March-30 April 1999), para. 552. Few cosmetic recommendations were nevertheless adopted. Among them, the Sub-Commission on Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities is re-baptised the “Sub-Commission on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights”. Report of the inter-sessional open-ended Working Group on Enhancing the Eﬀectiveness of the Mechanisms of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/2000/112 (16 February 2000).

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would be sped up, conﬁdential procedure 1503 was further politicized by the decision to eliminate the intervention of the Sub-Commission in its plenary capacity.42 That Sub-Commission, which had the intrinsic merit of being independent, was also prohibited from adopting country-speciﬁc resolutions, and its annual session was reduced from four weeks to three.43 2) The assisted suicide of the Commission on Human Rights: a case of collective euthanasia What started as a debate centred on a reform originally considered technical in nature progressively shifted to focus on the composition of the Commission and even its very existence. The issue of reforming the Commission took a radical turn due to a peculiar combination of circumstances, which brought together all of the protagonists – Member States, the UN, and NGOs – within the same movement.44 In fact, all the actors involved ended up wishing the Commission would disappear, but each one had very distinct reasons for doing so. The trigger came from the United States of America. In May 2001, they were not re-elected to the Commission, even though other countries considered less qualiﬁed, such as China, Cuba, and Sudan, retained their seats. This “outrage” – to quote Condoleezza Rice45 – was like an electric shock for a country that had sat on the Commission without interruption since its creation in 1947. Even if the USA was only absent for one year, they campaigned from then on for a comprehensive reform which advocated limiting membership to

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45

Commission on Human Rights Decision 2000/109, Enhancing the eﬀectiveness of the mechanism of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/DEC/2000/109 (27 April 2000), Annex, para. 55. Ibid., paras. 52 & 56. For a particularly highlighting overview of this process, see: P. Alston, ‘Reconceiving the UN Human Rights Regime: Challenges Confronting the New UN Human Rights Council’, 7 Melbourne Journal of International Law, 2006, pp. 185–224. See also: C. Callejon, Réforme de la Commission des droits de l’homme des Nations Unies. De la Commission au Conseil, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2008); P. Gorden Laure, ‘“To Preserve and Build on its Achievements and to Redress its Shortcomings”: The Journey from the Commission on Human Rights to the Human Rights Council’, 29 Human Rights Quarterly, 2007, 307–345; F. Hampson, ‘An Overview of the Reform of the UN Human Rights Machinery’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 7–27; N. Schrijver, ‘The UN Human Rights Council: A New “Society of the Committed” or Just Old Wine in New Bottles?’, 20 Leiden Journal of International Law, 2007, 809–823; E. Decaux, (ed.), Les Nations Unies et les droits de l’homme. Enjeux et déﬁs d’une réforme, (Paris: Pedone, 2006). M. Warner, ‘Backlash’, Online NewsHour (9 May 2001), available at: http://www.pbs.org/ newshour/bb/international/jan-june01/un_5–9.html.

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“real democracies”46 only. The election of Libya as Chair of the Commission in January 200347 must have reinforced American convictions, all the more so as it provoked acute reactions in the Western media, which were also widely disseminated by NGOs.48 For the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, it was important to reiterate at that time that: Membership of the Commission on Human Rights must carry responsibilities. I therefore wonder whether the time has not come for the Commission itself to develop a code of guidelines for access to membership of the Commission and a code of conduct for members while they serve on the Commission. After all, the Commission on Human Rights has a duty to humanity and the members of the Commission must themselves set the example of adherence to the international human rights norms – in practice as well as in law.49

The very next year, in May 2004, the fact that Sudan was re-elected to the Commission in the midst of the Darfur conﬂict constituted a powerful counterexample which once again undermined the credibility of an institution that was being openly challenged. The countries of the South for their part criticised the selectivity of the Commission and the way it stigmatised them.50 It is important

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Statement by Ambassador Richard S. Williamson, Item 4: Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights and follow-up to the World Conference on Human Rights, March 19, 2004, available at: http://www.humanrights-usa.net/statements/0319Williamson. htm See also on this issue: American Interests and UN Reform. Report of the Task Force on the United Nations, United States Institute of Peace, Washington, 2005, p. 27 and pp. 33–35. UN Press Release HR/CN/991, 20 January 2003. See for instance: Human Rights Watch, “UN Rights Body in Serious Decline”, Press Release 25 April 2003, available at: http://www.hrw.org/en/news/2003/04/25/un-rights-body-seriousdecline; Amnesty International, “UN Commission on Human Rights Fails Once Again to Protect Victims of Human Rights Violations”, Press Release 25 April 2003, IOR 41/014/2003, available at: http://www.amnesty.ca/resource_centre/news/view.php?load=arcview&article=58 4&c=Resource+Centre+News; J.-C. Buhrer, “UN Commission on Human Rights Loses All Credibility. Wheeling and dealing, incompetence and ‘non-action’ ”, Reporters Without Borders, July 2003, available at: http://www.rsf.org/IMG/pdf/Report_ONU_gb.pdf. Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, E/CN.4/2003/14 (26 February 2003), para. 5, p. 5. For instance, Cuba emphatically stated that: “[T]he functioning of the bodies and mechanisms of the United Nations system for the promotion and protection of human rights has, regrettably, been diverted from the ideal of international cooperation in this regard, and distorted by the intolerance and the punitive approaches that a group of developed nations is attempting to apply, precipitating an unstoppable and damaging spiral of confrontation. The Commission on Human Rights and other intergovernmental human rights bodies have become the hostages of the authoritarian practices of a group of countries of the industrialized North bent on imposing their points of view and their models on the rest of the developing countries, which is to say, the immense majority of mankind. Their only interests, masquerading as human rights concerns, are, of course, geopolitical . . . For more than a decade now all the resolutions adopted by the Commission on Human Rights and the Third Committee of the General Assembly on

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to recognise, also, that the so-called “war against terror” did nothing to reassure them. After the US armed intervention in Afghanistan and in Iraq without any UN mandate, numerous Muslim countries feared that a Human Rights Council of limited membership might be used to approve subsequent American invasions in search of a new legitimacy.51 Therefore the countries of the South had no intention of losing ground on the now key issue of Commission reform. Indeed, it was a proposal by Cuba which brought a review of working methods back to the agenda, where it remained until the end.52

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country situations of mass and ﬂagrant violations of human rights have exclusively targeted countries of the South and have been submitted in their immense majority by countries of the North, former colonial countries or new imperialist powers, which continue to endeavour to perpetuate, conserve and create new and more sophisticated machinery of domination over their traditional areas of inﬂuence or impose new areas of domination. In the more than 50 years of its existence, the Commission on Human Rights has never been able to adopt a resolution condemning human rights violations in industrialized Western countries.” A/58/185/ Add.2 (4 November 2003), pp. 2–3. For example, Libya underlined among other recommendations for strengthening the UN action in the ﬁeld of human rights that: “[t]he threat of military intervention should not be used nor should there be interference in the internal aﬀairs of States under the pretext of protecting human rights in any State.” Strengthening United Nations action in the ﬁeld of human rights through the promotion of international cooperation and the importance of non-selectivity, impartiality and objectivity. Report of the Secretary-General, A/58/185 (23 July 2003), p. 3. The Organization of the Islamic Conference also “emphasized that the proposed new human rights body should not be linked to the Security Council and should not resort to punitive or coercive measures or sanctions”: Summary of the open-ended informal consultations held by the Commission on Human Rights pursuant to Economic and Social Council decision 2005/217, A/59/847–E/2005/73 (21 June 2005), p. 16, para. 68. Human Rights Commission Resolution 2002/91, Enhancement of the eﬀectiveness of the working methods of the Commission, E/CN.4/RES/2002/91 (23 April 2002). See on this new wave of reform: Enhancement of the working methods of the Commission: Reform of the working methods of the Commission on Human Rights with a view to strengthening the promotion and protection roles of the Commission: report containing a set of recommendations addressed by the Expanded Bureau of the ﬁfty-eighth session to the Expanded Bureau of the ﬁfty-ninth session of the Commission on Human Rights, submitted pursuant to Commission decision 2002/115 – Note by the secretariat, E/CN.4/2003/118 and Corr.1 (14 February 2003); Human Rights Commission Decision 2003/101, Enhancement of the working methods of the Commission, E/CN.4/DEC/2003/101 (14 April 2003); Organization of the work of the session – Rationalization of the Work of the Commission – Compilation of views received by the Expanded Bureau in response to Commission decision 2003/116 – Note by the Secretariat, E/CN.4/2004/109 (12 January 2004); Organization of the work of the session – Rationalization of the Work of the Commission – Improvement of the organization of the Commission – Note by the Secretariat, E/CN.4/2004/110/Rev.1 (11 March 2004). For a comment see: M. Leminen, Challenges Facing the System of Special Procedure of the United Nations Commission on Human Rights, (Institute for Human Rights, Abo Akademi University, 2001), pp. 248–284; A. J. Almeida, Backgrounder on the Reform of the United Nations Commission on Human Rights, Rights & Democracy, International Centre for Human Rights and Democratic Development, 2005, pp. 20–22.

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As the situation was getting worse, Switzerland – host country of the Commission – decided to campaign for a new Council which would be able to reconcile the diverging opinions of the States implicated in the inevitable process of reform. A member of the UN since only 2002, Switzerland hoped to reclaim in this way its traditional role of neutral oﬃciator while simultaneously placing the promotion of human rights at the centre of its foreign policy in accordance with the impetus provided by Micheline Calmy-Rey, Head of the Federal Department of Foreign Aﬀairs. However, even if the creation of the Human Rights Council is sometimes hailed as “one of Switzerland’s greatest accomplishments in the area of foreign policy”,53 it certainly would not have been possible without the decisive intervention of the UN Secretary-General, who placed the broader issue of the UN reform at the forefront of his two successive mandates. Instituted by Koﬁ Annan in 2003, the High-level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change made a scathing assessment of the Commission in its report of December 2004: In recent years, the Commission’s capacity to perform these tasks has been undermined by eroding credibility and professionalism. Standard-setting to reinforce human rights cannot be performed by States that lack a demonstrated commitment to their promotion and protection. We are concerned that in recent years States have sought membership of the Commission not to strengthen human rights but to protect themselves against criticism or to criticize others. The Commission cannot be credible if it is seen to be maintaining double standards in addressing human rights concerns. Reform of this body is therefore necessary to make the human rights system perform eﬀectively and ensure that it better fulﬁls its mandate and functions.54

To this end, the High-level Panel recommended transforming the Commission into a Council with the same rank as the Security Council and the Economic and Social Council.55 The Secretary-General backed this proposal, taking it up again in March 2005 in his well-known report In larger freedom: towards development, security and human rights for all. He explained that: The upgrading of the Commission on Human Rights into a full-ﬂedged Council would raise human rights to the priority accorded to it in the Charter of the United Nations. Such a structure would oﬀer architectural and conceptual clarity,

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La paix et les droits de l’homme dans la politique extérieure de la Suisse, Rapport 2005 sur les activités de gestion civile des conﬂits et de promotion des droits de l’homme, p. 16. A More Secure World: Our Shared Responsibility. Report of the High-level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change, A/59/565 (2 December 2004), paras. 283–284, p. 74. Ibid., para. 292, p. 82.

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since the United Nations already has Councils that deal with two other main purposes – security and development.56

Contrary to what it is frequently written, the idea of creating a Human Rights Council is not new in itself. It was proposed in doctrine as early as 1975 by Jean-Marie Bertrand in his impressive monograph dedicated to the Commission on Human Rights. In a way that seems to have been echoed word-for-word by the Secretary-General three decades later, Jean-Marie Bertrand explained at this time that: The Commission appears to have reached a point in its development where a global review of its priorities and methods is necessary. The Commission clearly needs to be infused with new energy so that it can respond to future needs in the area of human rights. All things considered, it seems that a reform of its structures would allow the Commission to increase its eﬀectiveness. [. . .] One could also consider that the issue of human rights should be addressed by a specialised body ranked among the principal organs of the United Nations. [. . .] It would seem better suited to the logic of [UN] evolution that the issue of human rights be entrusted to a ‘Human Rights Council’.57

Thirty years later, the UN and its Member States ﬁnally came to the same conclusion. Koﬁ Annan’s proposal to establish a Human Rights Council was praised by NGOs,58 and it was endorsed by Member States during the World Summit of September 2005. The ﬁnal document of the Summit, however, left the General Assembly with the delicate responsibility of negotiating the form and the content of this new institution with a view “to further strengthen[ing] the United Nations human rights machinery.”59 After ﬁve months of heated negotiations and despite the opposition of the USA, which saw its initial project disappear, the General Assembly ﬁnally approved the creation of the Council in its Resolution 60/251 of 15 March 2006.60 The general framework set out by the Assembly was, however, intended to be supplemented and speciﬁed in greater detail by a series of implementation measures adopted by the Council

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Report of the Secretary-General. Addendum Human Rights Council, A/59/2005/Add.1 (23 May 2005), para. 1, p. 1. J.-M. Bertrand, La Commission des droits de l’homme de l’ONU, Paris, Pédone, 1975, p. 320 (translation by the author of the present article). See for instance: 2005 UN Commission on Human Rights: Joint statement on UN Reform, Amnesty International, AI Index: IOR 41/034/2005, 12 April 2005; Reforming the Human Rights System: A Chance for the United Nations to Fulﬁl its Promise, International Commission of Jurists, June 2005; Human Rights Watch, U.N. Summit: Pushing Forward on Human Rights Reform, Press Release, September 2005. 2005 World Summit Outcome, A/60/L.1 (20 September 2005), para. 157. General Assembly Resolution 60/251 was adopted by a vote of 170 in favour, 4 against (Israel, Marshall Islands, Palau and United States) with 3 abstentions (Belarus, Iran and Venezuela).

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itself within a maximum of one year following its ﬁrst session, which was held on 19 June 2006. This second step in the reform process gave rise to long and laborious negotiations, so much so that this stage was not ﬁnalised until the last day of the time limit set by the General Assembly. On 18 June 2007, after a last-minute compromise, the Council ﬁnally adopted its Resolution 5/1 untitled “Institution-building of the United Nations Human Rights Council”.

2. A Great Leap Forward: The Human Rights Council and the Challenges of Change Despite the diﬃculties inherent to such a sweeping reform, the step-by-step process that involved both the General Assembly and the Human Rights Council ultimately took less time than the various initiatives launched within the Commission over the previous decades. As a result of this unprecedented overhaul, the normative framework of the Human Rights Council relies on two founding texts. The ﬁrst is what might be termed a constitutive charter, represented by General Assembly Resolution 60/251 and which identiﬁes the composition and mandate of the new institution. The second is a kind of procedural code found in Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, which was intended to set out in detail the functioning and the missions of the Council. Substantively, though, the risk of politicization had not been avoided, given the composition and mode of functioning of the new Council (described in Section A). This is the case, even though, under its mandate, dialogue was supposed to be favoured over confrontation (see Section B), thereby paving the way for that long-awaited ‘cultural revolution’. A. The Composition and Functioning of the Human Rights Council: Just a Name Change? In contrast with the late Commission, the new Council is a subsidiary organ of the General Assembly. This deﬁning characteristic, much more than a technical detail, is intended to reinforce its authority and institutional legitimacy within the UN family.61 Apart from this distinction, the break with the Commission

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Paragraph 1 of Resolution 60/251 adds that the General Assembly shall review its status within ﬁve years (i.e. in 2010). This could be – in theory at least – the opportunity to amend Article 7 of the UN Charter for elevating the Human Rights Council to the status of a principal organ of the UN, as it was initially proposed by the High-level Panel in 2004. Such amendment to the Charter would, however, be a quite long process, as it would enter into force upon ratiﬁcation by two-thirds of Member States including the permanent members of the Security Council (Article 118 of the UN Charter).

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is, however, only a relative one. The composition of the Council is slightly more restricted (see point 1), the rules of its functioning have been amended (point 2) and its subsidiary body – re-baptised the Advisory Committee – is placed under close supervision (point 3). 1) Composition and conditions of eligibility for Member States: the same old bitterness in a diﬀerent form The membership of the new Council was at the heart of all debate and proposals were as numerous as they were divergent. The USA’s initial idea to limit membership to “real democracies” only received mixed reviews, just as the criteria proposed to evaluate such democracies were so general that evaluations would be highly subjective (free and regular elections, independence of the judiciary and the media, a multi-party system, governmental transparency, rule of law, and constitutional guarantees).62 Some NGOs endeavoured to propose more precise criteria. Human Rights Watch suggested four cumulative conditions: ratiﬁcation of the principal UN treaties on human rights; timely submissions of periodic reports to the treaty-bodies; a State’s willingness to cooperate with the special procedures (including a standing invitation to all thematic special procedures); and fourth, States recently condemned by the Commission for serious or systematic abuses could not be considered for membership.63 Nevertheless, no matter which selection criteria were chosen, the simple fact of posing conditions for Council membership ran the risk of further politicising elections, just as they had been the key cause of the late Commission’s woes. Indeed, the African Group was driven to express its opposition to a limited, excessively elitist membership: The current attempts by some dominant groups and States supported by certain non-governmental organizations to turn the Commission on Human Rights into a private club of purists cannot be supported by the African Group. This approach undermines the fundamental principle of international law regarding the sovereign equality of States and, more importantly, is devoid of the current realities of the international political and economic systems. All the factors considered, the African Group believes that it is impossible to develop criteria for membership of

62

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See: Statement by Ambassador Richard S. Williamson, Item 4: Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights and follow-up to the World Conference on Human Rights, op. cit. Human Rights Watch, Commission on Human Rights Reform, February 2003, available at: http://www.hrw.org/en/news/2003/02/14/brieﬁng-59th-session-un-commission-human-rights See also on this particularly sensitive issue: P. Alston, ‘Richard Lillich Memorial Lecture: Promoting the Accountability of Members of the new UN Human Rights Council’, 15 Journal of Transnational Law and Policy, 2005, 49–96.

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Hoping to dispel the antagonism, Switzerland submitted a study by Professor Walter Kälin to the UN Secretary-General. It proposed three diﬀerent models, based upon already existing permanent UN bodies: the ﬁrst with restricted membership, like the Trusteeship Council; the second, medium-sized, similar to the Economic and Social Council; and the third, with universal membership in the same way as the General Assembly.65 The High-level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change opted for the latter, recommending that membership be extended to all UN member States.66 This option was probably the most suitable in that it would reinforce the Council’s legitimacy and avoid the politicization inherent in any selection of member States based on their supposedly greater virtue.67 However, contrary to expectations and without any explanation, the Secretary-General proposed the opposite, backing a model in line with the preferences of the US. He proposed indeed to “replace the Commission on Human Rights with a smaller standing Human Rights Council”68 which, according to him, “allows more focused discussion and debate.”69 The General Assembly ﬁnally decided, as a compromise, that the Council is composed of slightly fewer states than the old Commission. According to paragraph 7 of Resolution 60/251, the Council consists of “forty-seven Member States, which shall be elected directly and individually by secret ballot by the majority of the Members of the General Assembly.” This voting procedure – which requires a minimum of 97 individual votes out of 192 – starkly contrasts from those of the previous Commission characterized by an open ballot requiring only 28 votes out of the 54 members of the ECOSOC or at least a majority of members present and voting (which can be even lower than 28 votes). Accordingly, the current procedure represents a much higher threshold to be elected and thus ensures a better legitimacy of its members.70 Moreover, the 64

65 66 67

68 69 70

Rationalization of the work of the Commission. Compilation of views received by the Expanded Bureau in response to Commission decision 2003/116, E/CN.4/2004/109 (12 January 2004), p. 3, para. 3. W. Kälin, Towards a UN Human Rights Council: Options and Perspectives, August 2004, p. 3. A More Secure World: Our Shared Responsibility, op. cit., p. 81, para. 285. For a contrary opinion see G. L. Burci, ‘The United Nations Human Rights Council’, XV Italian Yearbook of International Law, 2005, 27. In larger freedom: towards development, security and human rights for all, op. cit., p. 53, § 183. Report of the Secretary-General. Addendum Human Rights Council, op. cit., p. 6, § 13. Contrary to what has been frequently claimed, the requirement for a majority of the members of the General Assembly that was ultimately stipulated in Resolution 60/251 will, in practice, not necessarily be less than a two-thirds majority of the members present and voting. This is because the latter formula, which was proposed by the US and the European Union during the negotiations, depends on how many members actually participate in the vote, a number that can be considerably lower than the majority of the members of the General Assembly.

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fact that voting is now by secret ballot aﬀords a measure of protection against the pressure often applied to some States by the most powerful ones during the election process. The deliberate reference to direct and individual election by secret ballot is also intended to prevent the strategy of regional blocs, which consisted of proposing as many candidates as there were available positions, thereby eliminating any real choice. This is precisely the type of practice that had allowed governments guilty of ﬂouting fundamental freedoms to sit on the Commission. In practice, however, despite this preventive provision, the “clean slate” strategy did not completely disappear during the election organized in June 2006 and May 2008.71 In any case, the very existence of regional blocs remains a deﬁning feature for delimiting the membership of any UN bodies. The Human Rights Council is not an exception. Resolution 60/251 logically restates that “the membership shall be based on equitable geographical distribution” (para. 7). This ensures in turn the representativeness and thus the legitimacy of the Council. The decrease in the number of Member States has been accompanied by a change in the distribution of seats among the ﬁve regional groups. The seats are distributed as follows: African States (13), Asian States (13), Eastern European States (6), Latin American and Caribbean States (8), and Western European and other States (7). This re-distribution was detrimental to the representation of the Group of Western States and to that of Latin America, who lost six seats, whereas the representation of the Group of Asian States and the Group of Eastern European States increased by one seat each.72 Ultimately, the groups of African and Asian States represent 55% of the Council’s membership, while they accounted for almost 51% under the old Commission. Against such a background, some experts73 seem to be worried by the fact that the groups of Western and Latin America states “have lost their power to win a vote [. . .] unless their proposals attract the support of at least three African and Asian states.”74 One can,

71

72 73

74

During the election in June 2006, the last minute withdrawn of the candidacy of Kenya had the eﬀect to permit the automatic election of the 13 other candidates to the 13 seats available for African states. Although in May 2007 all group of states proposed a higher number of candidates than available seats, the “clean slate” strategy has reappeared during the election of May 2008. It was used by the African and Latin American Groups, while the group of Western states presented only 3 candidates for the 2 available seats. For more information of the elections, see: http://www2.ohchr.org/english/bodies/hrcouncil/elections.htm. African states lost 2 seats. See in particular: B. D. Schaefer, ‘The U.N. Human Rights Council. There Has to Be a Better Way’, Geneva Post Quarterly, April 2006, p. 115; M. Bossuyt, ‘Le Conseil des droits de l’homme: un réforme douteuse’, in: Droit du pouvoir, pouvoir du droit. Mélanges oﬀerts à Jean Salmon, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2008), p. 1188. Y. Terlingen, ‘The Human Rights Council: A New Era in UN Human Rights Works?’, 21 Ethics and International Aﬀairs, 2006, 171.

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however, argue that the reverse would be certainly more worrying given that the great majority of the world population is living in African and Asian states. Their supposedly comfortable majority within the Council is thus the logical consequence of the need to ensure equitable geographical representation. Nevertheless the requirement of geographical distribution is not incompatible with some additional and more substantial qualiﬁcations to be eligible to be a member of the Council. Echoing the heated debate around the diﬀerent possible selection criteria, the resolution creating the Council mentions in an understated formula that: The membership in the Council shall be open to all States Members of the United Nations; when electing members of the Council, Member States shall take into account the contribution of candidates to the promotion and protection of human rights and their voluntary pledges and commitments made thereto. (para. 8)

Taking into account the contribution of candidates in the ﬁeld of human rights and their voluntary pledges based on their past and future behaviour therefore appears to be a diplomatic way to compensate for the lack of strict membership criteria. The nature, content, and details of these electoral pledges are left to the discretion of each candidate. To encourage consistency and comparability among pledges, the Oﬃce of the UN High Commissioner of Human Rights proposes a common framework for shaping the form and content of electoral pledges. It focuses on international indicators (such as ratiﬁcation status to human rights treaties and cooperation with special procedures and treaty monitoring bodies) and domestic indicators (including a description of national human rights policy and the identiﬁcation of principal human rights challenges).75 For the moment, however, this guidance has been diversely taken into account by candidates and, as a consequence, pledges substantially vary from one State to another. The duration of membership remains the same as those of the late Commission: Member States are elected for a period of three years. Resolution 60/251, however, introduces a certain degree of rotation in so far as Member States “shall not be eligible for immediate re-election after two consecutive terms” (para. 7). This modiﬁcation of earlier practice is meant to encourage renewal in the Council’s membership, thus rejecting the idea that certain States could sit on the Council permanently, as was the case under the old Commission, where permanent members of the Security Council had a de facto permanent membership (with two short absences: the UK in 1991 and the US in 2002). The principle of rotation established by Resolution 60/251 is nevertheless limited

75

This non-binding guidance is available at: http://www2.ohchr.org/english/bodies/hrcouncil/ docs/pledges.pdf.

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by the absence of any precision on the minimum period of required absence. A State having sat on the Council for six consecutive years could run again after a one-year absence,76 thus ensuring a form of “semi-permanency”.77 Echoing a longstanding criticism of the former Commission, membership of the Human Rights Council is purported to be no longer equivalent to a blank check for its members. As a warning against past abuses, Resolution 60/251 insists with new force that: [T]he members elected to the Council shall uphold the highest standards in the promotion and protection of human rights, shall fully cooperate with the Council and be reviewed under the universal periodic review mechanism during their term of membership (para. 9).

Membership therefore comes with speciﬁc responsibilities vis-à-vis genuine respect for human rights and cannot be used to escape obligations or avoid criticism, tactics which were often used under the Commission. Human rights violations can even be sanctioned through the suspension of Council members’ rights. This is an important innovation, even if it is essentially symbolic. Such a quarantining is subjected to two relatively strict cumulative conditions: ﬁrst, a material condition based on the degree of intensity of the alleged violation, should the incriminated State commit “gross and systematic violations of human rights” and, second, a procedural condition requiring a vote of the General Assembly by a two-thirds majority of the members present and voting (para. 8). It is therefore easier to become a member of the Council than to be excluded for systematic human rights violations. Furthermore, the idea is not to exclude the State from the Council, but rather to “suspend” the rights attached to its member status. In contrast with true exclusion, a suspension is, by deﬁnition, temporary.78 In practice, the sole requirement of a two-thirds majority vote limits a suspension to particularly exceptional cases, especially since many member States have expressed their opposition to measures that stigmatize a particular State. Certain external factors could, though, inﬂuence the opportunity to resort to suspension. For instance, the existence of proceedings before the International Criminal Court or the adoption of sanctions

76

77 78

P. Alston, ‘Reconceiving the UN Human Rights Regime: Challenges Confronting the New UN Human Rights Council’, op. cit., p. 200. G. L. Burci, ‘The United Nations Human Rights Council’, op. cit., p. 32. One should add that there is a curious diﬀerence between the English and French versions of Resolution 60/251. The former refers to a Member State that “commits” gross and systematic violations, whereas the latter speaks of “aurait commis” (might have committed) such violation. Following the French version, suspension could be used as a protective measure pending investigation into whether the allegations are well-founded.

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by the Security Council because of gross violations of human rights cannot be totally ignored by the General Assembly. 2) Working methods and rules of procedure: a new framework for dialogue In line with one of the major concerns that drove the process of reform, the rules of procedure of the Human Rights Council were re-tooled to encourage the resumption of dialogue among Member States. As a consequence, the duration and frequency of the Council’s sessions have been signiﬁcantly increased. The Council must meet at least three times per year for a total duration of no less than ten weeks,79 whereas the Commission held just one annual session of six weeks. However, these procedural amendments clearly fall short of the initial plan to make the Council a permanent body. The General Assembly, probably aware that these largely cosmetic modiﬁcations were weak in scope, strove to facilitate the calling of special sessions, which had been instituted under the Commission in May 1990.80 Henceforth, the Council can hold special sessions at the request of a member of the Council with the support of one third of the membership of the Council,81 whereas the earlier procedure depended on a favourable vote by the majority of the Member States. This new option has been regularly used by the Council in particularly glaring circumstances. During the three ﬁrst years of its existence, 10 special sessions were convened. Half of them focused on the human rights situation in the Occupied Palestinian Territories (July 2006, November 2006, January 2008, January 2009) and in Lebanon (August 2006). In a sort of geographical balance, other special sessions were devoted to the human rights situation in Darfur (December 2006), Myanmar (October 2007), and the East of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (November 2008), while two additional ones dealt with a particular theme: the right to food and the world food crisis (May 2008) and the impact of the global economic crisis on human rights (February 2009). More generally and despite the politically charged atmosphere inherent to any special sessions devoted to one particular country, Resolution 60/251 underlines in its paragraph 12 that the working methods of the Council shall be “transparent, fair and impartial and shall enable genuine dialogue” (which of course does not preclude disagreement and divergence but rather means debate and exchange between all stakeholders). In any case, working methods shall “be results-oriented, allow for subsequent follow-up discussions to recommenda-

79 80 81

General Assembly Resolution 60/251, para. 10. ECOSOC Resolution 1990/48 (25 May 1990), para. 3. General Assembly Resolution 60/251, para. 10.

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tions and their implementation and also allow for substantive interaction with special procedures and mechanisms”. One major procedural issue concerned the agenda of regular sessions.82 As had often been the case with the former Commission, negotiations turned around a North-South axis. The European Union, backed by JUSCANZ (representing Japan, the USA, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Iceland, Norway, Switzerland, the Republic of Korea, and Andorra), proposed a general and ﬂexible agenda planned around general themes related to functions, rather than around predeﬁned topics. On the contrary, the Non-Aligned Movement, supported by the Groups of African and Asian States, the Arab League, and the Organisation of the Islamic Conference, favoured a more structured and predictable agenda structured around permanent points relating to rights or dealing with speciﬁc themes, comparable to that of the previous Commission. The resulting compromise was an eﬀort to reconcile the two positions, which combined general functions with more speciﬁc thematic issues.83 The agenda is accordingly shorter and more general than those of the Commission. On this note, it is important to highlight that, in accordance with criticism often levelled against the preceding Commission, a majority of States opposed the idea that an item on the agenda could concern a speciﬁc country. In the same vein, all explicit references to the old item 9 of the Commission’s agenda, dedicated to “violation of human rights and fundamental freedoms”, were removed. The politically charged issue of human rights abuses could, however, be examined under item 4, which refers more generally to the “human rights situations that require the Council’s attention”. Furthermore, item 7 concerning the situation in Palestine and in the occupied Arab territories resembles, for some, an exception to the principles of universality and non-selectivity which are supposed to guide the work of the Council in accordance with Resolution 60/251. The

82

83

For a presentation of the negociations see: Human Rights Council. Working Group on Agenda, Annual Programme of Work, Working Methods and Rules of Procedure, 13–27 April 2007, Geneva, Human Rights Monitor Series, International Service for Human Rights, 2007; Summary of the discussion prepared by the Secretariat, A/HRC/4/CRP.2 (1 March 2007). The agenda is composed of the 10 following items: 1) Organizational and procedural matters; 2) Annual report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights and reports of the Oﬃce of the High Commissioner and the Secretary-General; 3) Promotion and protection of all human rights, civil, political, economic, social and cultural rights, including the right to development; 4) Human rights situations that require the Council’s attention; 5) Human rights bodies and mechanisms; 6) Universal Periodic Review; 7) Human rights situation in Palestine and other occupied Arab territories; 8) Follow-up and implementation of the Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action; 9) Racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia and related forms of intolerance, follow-up and implementation of the Durban Declaration and Programme of Action; 10) Technical assistance and capacity-building.

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generality of its heading, however, authorises it to study the situation of human rights with respect to the practices of both the Israeli occupying forces and those of the Palestinian, or other, authorities.84 In addition to the agenda, another important issue concerns the decisionmaking process governing the preparation, negotiation, and adoption of resolutions and decisions. Resolution 5/1 and the Rules of Procedure annexed to it make an eﬀort to rationalize the decision-making process in order to be more predictable. Thus, it is stated that proposals of texts must be submitted as early as possible and that the States must be careful to avoid proliferation of resolutions.85 Indeed, intensive recourse to resolutions had often encumbered the agenda of the old Commission and sometimes even duplicated the work done in parallel by the Third Committee of the General Assembly. In order to render the decision-making process more coherent and more transparent, the adoption of resolutions and decisions must be systematically preceded by two complementary stages: “information meetings” convened by the President of the Council, and “informal consultations” convened by the State’ sponsors of the draft resolution. Information meeting are exclusively aimed at “provid[ing] information on the status of negotiations on draft resolutions and/or decisions so that delegations may gain a bird’s eye view of the status of such drafts.”86 Resolution 5/1 emphasizes that consultation organized by the President “shall have a purely informational function” and “shall not serve as a negotiating forum.”87 This point was considered necessary by the Member States, who feared that the President would take control of the procedure away from them. The negotiating phase itself is therefore meant to come under the phase of “informal consultations” organised by the States having drafted the relevant resolutions. At least one session of informal consultation should be devoted to each draft, before it is considered for action by the Council.88 Systematic recourse by Member States to such informal consultations is a guarantee of coherence and predictability. When the draft is examined by the Council itself, the meetings are public, unless the Council decides that due to “exceptional circumstances”, sessions should be held in private.89 The participation of NGOs – once threatened – has

84

85 86 87 88 89

Although this item is not formally related to one particular country, it would have been more coherent to put it under a more general thematic heading of occupation in line with the principles of universality and non-selectivity. Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 117. Ibid., para. 112. Ibid. Ibid., para. 113. Ibid., Rules of Procedure, Rule 16.

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been preserved.90 While highlighting the importance of allowing these organisations to oﬀer “the most eﬀective contribution”, the Rules of Procedure simply repeats the content of paragraph 11 of General Assembly Resolution 60/251. Rule 7 thus reiterates that participation of and consultation with observers – including States that are not members of the Council, specialised agencies, national human rights institutions, and NGOs – shall be based on arrangements adopted in accordance with the ECOSOC Resolution 1996/31 of 25 July 1996 and practices observed by the Commission on Human Rights. The last and most controversial issue related to the rules of procedure has concerned the voting conditions for the adoption of resolutions by the Council. China proposed that any resolution concerning a speciﬁc country must be initiated at the request of a third of the members of the Council and adopted by a two-thirds majority of those members present and voting.91 Although such a proposal had been already rejected during the negotiation of General Assembly Resolution 60/251, China returned to this issue during the later discussions on Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1 devoted to the institution-building of the Council. The obvious objective was to rigorously control – if not to practically abolish – resolutions condemning human rights violations in speciﬁc countries, which had been at the heart of many controversies under the old Commission. China’s persistent eﬀorts nearly caused the failure of all negotiations on this theme, until a last-minute diplomatic compromise was reached on the last day set by the General Assembly as the deadline for completion of Council reform. A simple majority of members present and voting has been maintained in line with the previous rules under the Commission.92 However, it is speciﬁed in the guidelines devoted to the “working culture” of the Council that States proposing a country-speciﬁc resolution “have the responsibility to secure the broadest possible support of their initiatives (preferably 15 members), before action is taken.”93

90

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92 93

See generally L. Nader, ‘The Role of NGOs in the UN Human Rights Council’, 4 Sur – International Journal on Human Rights, 2007, 7–27; P. Scannella and P. Splinter, ‘The United Nations Human Rights Council: A Promise to be Fulﬁlled’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 65–68; Y. Terlingen, ‘The Role of Non-Governmental Organisations’, in: J. Almqvist & F. Gòmez Isa (eds.), The Human Rights Council: Challenges and Opportunities, (Madrid: FRIDE, 2006), pp. 71–80. This proposal was supported by Algeria (on behalf of the African Groups), Bangladesh, Cuba, Iran, the Russian Federation and South Africa: Human Rights Council. Working Group on Agenda, Annual Programme of Work, Working Methods and Rules of Procedure, 13–27 April 2007, op. cit., p. 17. Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, Rules of Procedure, Rule 20. Ibid., para. 117(d).

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3. The Advisory Committee of the Human Rights Council: a subsidiary body under supervision As was the case for the Commission, the Council has a subsidiary body, rebaptised the “Advisory Committee”. A proposal, which had been backed by the European Union, to replace it with a catalogue of experts to be referred to by the Council according to need was abandoned because it would have caused dramatic changes in the functioning of the Council.94 The majority of Member States thus opted to maintain a permanent structure comparable to the previous Sub-Commission for the promotion and the protection of human rights. Nevertheless, the number of members, the procedure for designating them, and the role of this new Advisory Committee have – sensibly – been altered. The Committee consists of a reduced number of 18 independent experts serving in their personal capacity.95 The selection procedure of the experts has been improved on several points. It is composed of two successive steps: nomination and election. First, a nomination phase gives all UN Member States (and not only those of the Council) the opportunity to propose candidates from their own region, in consultation with national human rights institutions and NGOs.96 Requiring such consultations as part of the process reinforces the transparency of the nomination procedure. As the goal of this prior selection is to ensure that the Council receives the best possible expertise, the knowledge and experience of candidates in the area of human rights, their moral integrity, and their independence should be taken into account.97 In order to avoid past practices, any candidates holding a position of responsibility in an organisation or government which could potentially cause a conﬂict of interest are excluded.98 The second phase – of election itself – is the responsibility of the Human Rights Council alone, who must vote by secret ballot in order to preserve the experts’ independence. Members are elected for a period of three years. Contrary to the practice under the Commission on Human Rights, they can be re-elected only once, in order to encourage the renewal within the Committee.99 In the same way as the preceding Sub-Commission, the Advisory Committee acts as a think-tank working under the direction of the Human Rights Council.

94

95 96 97 98 99

See: Summary of the discussion on expert advice prepared by the secretariat, A/HRC/3/CRP.4 (30 November 2006) & A/HRC/4/CRP.5 513 March 2007). Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 66. Ibid., para. 67. Ibid. Ibid., para. 68. The geographical distribution of membership is the following one: African States: 5; Asian States: 5; Eastern European States: 2; Latin American and Caribbean States: 3; Western European and other States: 3. Resolution 5/1 also adds, in paragraph 72, that due consideration should be given to gender balance and appropriate representation of diﬀerent legal systems.

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Nevertheless, its activities are more rigorously supervised than in the past, as the Council wishes to exercise more comprehensive control over its subsidiary body. The Council makes it crystal clear that the Advisory Committee shall only work “at its discretion”.100 Its function is “to provide expertise to the Council in the manner and form requested by the Council [. . .] upon the latter’s request, in compliance with its resolution and under its guidance.”101 It thus becomes obvious from this strong and relatively redundant wording that “the loss of initiative in the system of expert advice is a signiﬁcant one and reveals a deep reluctance on the part of the Council to empower its own experts.”102 Following the same approach, the mandate of the Advisory Committee is more circumscribed than those of the previous Sub-Commission. Resolution 5/1 speciﬁes in its paragraphs 75 and 76 that the expertise carried out by the Advisory Committee will focus mainly on studies and research-based advice, and should be implementation-oriented. Furthermore, the scope of its advice should be limited to thematic issues pertaining to the mandate of the Council. More substantially, the Advisory Committee is prohibited to adopt any resolutions or decisions.103 Although the previous Sub-Commission had already been prohibited from taking country-speciﬁc resolutions since April 2000, the current general and absolute prohibition to adopt any resolutions or decisions even on thematic issues is a signiﬁcant drawback. This undermines and arguably marginalises both the scope and the impact of the Advisory Committee’s work. It reveals in turn the reticence of the States to cede too much inﬂuence to this independent body. As a result, the Human Rights Council beneﬁts from a complete monopoly with regard to the adoption of resolutions or decisions, whether thematic or country speciﬁc. In such a context, the Advisory Committee would be possibly conﬁned to the sole role of purveyor of services, supplying targeted advice to the Council. The two ﬁrst sessions of the Advisory Committee held in August 2008104 and January 2009105 showed its willingness to establish itself as an independent expert body. Although prohibited to adopt resolutions or decisions, it produced a relatively substantial number of “recommendations” to the Council for latter’s

100 101 102

103 104

105

Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 65. Ibid., para. 75. M. Abraham, Building the New Human Rights Council. Outcome and Analysis of the Institutionbuilding Year, Occasional Papers, N° 33/ August 2007, (Geneva: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung), p. 18. See also C. Callejon, “Developments at the Human Rights Council in 2007: A Reﬂection of its Ambivalence’, 8 Human Rights Law Review, 2008, 330. Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 77. Report of the Advisory Committee on its First Session, A/HRC/AC/2008/1/2 (3 November 2008). Report of the Advisory Committee on its Second Session, A/HRC/AC/2/2 (24 January 2009).

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consideration and approval. Its major future challenge will be to ﬁnd a proper – albeit delicate – balance between “two conﬂicting priorities, namely real substantive contribution and acceptability to the Council.”106 B. The Functions and Mandates of the Human Rights Council: Between Tradition and Innovation The Human Rights Council has inherited the arduous task of “promoting universal respect for the protection of all human rights and fundamental freedoms for all, without distinction of any kind and in a fair and equal manner.”107 To this end, the Council is entrusted with a triple function of prevention, promotion, and protection.108 In substance, however, the means given to the Council to reach these goals are not fundamentally diﬀerent from those of the previous Commission: the Human Rights Council remains a deliberative body allowed to adopt non-binding recommendations.109 The principal innovation probably lies elsewhere: a change in method, which is aimed at replacing confrontation with cooperation. Accordingly, the Council must serve as a “forum for dialogue”.110 Resolution 60/251 states in its preamble that “the promotion and protection of human rights should be based on the principles of cooperation and genuine dialogue”, principles which are reiterated in the text on various occasions to the point of becoming, if not burdensome, basically redundant. Such a change in method, as desirable as it may be, clearly depends more upon the attitudes of the States themselves than on the institutional framework within which they act and express their opinions. It is nevertheless true that, henceforth, the States possess the means for facilitating dialogue. Indeed, this is the raison d’être of the creation of the Universal Periodic Review. Such a new mechanism is certainly the most important “promise of the reform”111 for opening up dialogue between States, which thus needs to be examined. 1) The universal periodic review: the virtues of dialogue, the risks of monologue The new responsibility attributed to the Council, and by far the most substantial, is to:

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G. Sweeney & Y. Saito, ‘An NGO Assessment of the new Mechanisms of the UN Human Rights Council’, Human Rights Law Review, 2009, p. 21. General Assembly Resolution 60/251, para. 2. Ibid., para. 5. Ibid., paras 3 & 5(i). Ibid., para. 5(b). M. Abraham, Building the New Human Rights Council. Outcome and analysis of the institutionbuilding year, Geneva, Occasional Papers, Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, 2007, p. 34.

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undertake a universal periodic review, based on objective and reliable information, of the fulﬁlment by each State of its human rights obligations and commitments in a manner which ensures universality of coverage and equal treatment with respect to all States.112

In accordance with the idea originally proposed by the Secretary-General in April 2005, the concept here is to make the Council a “chamber of peer review”.113 The aim is to avoid – if not abolish – the selectivity, so often criticised, which had characterised the Commission, by subjecting all States, without exception, to a peer review of the fulﬁlment of their human rights obligations. The creation of this universal periodic review (UPR) has been praised by numerous observers as constituting “the cornerstone of the new system of protection of human rights”,114 “the most important innovation in the Human Rights Council”,115 because, “for the ﬁrst time, the assessment in the area of human rights of all UN Member States, irrespective of their size, wealth, or political or military power, will be undertaken by a common mechanism.”116 The UPR is only a novelty on the surface. A system of periodic reporting had already been established under the Commission as early as 1956.117 Each UN Member State was requested to submit a “report describing developments and the progress achieved [. . .] in the ﬁeld of human rights, and measures taken to safeguard human liberty in their metropolitan areas and in non-self-governing and trust territories.”118 These reports were issued every three years and their aim was to address the rights enumerated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as well as the right of peoples to self-determination (not mentioned in the Declaration).119 Despite repeated requests, only a few States ever undertook this exercise and after 1977 no report was examined by the Commission. In 1980, the General Assembly formally terminated the system of reporting as

112 113

114

115 116 117

118 119

General Assembly Resolution 60/251, para. 5(e). Report of the Secretary-General. Addendum Human Rights Council, A/59/2005/Add.1 (23 May 2005), p. 3, para. 6. Declaration of the representative of Uruguay in: Summary record of the 18th meeting, A/ HRC/1/SR.18 (20 July 2006), p. 2. Declaration of the representative of Human Rights Watch, in: ibid., p. 19. Ibid. For a presentation of this reporting system see in particular: N. Questiaux, ‘La procédure des rapports triennaux devant la Commission des droits de l’homme des Nations Unies’, 1 Revue des Droits de l’homme, 1968, 544–548; J.-B. Marie, La Commission des droits de l’homme de l’ONU, op. cit., pp. 189–199; P. Alston, ‘Reconceiving the UN Human Rights Regime: Challenges Confronting the New UN Human Rights Council’, op. cit., pp. 207–213. ECOSOC Resolution 624 B (XXII) of 1 August 1956. The reporting system was amended by the ECOSOC in 1965: ECOSOC Resolution 1074 C (XXXIX) of 28 July 1965.

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being an activity that was “obsolete, ineﬀective or of marginal usefulness”.120 Although this past experience seems to have been completely forgotten by States when they established the Human Rights Council, this does not mean that the UPR is bound to follow the same destiny. However, one cannot help but notice that this alleged innovation subscribes to a similar philosophy to the failed attempt carried out between 1956 and 1977. According to Resolution 60/251, the UPR entrusted to the Human Rights Council is intended as “a cooperative mechanism, based on an interactive dialogue, with the full involvement of the country concerned”.121 The diﬀerent instruments on the basis of which the review is conducted are relatively broad and numerous. Their inclusion within a sole evaluation process undeniably brings added value, given the fragmented nature of other control mechanisms established by human rights treaties. The ﬁrst text of reference identiﬁed by Resolution 5/1 of 18 June 2007 is the UN Charter. Although the Charter is referred to as a whole, Articles 1(3), 55(c), and 56 are particularly relevant here insofar as they restate that the UN and its Members State shall promote the “universal respect for, and observance of, human rights and fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to race, sex, language, or religion.” The general wording of these provisions limits, however, their practical scope for the purpose of such a review. The central text of the UPR is the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, whose inclusion among the instruments of reference tends to conﬁrm its customary value.122 On the other hand, States did not wish to make a more general reference to international customary law nor to the domestic law of the country concerned, as had been proposed initially.123 Reference to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights oﬀers the advantage of constituting a common basis of civil, political, economic, and social rights, which are not likely to vary as a function of the extent to which each State has ratiﬁed the various human rights treaties. It thus guarantees the coherence and unity of the normative framework on which the UPR is based. In any case, the central core of fundamental rights enumerated in the Universal Declaration is intended to be completed by the human rights treaties, also referred to by Resolution 5/1. With respect to this

120 121 122

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General Assembly Resolution 35/209 of 17 December 1980. General Assembly Resolution 60/251, para. 5(e). See generally on the customary nature of the Universal Declaration: H. Hannum, ‘The Status of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in National and International Law’, 6 Georgia Journal of International and Comparative Law, 1995, 287–397. Implementation of General Assembly Resolution 60/251 of 15 March 2006 entitled ‘Human Rights Council’. Intersessional open-ended intergovernmental working group to develop the modalities of the universal periodic review mechanism established pursuant to Human Rights Council decision 1/103, A/HRC/3/3 (30 November 2006), p. 4.

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last source of obligations, it is important to note that the generic wording chosen by the Council encompasses not only universal treaties but also regional treaties ratiﬁed by the States concerned. In an even more innovative way, the UPR is based upon “voluntary pledges and commitments made by States, including those undertaken when presenting their candidatures for election to the Human Rights Council.”124 Electoral pledges will therefore be taken into consideration, irrespective of the fact that they are not binding. Those pledges end up being only relatively useful, insofar as they are frequently formulated in rather vague and general terms. On the other hand, declarations and other commitments made within the framework of international conferences are potentially more useful, as they are often more precise and States frequently use them as a privileged instrument of dissemination of international law. From this perspective, the UPR represents a quite remarkable form of institutional usage of soft law. This represents an added value of the UPR, which complements on this point the reporting system instituted by human rights treaty. However, the risk inherent to such additional basis of the review is to undermine conventional obligations by diluting them into a broad set of non-binding commitments. Voluntary pledges and commitments should accordingly supplement, but not substitute, existing obligations. The main controversy related to the basis of the review centred on the opportunity to add to this already substantial list a reference to international humanitarian law. Several States – led by Australia, the USA, and Israel – argued that international human rights law and international humanitarian law constitute two separate branches of international law and that the Council had neither the authority nor the expertise to take cognizance of the latter.125 However, it is incoherent to exclude international humanitarian law from a review which is universal in nature in the name of a formalistic – and arguably sectarian – distinction between the two branches of law which even the International Court of Justice had ended up abandoning.126 It was ﬁnally agreed that, “given the

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Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 1(d). See in particular: Summary of the Discussion on universal periodic review prepared by the secretariat, A/HRC/4/CRP.3 (13 March 2007), pp. 5–6; Summary of the discussion prepared by the secretariat, A/HRC/3/CRP.1 (30 November 2006), p. 7. ICJ, Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Advisory Opinion of 9 July 2004, ICJ Reports 2004, para. 106. See more generally the inspiring comments written by Vera Gowlland on this issue: ‘Human Rights and Humanitarian Law: Are There Some Individuals Bereft of All Legal Protection?: The Relevance of Paragraph 25 of the ICJ’s Advisory Opinion on Nuclear Weapons’, in: Proceedings of the 98th annual meeting, American Society of International Law, 2004, pp. 358–363; ‘The Right to Life and Genocide: The Court and an International Public Policy’, in: L. Boisson de Chazournes and P. Sands (eds.), International Law, the International Court of Justice and Nuclear Weapons, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1999, pp. 315–337.

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complementary and mutually inter-related nature of international human rights law and international humanitarian law, the review shall take into account applicable international humanitarian law.”127 Ironically, this compromise formula goes well beyond the intended eﬀect, insofar as the expression “applicable international humanitarian law” encompasses both conventional and customary law. Aside from the broad nature of the applicable law, the second major feature of the UPR lies in its resolutely empirical and intergovernmental outlook. Resolution 5/1 emphasises multiple times the fact that such a review is “an intergovernmental process, United Nations Member-driven and action-oriented”.128 Employing the same repetitive approach used by the General Assembly in its Resolution 60/251, the Council reiterates that the UPR is “a cooperative mechanism based on objective and reliable information and on interactive dialogue”,129 which must “be conducted in an objective, transparent, non-selective, constructive, non-confrontational and non-politicized manner”.130 Its main objectives are the “improvement of the human rights situation on the ground” and “the enhancement of the State’s capacity and technical assistance, in consultation with, and with the consent of, the State concerned.”131 The obsessive fear of certain States that this review would be transformed into an accusatory indictment left its mark upon every aspect of the review process. Even the documentation on which the review should be based has been carefully identiﬁed by the Council. According to its Resolution 5/1, the review is undertaken on the basis of a report drafted by the State under review, in accordance with the guidelines established during the sixth session of the Council.132 Aside from the fact that such a procedure was repetitive given that submission of national reports was already instituted within the framework of human rights treaties, one can legitimately question the impartiality and objectivity of such an approach. After all, the General Assembly had insisted that the review be based on “objective and reliable information”,133 which presupposed that other sources of information, independent from and outside of the State concerned, would be taken into account. With a view to mitigating this issue, Resolution 5/1 adds that “States are encouraged to prepare the information through a

127 128 129 130 131 132 133

Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 2. Ibid., para. 3(d). Ibid., para. 3(b). Ibid., para. 3(g). Ibid., para. 4. Ibid., para. 15(a). General Assembly Resolution 60/251, para. 5(e).

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broad consultation process at the national level with all relevant stakeholders”134 including NGOs and national human rights institutions. More substantially, the review is based on two additional and external sources. A Compilation prepared by the Oﬃce of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights will gather information contained in the reports of treaty bodies, special procedures, and other relevant UN documents,135 which once again brings up the issue of the overlap between this procedure and already existing ones.136 Beside this oﬃcial information, the Council should also take into account “additional, credible and reliable information provided by other relevant stakeholders”137 – including that coming from NGOs – which must be summarised by the Oﬃce of the High Commissioner. In any case, the three sources of information exhaustively enumerated in Resolution 5/1 have the capacity to furnish very general information, given that the Council carefully established the length of the State’s report (20 pages), of the compendium of documents collected by the Oﬃce of the High Commissioner (10 pages), and of the summary of complementary information submitted by other stakeholders (10 pages). The risk inherent to such a limited amount of documentation is that the review of the situation in the State concerned will be superﬁcial. This risk is all the more signiﬁcant given that the time frame of the review is not adapted to the volume of work inherent in such a procedure. The periodicity of the review is of four years, which means that 48 states will be examined each year.138 But the same resolution speciﬁes that the duration of the review cannot exceed three hours per State,139 which seems extremely limited given the numerous issues that merit analysis. Furthermore, the proposal formulated by certain states – like Switzerland – that this assessment be entrusted to a group of independent experts was rejected in favour of a procedure which is essentially intergovernmental. The UPR is a two-step process. First, the review is conducted in a working group chaired by the President of the Council and composed of the 47 Member States.140 At this

134 135 136

137 138

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Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 15(a). Ibid., para. 15(b). For a comparative assessment on the overlapping and speciﬁcities between the universal periodic review and the report system under existing UN treaties, see: F. D. Gaer, ‘A Voice Not an Echo: Universal Periodic Review and the UN Treaty Body System’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 109–139. Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 15(c). Ibid., para. 14. Resolution 5/1 adds in a footnote that since the universal periodic review is an evolving process, its periodicity and other modalities will be reviewed at the end of the ﬁrst four year. Ibid., para. 21. An additional hour is allocated for the consideration of the outcome by the Council. Ibid., para. 18(a).

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stage, a group of three rapporteurs (called the Troika) who are chosen by lot from regional groups is formed to facilitate the review, including the preparation of the report of the working group.141 Non-Member States have the right to “participate” in the interactive dialogue with the State under review, whereas the other observers – and in particular NGOs – are only allowed to “assist” in the review carried out by the working group.142 Second, the ﬁnal document is adopted by the Council in a plenary session during which the state under review should be oﬀered the opportunity to present observations and replies to questions.143 Member States of the Council and observer States can also express their views on the outcome of the review, while the other relevant stakeholders – therefore including NGOs – have the opportunity to “make general comments.”144 With a view to avoiding the confrontational practices of the past, the States wanted the ﬁnal Document to be as consensual as possible. Above all, it must allow a “sharing of best practices” and an “assessment undertaken in an objective and transparent manner of the human rights situation in the country under review, including positive developments and challenges faced by the country.”145 Resolution 5/1 insists, in an even more signiﬁcant way, that “the country under review should be fully involved in the outcome.”146 The Outcome may accordingly include “the provision of technical assistance and capacity-building in consultation with, and with the consent of, the country concerned.”147 The wish to avoid ending up with a condemnation of the State in question can also be found in the structure of the Outcome itself, which includes two diﬀerent types of recommendations. Those approved by the State under review are identiﬁed as such, while the recommendations which the State has not accepted are separated from the others and accompanied by the observations of the State concerned.148 Although the two kinds of recommendation are supposed to be mentioned in the same ﬁnal document, the right to have recourse to such mul-

141

142 143 144 145 146 147 148

Ibid., para. 18(d). In order to take into account the susceptibility of the state under review, it is speciﬁed that it can reject one of the Troika members. The concerned country has also the right to request that one of the Troika members should stem from the same regional group. Moreover, the members chosen for the Troika have the right to deny being member of a speciﬁc Troika. Ibid., para. 18(b) & (c). Ibid., para. 29. Ibid., para. 31. Ibid., para. 27. Ibid., para. 28. Ibid., para. 27. Ibid., para. 32.

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tiple-choice recommendations gives the last word to the State under review.149 This system of recommendations à la carte potentially limits the inﬂuence of what is supposed to be an evaluation by its peers. Against such a background, the UPR resembles more like a forum for discussion than a true evaluation procedure. The follow-up of the UPR subscribes to the same logic of this essentially cooperative mechanism. According to Resolution 5/1, the outcome of the review should be implemented “primarily by the State concerned” and “as appropriate, by other relevant stakeholders”.150 In considering the outcome of the UPR, “the Council will decide if and when any speciﬁc follow-up is necessary”,151 which suggests that it is not systematic. As a warning, it is added that “after exhausting all eﬀorts to encourage a State to cooperate with the UPR mechanism, the Council will address, as appropriate, cases of persistent non-cooperation with the mechanism.”152 Despite this warning in principle, one cannot help but notice that the success of the UPR depends, largely or even exclusively, upon the willingness of States to cooperate during and after the review. 2) Rationalisation of existing mandates and the quest for continuity In addition to the establishment of the UPR, the second major task entrusted to the Council is to re-examine and rationalise all mandates of the former Commission on Human Rights. The concern for maintaining continuity with the preceding Commission is linked, as emphasised in the preamble of Resolution 60/251, to “the need to preserve and build on its achievements and to redress its shortcomings.” Despite attempts to undermine the special procedures, a substantial number of states have recognised their “vital importance”,153 which represent a “key component of the United Nations human rights system”,154 and even “the backbone of the international human rights protection system.”155 The independence of the special rapporteurs – which was thought

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One has to add that during the ﬁrst sessions of the universal periodic review most recommendations were accepted by most states. However, the percentage of positive comments done by “friendly states” far outweighed criticisms. Recommendations are available at the following address: http://www.upr-info.org/-Recommendations-.html. Ibid., para. 33. Ibid., para. 37. Ibid., para. 38. Rationalization of the Work of the Commission. Enhancing and strengthening the eﬀectiveness of the special procedures of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/2006/116 (12 December 2005), p. 7. Declaration of the representative of Peru, in: Summary Record of the 19th Meeting, A/HRC/1/ SR.19 (14 July 2006), p. 5. Declaration of the representative of Indonesia, ibid., p. 3.

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to be in danger – is generally believed to be “the system’s key to success”.156 This fundamental characteristic makes special procedures a particularly useful and complementary mechanism to the UPR which remains, by deﬁnition, a political type of assessment carried out by States. In closed link with the issue of their independence, the procedure for designating special rapporteurs was the major subject of debate.157 The Groups of African and Asian states and the Organisation of the Islamic Conference favoured direct election by the Council in line with the practice used for the treaty bodies. Other States, including those of the European Union, feared that such an election would jeopardise the independence of the special rapporteurs by politicising the designation procedure. For this reason they wished to maintain the previous practice, according to which the President of the Commission designated them after consultations with regional groups. As is often the case under such circumstances, a hybrid formula combining nomination and election was ﬁnally chosen. The resulting procedure is more transparent than those of the previous Commission, although it remains relatively complicated and sometimes equivocal. According to Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, the designation procedure must follow four successive steps. First, the Oﬃce of the High Commissioner for Human Rights will prepare and maintain a public list of eligible candidates, from which they can be selected by numerous actors (including governments, regional groups established within the UN human rights system, international organisations, NGOs and any other body involved in human rights protection).158 Second, a consultative group, composed of ﬁve persons appointed by each regional Group, propose a list of the candidates who possess the highest qualiﬁcations for the mandates in question.159 Strangely enough, in exceptional cases, this intergovernmental group can depart from the public list and propose another candidate with equivalent or superior qualiﬁcations.160 Third, upon the recommendation of the consultative group and after consultation with the States, the President of the Council identiﬁes the appropriate 156

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Declaration of the representative of Argentina, ibid., p. 3. See also the declarations of the representatives of Armenia, Denmark, Nepal, New-Zealand and Thailand: UN Press Release, ‘Human Rights Council concludes discussion on review of mandate’, 5 December 2006. Summary of the discussion on the review of procedures prepared by the secretariat, A/HRC/4/ CRP.4 (13 March 2005). Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 42. As this is the case for the appointment of members of the Advisory Committee, the knowledge and experience of candidates in the area of human rights, their moral integrity and their independence should be taken into account. Individuals holding decision-making positions in Government or in any other organization which may give rise to a conﬂict of interest shall be excluded. Ibid., para. 46. Ibid., para. 50.

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candidate for each vacancy.161 It is not speciﬁed, however, whether the President can, in turn, move away from the list of candidates recommended by the consultative group. Fourth, the designation procedure ends with the approval by the Council,162 although it is not indicated whether such approval occurs in the form of a true election. Thematic mandates last for three years, whereas country mandates are only one year long, it being understood that a rapporteur cannot exercise this function for more than six years.163 After laborious negotiations, the country mandates were maintained, despite opposition by various States who, like China and Cuba, criticised them for their political and selective nature. As a compromise, the Council put an end to the country mandates on Belarus and Cuba, whereas all other thematic and country mandates were extended until such time as they could be re-examined by the Council. In this respect, Resolution 5/1 states that any decision to rationalise, combine or eliminate existing mandates must be done “with a view to enhancing the promotion and protection of all human rights”,164 principle which probably did not guide the decision – entirely diplomatic – to eliminate the mandates concerning Belarus and Cuba.165 Since then, all thematic mandates have been reviewed and extended. Some new thematic mandates have also been established, namely on contemporary forms of slavery and access to safe drinking water and sanitation. Most country mandates have also been extended, with the exception of the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Liberia. Among the other contentious points is the issue of the Code of Conduct for Special Procedures Mandate-holders of the Human Rights Council, which was adopted by the Council’s Resolution 5/2 following a proposal submitted by Algeria on behalf of the Group of African States. This Code of Conduct has been interpreted by many observers as a means of supervising as closely as possible the activities of the special rapporteurs.166 After having emphasised the independence inherent to their function (Article 3), the Code requires in turn that they “show restraint, moderation and discretion so as not to undermine the recognition of the independent nature of their mandate or the environment

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Ibid., para. 52. Ibid., para. 53. Ibid., paras. 60 & 62. Ibid., para. 54. In fact the mandates on Belarus and Cuba were terminated before the review of the mandate started. They were even not considered at all but simply disappeared from the list of mandates annexed to Resolution 5/1. See for instance: C. Callejon, ‘Developments at the Human Rights Council in 2007: A Reﬂection of its Ambivalence’, op. cit., p. 326; R. Brett, Neither Mountain nor Molehill. UN Human Rights Council: One Year On, (Quaker United Nations Oﬃce, 2007), p. 11.

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necessary to properly discharge the said mandate” (Article 12). The Code highlights, along the same lines, the fact that “it is incumbent on the mandateholders to exercise their functions in strict observance of their mandate and in particular to ensure that their recommendations do not exceed their mandate or the mandate of the Council itself” (Article 7). Conversely, the Code of Conduct makes no reference to the responsibility that the States involved have to respect the mandate of the special rapporteurs so that they can successfully carry out the mission entrusted to them by the Council. On the contrary, ﬁeld visits must be conducted with the consent of the State concerned (Article 11), in which rapporteurs must “carry out their mandate while fully respecting the national legislation and regulations of the country wherein they are exercising their mission”, without prejudice to their privileges and immunities as provided for under Article VI of the Convention on the Privileges and Immunities of the United Nations (Article 4). In the same way, resorting to urgent appeals is limited to the most serious cases of human rights violations “in terms of involving loss of life, life-threatening situations or either imminent or ongoing damage of a very grave nature to victims” (Article 10). Contrary to the issue of special procedures, a consensus was rapidly reached in favour of maintaining as it was the complaint procedure under the old Commission. According to Resolution 5/1 of 18 June 2007, this procedure is intended to address “consistent patterns of gross and reliably attested violations of all human rights and all fundamental freedoms occurring in any part of the world and under any circumstances.”167 Although limited to consistent pattern of gross violations, the scope, both rationae materiae and rationae personae, of the complaint procedure is relatively broad. This right of petition can address gross violations of any and all human rights that have allegedly been committed by any UN Member State, independently of the extent to which the relevant treaties have been ratiﬁed by the State in question. Furthermore, the author of the petition does not necessarily have to be the victim of the alleged violation. The petition can also be submitted “by any person or group of persons, including non-governmental organizations, acting in good faith [. . .] and claiming to have direct and reliable knowledge of the violations concerned”.168 These two characteristics, maintained by the Council, constituted the major innovation of the complaint procedure when it was established in 1970 by Resolution 1503. It is also easier to see why the procedure’s conﬁdentiality had been considered necessary in the era of the former Commission. This last speciﬁcity was intended to oﬀset the genuinely revolutionary advances that had

167 168

Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 85. Ibid., para. 87(d).

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been introduced in 1970. Thirty-ﬁve years later, the process of reform undertaken within the new Council could have been an opportunity to break with that conﬁdentiality which had come to be viewed as the most serious weakness of this singular mechanism.169 The Human Rights Council, however, lost the opportunity to tackle this issue. It has thus preferred to maintain the conﬁdential nature of the procedure for the purpose of facilitating cooperation with the State concerned.170 In the same way, the admissibility criteria for complaints and the two-phase review procedure remained unchanged.171 Among the few noteworthy improvements on previous practice, it is speciﬁcally stated that both the author of the complaint and the State concerned are to be informed of the progress of the proceedings at each key stages.172 Furthermore, the complainant can request that his/her identity be kept conﬁdential and not transmitted to the concerned 169

170

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See in this sense: H. Hannum, ‘Reforming the Special Procedures and Mechanisms of the Commission on Human Rights’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 87; C. Callejon, ‘Developments at the Human Rights Council in 2007: A Reﬂection of its Ambivalence’, op. cit., p. 333. In an attempt to mitigate past abuses, Resolution 5/1 underlines that “the State concerned shall cooperate with the complaint procedure and make every eﬀort to provide substantive replies” (para. 101). Moreover, the Working Group on Situations can recommend to the Council that it considers a situation in a public meeting “in particular in the case of manifest and unequivocal lack of cooperation” (para. 104). According to paragraph 87 of Resolution 5/1, a communication is admissible provided that the six following conditions are fulﬁlled: it is not manifestly politically motivated and its object is consistent with the UN Charter, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and other applicable instruments in the ﬁeld of human rights law; it gives a factual description of the alleged violations, including the rights which are alleged to be violated; its language is not abusive; it is not exclusively based on reports disseminated by mass media; it does not refer to a case that appears to reveal a consistent pattern of gross and reliably attested violations of human rights already being dealt with by a special procedure, a treaty body or other United Nations or similar regional complaints procedure in the ﬁeld of human rights; domestic remedies have been exhausted, unless it appears that such remedies would be ineﬀective or unreasonably prolonged. Complaints will continue to be examined through a two-stage process before they are considered by the Council. The Working Group on Communications, composed of ﬁve members (one from each region appointed from and by the Advisory Committee for three years renewable once), shall decide on the admissibility of a communication and assess the merits of the allegations of violations. Then, the Working Group on Situations is requested, on the basis of information and recommendations provided by the Working Group on Communications, to make recommendations to the Council on the course of action to take. The Working Group on Situations is composed of ﬁve members of the Council, one from and appointed by each regional group for a term of one year renewable once. Decisions of both working groups shall be duly justiﬁed and taken by consensus or, if that is not possible, by simple majority of the votes. Human Rights Council Resolution 5/1, para. 106. However the complainant is still not provided with an opportunity to respond to the information provided by the State.

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State.173 To ensure that the complaint procedure is conducted in a timely manner, it is also speciﬁed that the period of time between the transmission of the complaint to the State concerned and consideration by the Council shall not “in principle” exceed 24 months.174 In accordance with practice followed by the Commission, the “action” taken by the Human Rights Council at the end of the procedure should be one of the ﬁve following options: a) To discontinue considering the situation when further consideration or action is not warranted; b) To keep the situation under review and request the State concerned to provide further information; c) To keep the situation under review and appoint an independent expert to monitor the situation and report back to the Council; d) To discontinue reviewing the matter under the conﬁdential complaint procedure in order to take up public consideration of the same; or e) To recommend to the Oﬃce of the High Commissioner for Human Rights to provide technical cooperation, capacity-building assistance or advisory services to the State concerned.175

Conclusion: The Way Forward – The Need for a World Court of Human Rights When all is said and done, one cannot help but recognise that the revolution predicted at the start of this unprecedented reform process ﬁnally proved a conservative one. The Human Rights Council is not signiﬁcantly diﬀerent from the preceding Commission. Like the Commission, it remains a political body because of its intergovernmental composition. The Council can boast the innovation – limited to say the least – of being composed of six fewer States than the Commission and of possessing slightly improved rules of functioning. That would suggest that the replacement of the Commission by the Council was nothing but a simple change of name, if it was not accompanied by an overhaul of its mandate. This was both the key issue at stake in, and the major diﬃculty of, the reform. Among the rare substantial novelties introduced by this reform, the UPR represents the main instrument for change. Although its ﬁrst year of implementation does not yet allow a deﬁnitive conclusion to be reached,176 this

173 174 175 176

Ibid., para. 108. Ibid., para. 105. Ibid., para. 110. For a preliminary assessment see, however: G. Sweeney & Y. Saito, ‘An NGO Assessment of the New Mechanisms of the UN Human Rights Council’, op. cit.; E. D. Redondo, ‘The Universal Periodic Review of the UN Human Rights Council: An Assessment of the First Session’, 7 Chinese Journal of International Law, 2008, 721–734; R. Brett, Digging Foundations or Trenches? UN Human Rights Council: Year 2, (Geneva: Quaker United Nations Oﬃce, 2008),

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new mechanism carries the heavy burden of delivering on the major promise of the reform. The main challenge of the UPR is to ﬁnd its proper tone to end up the confrontational practice of the past without becoming in turn another exercise of self and mutual exoneration. Otherwise the UPR would be nothing else than a vainglorious “Universal Periodic Rhetoric”.177 The institutional framework for resuming a constructive dialogue between states is thus laid out. It is furthermore up to the States to give it a meaning and a content which would allow a break with the practices of the past. Replacing confrontation by dialogue requires a cultural revolution which institutional reform is incapable of bringing to life without a real willingness on the part of States to fundamentally alter their working habits in a spirit of openness and cooperation. Indeed, institutional engineering could never act as an antidote to political engineering. No institution exists in a bubble, shut oﬀ from its social environment. This is true a fortiori of an intergovernmental organisation, whose inﬂuence and functioning closely depend on the degree of cooperation and, therefore, on the nature of the relations (good or bad), among its Member States. The broader international climate which surrounds these relations is, without a doubt, an important variable, as it was for the creation of the Human Rights Council and as it will be for the future actions of that body. Against such a background, its ﬁrst three years of existence do not permit, for the moment, a conclusion that the long-awaited cultural revolution really takes place. The same causes provoking the same eﬀects, the spectre of politicization has continued to haunt the work of the Human Rights Council.178 Besides the political tensions inherent in any intergovernmental body, the dysfunction inside the Council reﬂects that of the world, as human rights have become the pawns of more extensive geopolitical stakes. Over and above diplomatic manipulations to defend purely national interests, the Human Rights Council represents for many countries a counter-power which is supposed to oﬀset the lack of representation in the Security Council. The obvious risk, then, is that it be deformed into a convenient outlet for everyone’s frustrations. The creation of the Human Rights Council can do nothing to mask a global failure of the

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10–14; T. Rathgeber, The HRC Universal Periodic Review: A Preliminary Assessment, Geneva, Brieﬁng Paper, Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, 2008; T. Henderon, Towards Implementation: An Analysis of the Universal Periodic Review Mechanism of the Human Rights Council, 2008, available at: http://www.upr-info.org/IMG/pdf/Towards_Implementation_by_Tiﬀany_Henderson .pdf. T. Rathgeber, The HRC Universal Periodic Review: A Preliminary Assessment, op. cit., p. 6. See also P. Scannella and P. Splinter, ‘The United Nations Human Rights Council: A Promise to be Fulﬁlled’, Human Rights Law Review, Vol. 7, 2007, pp. 41–71; H. Hupton, ‘The Human Rights Council: First Impressions and Future Challenges’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 29–39.

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UN reform process. It is now more important than ever to accomplish the long-awaited overhaul of the Security Council so that, in line with the objectives proclaimed at the World Summit of 2005, it will become “more broadly representative, eﬃcient and transparent”.179 Besides this broader context, one should be aware that no State is in a position today to preach to others on the issue of respect of human rights. The same is true of the North and the South, as violations of the human rights of migrants have become a topic of major concern in North-South, and sometimes even South-South, relations.180 But dialogue, as vital as it may be, is not an end in itself, the ultimate objective being the eﬀective respect for human rights. The issue of human rights abuses is necessarily fraught with emotion, because it challenges the very legitimacy of the State and its capacity to fulﬁl the function of protection that constitutes its raison d’être. The most radical and eﬀective means of blocking the much-criticised politicization is contingent upon the creation of a World Court of Human Rights. Such a judicial organ would not supersede but rather complement and complete the political body that is the Human Rights Council. Indeed, an intergovernmental body is not only desirable but necessary both for standard setting and implementation of human rights. However, experience of the old Commission and of the new Council has proved that examining violations of human rights within such a political body remains by deﬁnition a highly sensitive exercise. On the contrary, the judicialization of human rights helps to calm the passions of debate, which then moves from the political domain to that of legal techniques. The establishment of regional Courts within the Council of Europe, the Organization of American States, and the African Union represents a crucial precedent for asserting that a similar judicial body at the universal level is both an acceptable and eﬀective way of protecting human rights. Within the UN, the human rights treaty bodies have played a non negligible role in the supervision of State obligations. However, the non-binding character of their communications on individual complaints clearly limits their eﬀectiveness. More generally, the very existence of a disparate cohort of nine committees,181 with diﬀerent and

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2005 World Summit Outcome, op. cit., p. 35, § 153. See generally: V. Chetail, ‘Paradigm and Paradox of the Migration-Development Nexus: The New Border for North-South Dialogue’, 51 German Yearbook of International Law, 2009, 183–215; V. Chetail (ed.), Mondialisation, migration et droits de l’homme: le droit international en question/Globalisation, Migration and Human Rights: International Law under Review, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2007). These are: the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination; the Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights; the Human Rights Committee; the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women; the Committee against Torture; the Committee on the Rights of the Child; the Committee on the Protection of All Migrant Workers

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sometimes overlapping procedures and mandates, undermines the coherence of the UN supervisory system, which is widely recognized as being in need of reform.182 Among various reform proposals, the idea proposed by the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights to establish a uniﬁed treaty monitoring body has received rather less than enthusiastic endorsement.183 Whatever the merits of establishing a uniﬁed treaty body, it requires an amendment to all the relevant UN treaties, which is a particularly cumbersome and lengthy procedure. Against such a background and from a purely legal perspective, three diﬀerent options are possible for establishing a judicial mechanism at the universal level. The ﬁrst would be to give access to individuals to the International Court of Justice. Already in 1950, Lauterpacht proposed to enlarge the scope of the Court’s jurisdiction in order to include not only disputes between States but also between States and individuals, subject to State consent.184 This possibility was even discussed by States during the negotiations on the implementation measures of the draft Covenant on Civil and Political Rights.185 It has, however, been abandoned in favour of the establishment of a specialized – but non-judicial – supervisory body (i.e. the Human Rights Committee). The idea of giving access to the International Court of Justice to individuals has been nevertheless mooted by scholars from time to time, and notably by Mark W. Janis in 1997.186 Meanwhile, the main judicial body of the UN has delivered

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and Members of Their Families; the Committee on Enforced Disappearances and the Committee on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. With the exception of the Committee on the Rights of the Child, and although not all the relevant treaties are as yet in force, all the above-mentioned treaty bodies are competent to examine State reports, and, provided that the concerned State Party has explicitly given its consent, to individual complaints. For further discussion see: P. Alston & J. Crawford (eds.), The Future of UN Human Rights Treaty Monitoring, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2000); A. F. Bayefsky (ed.), The UN Human Rights Treaty System in the 21st Century, (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 2000). Concept Paper on the High Commissioner’s Proposal for a Uniﬁed Standing Treaty Body, HRI/ MC/2006/2 (2006). For a critical comment of this proposal see: M. O’Flaherty & C. O’Brien, ‘Reform of UN Human Rights Treaty Monitoring Bodies: A Critique of the Concept Paper on the High Commissioner’s Proposal for a Uniﬁed Standing Treaty Body’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 141–172; M. Bowman, ‘Towards a Uniﬁed Treaty Body for Monitoring Compliance with UN Human Rights Conventions? Legal Mechanisms for Treaty Reform’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 225–249; R. L. Johnstone, ‘Cynical Savings or Reasonable Reform? Reﬂections on a Single Uniﬁed UN Human Rights Treaty Body’, 7 Human Rights Law Review, 2007, 173–200. H. Lauterpacht, International Law and Human Rights, op. cit., pp. 57–60. See notably: Compilation of Comments of Governments on Measures of Implementation, E/ CN.4/366 (1950). M. W. Janis, ‘Individuals and the International Court’, in: A. S. Muller et al. (eds.), The International Court of Justice. Its Future Role after Fifty Years, op. cit., pp. 205–216. See also in

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an increasing number of judgements and advisory opinions involving human rights issues.187 It has been argued, though, that opening the jurisdiction of the International Court of Justice to individuals would radically transform the very nature of the Court and “diminish its role as the main judicial forum in which states can peacefully settle their disputes.”188 In any case, the most substantial obstacle for such modiﬁcation of its jurisdiction relies on the need to amend the UN Charter, which proves to be a particularly burdensome procedure.189 A second option – which, curiously, is rarely mentioned – would be to enlarge the material jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court to encompass human rights violations.190 From that angle, crimes against humanity as deﬁned in Article 7 of the Statue already encompass some of the most serious violations of human rights (including violations of the right to life, slavery, arbitrary detention, freedom from torture, and other inhumane treatment), provided however that they are committed as part of a “widespread or systematic attack directed against any civilian population”. Expanding the jurisdiction to violations of human rights in general without this last requirement inherent to the crime against humanity would raise at least two important legal issues. They highlight in turn both the speciﬁcities of the International Criminal Court and

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this sense: J. Grimheden, ‘The International Court of Justice in Furthering the Justiﬁability of Human Rights’, in: G. Alfredsson et al. (eds.), International Human Rights Monitoring Mechanisms. Essays in honour of Jakob Th. Möller, (Kluwer Law International, 2001), pp. 483–484; R. Garland, ‘The International Court of Justice and Human Rights in the 1990s – Linking Peace and Justice through the Right to Life’, in: S. Yee & W. Tieya (eds.), International Law in the Post-Cold War World. Essays in memory of Li Haopei, (London: Routledge, 2001), p. 401. For an assessment see notably: G. Zyberi, The humanitarian face of the International Court of Justice: its contribution to interpreting and developing international human rights and humanitarian law rules and principles, (Antwerpen: Intersentia, 2008); S. R. S. Bedi, The development of human rights law by the judges of the International Court of Justice, (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2007); R. Goy, La Cour internationale de Justice et les droits de l’homme, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2002); R. Higgins, ‘The International Court of Justice and Human Rights’, in: K. Wellens, International Law: Theory and Practice. Essays in honour of Eric Suy, (The Hague/Boston/London, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 1998), pp. 691–705; S. M. Schwebel, ‘Human Rights in the World Court’, 24 Vanderbilt Journal of Transnational Law, 1991, 945–970. See also with regard to international humanitarian law: V. Chetail, ‘The Contribution of the International Court of Justice to International Humanitarian Law’, 85 International Review of the Red Cross, 2003, 235–269. G. Oberleitner, Global Human Rights Institutions – Between Remedy and Ritual, (Polity Press, 2007), p. 157. Strangely enough, this strong and arguably crippling requirement seems to have been forgotten by the proponents of amending Article 34 of its Statute. The amendment procedure of the Rome Statute is governed by its articles 121 to 123 and carried out by the Assembly of States Parties.

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the technical diﬃculties – albeit not necessarily insurmountable – of enlarging its jurisdiction. First, individuals do not have a direct access to the International Criminal Court. According to Article 13 of the Rome Statute, it may exercise its jurisdiction in three distinct circumstances: the Prosecutor has initiated an investigation proprio motu; a situation has been referred to him by a State Party or by the Security Council acting under Chapter VII of the UN Charter. Maintaining the current system would probably reassure States Parties to the Rome Statute. In practice, however, it would imply that the exercise of its jurisdiction is likely to be circumscribed to massive violations of human rights rather than individual ones. Second, the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court exclusively focuses on the criminal responsibility of individuals, even though this includes Heads of State and other political and military leaders. Transposing international criminal responsibility of individuals for any violations of human rights would raise complex legal issues, given that the primary responsibility to ensure respect for human rights relies on the state as such, rather than on the individuals per se. Faced to the legal diﬃculties of enlarging the jurisdiction of existing courts, the third option for introducing a judicial mechanism at the universal level would be to establish a World Court of Human Rights. This idea is all but new. As early as 1947, Australia proposed the creation of an international court of human rights to the UN.191 It was discussed within the Human Rights Commission until 1955, before it was decided that the question should no longer have priority on its agenda.192 Several decades later, the idea of such a court resurfaced during the course of preparations for the Vienna World Conference on Human Rights held in 1993.193 Subsequently, international attention concentrated on the creation of an international criminal court, even though scholars have continued to discuss the need for an international court of human rights.194 It has recently attracted increasing attention in the context of the

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E/CN.4/15 (1947). Australia detailed the following year in 1948 a proposal of Statute for this international Court of human rights which was largely inspired by the Statute of the International Court of Justice: E/CN.4/AC.1/27 (1948). E/2731 (1955), p. 4. M.G. Schmidt, ‘Individual Human Rights Complaints Procedures based on United Nations Treaties and the need for Reform’, International and Comparative Law Quarterly, Vol. 41, 1992, p. 658; C. Strohal, ‘The Development of the International Human Rights System by the United Nations’, in: F. Cede & L. Sucharipa-Behrmann (eds.), The United Nations – Law and Practice, (The Hague/London/Boston, Kluwer Law International, 1999), p. 166. See in particular: S. Trechsel, ‘A World Court for Human Rights?’, Northwestern University Journal of International Human Rights, Vol. 1, 2004; T. Burgenthal, ‘A Court and Two Consolidated Treaty Bodies’, in: A. F. Bayefsky (ed.), The UN Human Rights Treaty System in the 21st Century, op. cit., pp. 299–302.

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establishment of the Human Rights Council, which “seems to be the right moment to start seriously thinking about the creation of a World Court of Human Rights as its independent counter-part.”195 The creation of such a Court would unquestionably reinforce the coherence of the existing judicial architecture at the global level. The plenary competence attributed to the International Court of Justice for interstate disputes, subject to their consent, would thus be completed by two specialized tribunals: an International Court of Human Rights, responsible for judging violations of human rights, and the International Criminal Court, whose jurisdiction is focused on “the most serious crimes of concern to the international community as a whole” in accordance with Article 5 of its Statute (genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes and aggression, the latter being still in need of a deﬁnition). Establishing an International Court of Human Rights through a separate treaty is technically easier than the two other options referred to above, for it does not require amendment of the statutes of existing courts nor the abolition of the UN treaty bodies.196 Determining its material jurisdiction would probably not be the most complex task. At the time of ratiﬁcation, each State Party could simply identify the human rights treaties for which the Court is authorized to exercise its jurisdiction,197 it being understood that they could retain the possibility to add new conventions at a later stage. More than the relevant applicable law, one of the most delicate issues would be to identify who should have the right to apply before this Court. Giving an access to individuals would be certainly the most substantial – and truly revolutionary – contribution of such a new judicial mechanism, even if it can coexist with interstate complaints (which have nevertheless proved negligible in the ﬁeld of the human rights protection). Opening an international court to individuals, however, presupposes a solid screening procedure for assessing the admissibility of the complaints (including the exhaustion of local remedies and the absence of similar procedures before

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M. Nowak, “The Need for a World Court of Human Rights”, Human Rights Law Review, Vol. 7, 2007, p. 254. See also my article published the same year ‘Le Conseil des droits de l’homme des Nations Unies: réformer pour ne rien changer?’, op. cit., pp. 166–167; G. Oberleitner, Global Human Rights Institutions – Between Remedy and Ritual, op. cit., pp. 161–163; G. Ulfstein, “Do We Need a World Court of Human Rights?”, in: O. Engdahl & P. Wrange (eds.), Law at War – The Law as it Was and the Law as it Should Be, (Brill, 2008), pp. 261–272. See also in this sense: M. Nowak, ‘The Need for a World Court of Human Rights’, op. cit., p. 255; G. Ulfstein, “Do We Need a World Court of Human Rights?”, op. cit., p. 262; S. Trechsel, ‘A World Court for Human Rights?’, op. cit., para. 23. Ibid.

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other regional courts).198 Avoiding ﬂooding of the court with thousands of complaints – as has happened with the European Court of Human Rights – would also necessitate capacity-building assistance and other forms of encouragement towards States Parties in order to establish eﬀective domestic courts system. Following this approach, it is of great importance to remember that human rights must be primarily protected and safeguarded at the national level. Establishing a World Court of Human Rights is not a panacea for ensuring the eﬀective and universal respect of human rights in accordance with the goals proclaimed in the UN Charter. Although it is commonly acknowledged that there is no right without remedy, “judicial romanticism”199 may be misleading in overestimating the role of courts (whether domestic or international) in the protection of human rights. Despite encouraging regional experiences, notably carried out in Europe and America, the judicial protection of human rights is one means among others to ensure their eﬀective observance by States. Enhancing States capacity to fulﬁl their obligations through international cooperation and assistance is another way to approach this issue, which has been abundantly underlined during the debates surrounding the establishment of the Human Rights Council. Although this last cooperative approach is complementary with the judicial one, States clearly continue to privilege the former at the universal level. For the time being, establishing a judicial counterpart to the Human Rights Council is being met with energetic opposition from States, who are thus re-establishing that incessant and uncomfortable dialogue between human rights and diplomacy. Given the present state of international law and international relations, diplomacy and human rights will therefore have to learn to co-exist in spite of the misunderstandings that will continue to ﬂare up around them. The future action of the Human Rights Council will show whether an exclusively interstate way to address human rights at the global level proves to be the right one.

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It is doubtful that a complementary regime similar to those existing before the International Criminal Court could be useful. See on the limits of the principle of complementarity: V. Chetail, “Tous les chemins ne mènent pas à Rome. Le principe de complémentarité en droit international pénal ou l’éternel dilemme entre souveraineté nationale et justice internationale”, in: Y. Kerbrat (ed.), Forum shopping et concurrence des procédures dans le contentieux international, (Brussels: Bruylant, 2010). D. P. Forsythe, Human Rights in International Relations, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2nd edn., 2006), p. 90. See also: G. Oberleitner, Global Human Rights Institutions – Between Remedy and Ritual, op. cit., p. 162.

Chapter 11 International Humanitarian Law, Human Rights and the UK Courts1 Christine Chinkin

The view that war – international or internal armed conﬂict – is an essentially lawless and unregulated aﬀair mitigated only by the pragmatism of international humanitarian law is now widely debunked. War, especially in western societies2 has become a highly legalistic, juridiﬁed regime.3 Lawyers, often at the behest of civil society movements including humanitarian and human rights organisations, use creative international legal argument to challenge government decisions about the waging of war and its conduct. This has been especially visible in Israel with the jurisprudence that has evolved out of its armed conﬂicts and occupation.4 In recent years this trend has emerged in the UK and rapidly so in the context of Iraq. It is seen in the debates and claims about the legality of recourse to war; during combat when lawyers advise on legal targets and strategies;5 and in the claims commenced and public inquiries sought in the aftermath

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This chapter forms part of a project undertaken by Phil Shiner of Public Interest Lawyers, Andrew Williams, University of Warwick and myself on the International Law for Peace. I thank the Joseph Rowntree Charitable Trust for its support of the project. Vera too is part of the project and I acknowledge with gratitude the insights and experience she has brought to it, as well as the many years of friendship. An earlier version was given as a lecture at the Minerva Center for Human Rights, Jerusalem. This is not to suggest that other societies have not also sought to bring armed conﬂict within the framework of legal argumentation as seen in the cases brought before the ICJ by the Democratic Republic of Congo against Uganda and Rwanda. “The Iraq war has been thoroughly juridiﬁed”, according to G. Simpson, ‘The Death of Baha Mousa’, 8 Melbourne Journal of International Law, 2007, 340, 341. D. Kretzmer, The Occupation of Justice: The Supreme Court of Israel and the Occupied Territories (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002). In the context of Kosovo the House of Commons Foreign Aﬀairs Committee noted that “every single action in warfare is liable to be analysed to see whether it was or was not lawful.” UK House of Commons, Foreign Aﬀairs Committee, Fourth Report, Kosovo, Vol. 1, lvii–lviii,

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of combat. Military behaviour during combat and belligerent occupation is now widely assessed against legal standards in a range of formal and informal arenas including internal disciplinary hearings, national, regional and international courts. Where no such arenas are available civil society may seek recourse in socalled Peoples’ Tribunals.6 This “lawfare”7 leads to a number of consequences. First, traditional approaches to the relationship between international law and domestic law are challenged. Second, the scrutiny of international legal texts by lawyers seeking language to support their position exposes the chameleon-like quality of much international law and often its inherent unsuitability for application by judges in national courts. Weak textual argument becomes bolstered by moral argument, sometimes presented as purposive interpretation. As “law is employed in claims for legitimacy, . . . interpreted to ﬁt war-speciﬁc objectives”8 the notions of legitimacy and legality become blurred. Third, diﬀerences between the objectives and applicability of so-called self-contained regimes of international law are exposed, contributing on the one hand to its fragmentation9 and on the other to its constitutionalisation10 through diverse methodologies such as asserting hierarchy, international community values or other means of resolving textual conﬂicts.11 Fourth, are consequences for the separation of powers, for the line between legal and political argument. Once war (still pri-

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2000; J. Baker, ‘When Lawyers Advise Presidents in Wartime: Kosovo and the Law of Armed Conflict – War on Terrorism’, Naval War College Review, Winter, 2002, 1. E.g. World Tribunal on Iraq, Istanbul, 23–27 June 2005; C. Chinkin, ‘Peoples’ Tribunals: Legitimate or Rough Justice?’ 24 Windsor Yearbook of Access to Justice, 2006, 201; J. Nayar ‘Taking Empire Seriously: Empire’s Law, People’s Law, and the World Tribunal in Iraq’, in: A. Bartholomew, Empire’s Law: The American Imperial Project and the ‘War to Remake the World’, (London: Pluto Press, 2007). ‘Lawfare’ has been used by David Kennedy to describe the process of “managing law and war together”: D. Kennedy, Of War and Law, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), p. 125. I. Kalpouzos, ‘Book Review’, 12 Journal of Conﬂict and Security Law, 2008, 486. The fragmentation of international law has been studied by the International Law Commission, M. Koskenniemi, Fragmentation of International Law: Diﬃculties arising from the Diversiﬁcation and Expansion of International Law, Report of the Study Group of the International Law Commission, UN Doc. A/CN.4/L.682, 13 April 2006. M. Koskenniemi, ‘International Law: Between Fragmentation and Constitutionalism’, lecture delivered at the Australian National University, Canberra, 27 November 2006. E.g. the concept of lex specialis; rules relating to successive treaties, Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, 1969, article 30.

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marily an executive prerogative in the UK)12 is “jammed together”13 with law, issues of judicial review, rule of law, judicial independence, justiciability, and jurisdiction come to the fore. These are legalistic consequences, fascinating for the legal and constitutional theoretician but they leave outstanding the core question of whether legalism denotes greater protection for those caught up in armed conﬂict. Have the legal developments created greater security during situations of instability and armed violence or has this primary goal become lost in legal technicalities? This article considers some of the cases where UK courts have found themselves “deep inside the realm of international law”14 around the invasion and occupation of Iraq that commenced in 2003. It does not attempt to provide a comprehensive analysis of the current law15 but rather to oﬀer some personal reﬂections on some of the issues suggested above, in particular on how judges in the UK have responded to claims for the applicability of international law in the context of armed conﬂict and thus how they have contributed to the implementation of international standards. At the outset I wish to make two introductory background comments. First, war and armed conﬂict are terms that cover a wide spectrum of behaviour and levels of violence. The language of war is not neutral but denotes a decision to use force rather than other methods of addressing a problem, thereby legitimating the ensuing violence, as for example in the war on terror.16 Further the forms of armed conﬂict are subject to constant change. The many diﬀerent local contexts of conﬂict make generalisations diﬃcult but certain characteristics of so-called “new wars”17 reduce the relevance of the international legal regimes of 12

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A motion supporting the use of force against Iraq was supported in the UK House of Commons on 18 March 2003. On the controversial issue of the Attorney-General’s advice on the legality of the war see P. Sands, Lawless World (London: Allen Lane, 2005); P. Shiner, ‘The Iraq War, International Law and the Search for Accountability’, in: P. Shiner and A. Williams (eds.), The Iraq War and International Law, (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2008), p. 17. G. Simpson, supra (note 3), p. 355. R (on the application of Al-Jedda) v. Secretary of State for Defence [2008] 3 All ER 28, 53 per Lord Rodger. (Al-Jedda, HL). As of late 2008 many cases raising diﬀerent aspects of international law are still outstanding. The chapter also does not consider the signiﬁcant drawing upon arguments derived from international law in the context of immigration law and asylum claims. F. Mégret, ‘“War”? Legal Semantics and the Move to Violence’, 13 EJIL, 2002, 361; see also B. Stark, ‘What We Talk About When We Talk About War’, 28 Stan JIL, 1996, 91; International Law Association, Committee on the Use of Force, Initial Report on the Meaning of Armed Conﬂict in International Law, Rio de Janeiro, 2008 (available on website of the ILA). M. Kaldor, New and Old Wars: Organized Violence in a Global Era (Polity Press, 2nd edn., 2006).

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The Hague18 and Geneva.19 New wars are asymmetrical in terms of the availability and sophistication of weaponry, which tends to lead to a focus on civilian targets rather than the ﬁghting of battles. Fighters can retreat to the bush, jungle or the urban setting and avoid both formal confrontation and ready identiﬁcation as combatants. Ongoing hostilities against civilian populations are pursued, often with low-tech weapons but extreme savagery with high levels of murder, injury, rape and mutilation. Fighters – terrorists, insurgents, rebel groups call them what you will – use civilians as human shields, as hostages, as those forced to test mineﬁelds while those opposing them are drawn into attacks often with high rates of civilian casualties. A political economy of war is developed, often around resources (diamonds, oil, gold, coltan) and income from valuable natural resources and from humanitarian aid ends up lining individual pockets rather than beneﬁting the country. Normal economic activity falters or grinds to a halt. There is a blending of criminal activity with acts of war and, in what is euphemistically termed “post-conﬂict”, violence continues. An Oxfam Report notes that “[m]ore people, especially women and children, die from the fallout of conﬂict than die in conﬂict itself.”20 Disparity between opposing forces may manifest itself in one side using sophisticated military techniques, including air-strikes that cause extreme levels of destruction and displacement but relatively low civilian deaths in relation to the physical destruction. Iraq since 2003 has suﬀered both high tech military operations and, since the proclaimed end of military operations, low level, extreme insurgent/terrorist violence and counter-terrorist responses.21 Second, I will brieﬂy outline the traditional position with respect to the relationship between international law and national law in UK courts. The UK has an essentially dualist system22 albeit

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Hague Convention on the Regulation of the Laws and Customs of War on Land, 18 October 1907. Convention for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Field; Convention for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded, Sick and Shipwrecked Members of Armed Forces at Sea; Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War; Convention Relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War, Geneva, 12 August 1949; Protocol additional to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, and relating to the Protection of Victims of International Armed Conﬂicts, 8 June 1977, (Protocol I); Protocol additional to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, and relating to the Protection of Victims of Non-International Armed Conﬂicts, 8 June 1977 (Protocol II). Oxfam, ‘Africa’s Missing billions. International arms ﬂows and the cost of conﬂict’, (Brieﬁng Paper 107, October 2007). President Bush declared the cessation of “major combat operations” from the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln on 1 May 2003. For a discussion of the monist and dualist theories of the relationship between municipal and international law see I. Brownlie, Principles of Public International Law, (OUP, 6th ed., 2003)

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one that draws a distinction between the diﬀerent sources of international law. Treaties need to be incorporated through legislation and thus transformed into national law.23 Lord Hoﬀmann responded somewhat dismissively to the suggestion of a role for international law in the Chagos Islanders case: As for international law, I do not understand how, consistently with the wellestablished doctrine that it does not form part of domestic law, it can support any argument for the invalidity of a purely domestic law such as the Constitution Order.24

Accordingly the Geneva Conventions Act 1957, as amended by the Geneva Conventions (Amendment) Act 1995, gives eﬀect to the UK’s obligations under the Geneva Conventions, 1949 and Protocols I and II25 in national law. The International Criminal Court Act 2001 gives domestic legal eﬀect to the Rome Statute. With respect to human rights, the Human Rights Act 1998 gives “further eﬀect” to most of the provisions of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR)26 to which the UK had become a party as long ago as 1951. Nevertheless European Convention rights remain distinct obligations in the UK domestic legal systems.27 The UK has not incorporated or given domestic eﬀect to either the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, nor the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights. Treaties are not the only way in which states incur binding obligations under international law. The Security Council (SC) can adopt resolutions that create binding obligations for member States.28 Like treaties, Security Council resolutions are not themselves part of UK law and are not enforceable as such in UK courts. Accordingly the United Nations Act 1946 was adopted to enable the government to adopt Orders in Council to give eﬀect to its obligation to

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chapter two; J. Nijman and A. Nollkaemper (eds.), New Perspectives on the Divide between National and International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). E.g., “And it is ﬁrmly established that international treaties do not form part of English law and that English courts have no jurisdiction to interpret or apply them”: J.H Rayner (Mincing Lane Limited v. DTI [1990] 2 AC 418 (the International Tin Council case).’ R v Lyons (Isidore Jack) (No. 3) [2002] 3 WLR 1562 per Lord Hoﬀmann. R (On the Application of Bancoult) v. Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Aﬀairs [2008] UKHL 61, para. 66. The Geneva Conventions are scheduled to the 1957 Act; Protocols I and II to the 1995 Amendment Act. European Convention on the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, 1950 (ECHR), articles 2–12, 14, 16–18 and Protocols 1 and 6 are scheduled to the Act (Schedule 1). R (Al-Jedda, HZ), para. 51 per Lord Rodger. E.g. “the Security Council can adopt resolutions couched in mandatory terms.” Al-Jedda, para. 33 per Lord Bingham.

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comply with decisions of the Security Council.29 However in the case of a principle of customary international law, the traditional view is that it automatically forms part of the law of the land without the need for legislative incorporation. The rationale is self-evident: it is the only appropriate approach where rules of customary international law “emerge gradually in the world community and whose content is not immediately deﬁnable.”30 In addition, conformity with the uniform and consistent state practice required for the creation of a rule of customary international law is indicative of being a “civilised” state.31 Thus those principles of international humanitarian law that constitute customary international law32 (for example the Hague Regulations) are presumed also to be law in the UK. This summary is unsurprisingly starkly over-simpliﬁed and represents theoretical positions rather than judicial practice. As Ian Brownlie has noted “an increasing number of jurists wish to escape from the dichotomy of monism and dualism, holding that the logical consequences of both theories conﬂict with the way in which international and national organs and courts behave.”33 The reality is that the principles determining the use of international law and the scope of international legal argumentation are themselves in a state of ﬂux, subject to innovative advocacy and judicial approach, thereby compounding procedural and substantive deﬁciencies of international law. The objectives of using argument derived from international law in national courts vary. The goal may be to raise overtly political issues in a judicial forum as was seen in the CND case where the petitioners sought a judicial determination that, if granted, would have eﬀectively prevented the government from going to war against Iraq in 2003.34 To this end they sought an advisory declaration

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C. Greenwood, ‘United Kingdom’, in: V. Gowlland-Debbas (ed.) National Implementation of UN Sanctions (2004), 588. A. Cassesse, International Law (Oxford: OUP, 2nd edn., 2005), 224. “National constitutions or statutes or national decisions of most States stipulate that customary international rules become domestically binding ipso facto, that is, by the mere fact of their evolving in the international community”, Ibid. J.-M. Henckaerts and L. Doswald-Beck, Customary International Humanitarian Law (Geneva: International Committee of the Red Cross, 2005). The status of all the rules contained in these volumes as customary international law is not uncontroversial; E. Wilmshurst and S. Breau (eds.), Perspectives on the ICRC Study on Customary International Humanitarian Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); P. Rowe, ‘The eﬀect on national law of the customary international humanitarian law study’, Journal of Conﬂict and Security Law, 2006, 165. I. Brownlie, supra (note 22), p. 33. The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament v. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, The Secretary of State for Foreign & Commonwealth Aﬀairs, The Secretary of State for Defence [2002] EWHC 2777 (Admin) (HC, Divisional Ct). See P. Shiner, ‘The Iraq War, International Law

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as to the meaning of SC Resolution 144135 and that the Government would be in breach of international law if it pursued military action against Iraq without a further ‘second’ SC resolution. In the leading judgment Lord Justice Brown held these issues to be non-justiciable in that the court should not declare the meaning of an international instrument (such as a SC resolution) operating on the plane of international law.36 Indeed to do so would in his opinion constitute “an exorbitant arrogation of adjudicative power”. Further the Court would not take such action where it could be damaging to the national interest in the ﬁeld of international relations. In this case the Court deferred to the executive. It was apparently not impressed by the wide diﬀerences of opinion that were dividing international lawyers and to this end observed that “the government has access to the best advice [on international law] not only from law oﬃcers but also from a number of distinguished specialists in the ﬁeld.”37 As reliance on SC resolutions did not work to restrain the UK government from entering into armed conﬂict against Iraq, an attempt was made subsequently for judicial review of the Government’s failure to hold an independent public inquiry into the circumstances that had led to the invasion of Iraq in 2003. In the case of Gentle38 the claimants – mothers of two soldiers who had been killed in Iraq – did not seek an answer as to whether “the use of armed force by the United Kingdom in Iraq in 2003 was lawful or unlawful in international law” for their claim was “directed to the process by which the Government obtained advice and not to the correctness of the advice it received or should have received.”39 They turned from the jus ad bellum to human rights law for the basis of their case was the right to life under article 2 of the European Convention on Human Rights. Article 2 creates both substantive and procedural obligations, the latter encompassing the government’s duty to carry out an adequate investigation where there is at least the possibility that there has been a substantive violation. The claimants argued that by failing to take reasonable steps to ensure the waging of war against Iraq to have been lawful, there was at least an arguable case that it was in violation of the substantive provisions of article 2 and that therefore an investigation – or

35

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and the Search for Accountability’, in: P. Shiner and A. Williams (eds.), The Iraq War and International Law (Hart, 2008), 17, 28–34. SC resolution 1441, 8 November 2002, was the resolution in which the SC decided Iraq to be “in material breach of its obligations under relevant resolutions” and gave Iraq “a ﬁnal opportunity to comply with its disarmament obligations”. CND case, para. 36. Ibid., para. 44. R (On the application of Gentle) v. Prime Minister [2007] 2 WLR 195 (CA); [2008] 2 WLR 879 (HL). Unusually, nine members of the House of Lords sat in this case. [2008] 2 WLR 879, para. 2 per Lord Bingham.

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inquiry – was required. In the Court of Appeal Sir Anthony Clarke rejected this claim as non-justiciable, inter alia because it would require consideration of SC resolutions 67840 and 1441. The House of Lords also unanimously rejected the claim but did not consider their competence to interpret SC resolutions. Their Lordships did not consider that the legality of the invasion in international law had anything to do with the state’s obligations under human rights law. In the words of Lord Bingham “I ﬁnd it impossible to conceive that the proud sovereign states of Europe could ever have contemplated binding themselves legally to establish an independent public enquiry into the process by which a decision might have been made to commit the state’s armed forces to war.”41 In these cases international law was appealed to unsuccessfully as an instrument with which to beat the government in an attempt to direct its behaviour, or at least secure some transparency as to its decision-making. International law may also be used as a defence against government charges of illegality. The case of R v Jones and Milling 42 also involved the legality of the use of force against Iraq, but this time the international obligations relied upon did not derive from SC resolutions but from customary international law. Charges of criminal damage were brought against individuals who had deliberately caused damage to US and British military installations in the UK with the aim of hindering military preparations for the war against Iraq. The accused argued that they should not be convicted because their actions were lawful in that they were reasonable measures to prevent the commission of a crime by the British and American governments,43 the customary international law crime of aggression. The House of Lords agreed that such a crime has existed since at least 1945 and unlike other rules of customary international law has been understood with suﬃcient clarity to permit the lawful trial of those accused of this most serious of crimes at Nuremburg.44 On the basis that customary international law is automatically

40

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SC 678, 29 November 1990 had authorised “Member States co-operating with the Government of Kuwait . . . to use all necessary means . . . to restore international peace and security in the area.” Gentle, para 9. [2007] 1 AC 136. The Criminal Law Act 1967, s 3 allows the use of force that is “reasonable in the circumstances in the prevention of crime”; the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 s 68 (1) makes it an oﬀence to trespass on land with the view to disrupt lawful activity on the land. 68 (2) provides that “Activity . . . on land is ‘lawful’ . . . if he or they may engage in the activity on the land . . . without committing an oﬀence.” The argument was that the acts of the Government were not lawful’ within the terms of this section since they constituted aggression under customary international law. The crime of aggression is included within the jurisdiction of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, 1998, article 5 (1) (d). Under article 5 (2) the provision is not yet operative as the crime has not been deﬁned.

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incorporated into English law (a proposition that was accepted by the Crown)45 it might have been expected that the argument would be successful. This was not the case because in the view of the House of Lords new crimes can only be created by statute, not by giving automatic eﬀect to a rule of customary international law. When it is sought to give domestic eﬀect to crimes established in customary international law, the normal practice is to legislate as for example in the case of the Geneva Conventions. It seems clear that the House of Lords wanted to apply the principle that no-one can be convicted for a crime that did not expressly exist in England at the time of its commission but in this instance the crime of aggression was raised as a defence, not as a charge. The case casts considerable doubt on the long-standing assumption of the automatic eﬀectiveness of customary international law in UK domestic law, including presumably principles of international humanitarian law. Thus far we have seen the UK judiciary as having been unwilling to rely upon international law, apparently regardless of source, to restrain the government in its exercise of its prerogative to deploy troops or to support civil disobedience. The courts have also had to consider the legality of actions taken by the military during the continued violence that characterised the aftermath of the invasion of Iraq. This context has highlighted the question of applicable international legal regimes: armed conﬂict has not just become juridiﬁed it has become subject to multiple regimes. The simple dichotomy of international humanitarian law as applicable in armed conﬂict and human rights law in non-armed conﬂict situations (peacetime) can no longer be sustained (if indeed that was ever the case), although the precise scope and content of human rights norms in armed conﬂict remains unclear.46 In some instances the distinction has little practical eﬀect but in others it is important, especially in relation to killings and detention (or combat and policing) – the issues at stake in the cases discussed below. International criminal law has had enhanced visibility since the establishment of the ad hoc international criminal tribunals and the International Criminal Court in the 1990s. In the UK, Corporal Donald Payne pleaded guilty to inhumane treatment as a war crime under the International Criminal Court Act 2001 at a court martial arising out of the death of Mr Baha Mousa in

45

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Lord Bingham preferred the more cautious formulation that “international law is not a part, but is one of the sources, of English law.” [2007] 1 AC 136, para 11. In the Wall advisory opinion the ICJ identiﬁed three possible positions: some matters to be determined exclusively by international humanitarian law; some by human rights; and others as matters for both branches of law. Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, ICJ Reports 2003, para. 106. The Court oﬀered no criteria for determining which matters fall under each category.

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Iraq, as described below.47 International humanitarian law, human rights and international criminal law constitute distinct legal regimes each with its own ethos arising from its functions, processes, rules of standing and decision-making, language and objectives.48 Yet another legal regime was constructed by the SC. Unlike the period of active military operations when it remained silent (as indeed it had in the Gulf War of 1991), the SC again found its voice for the period of occupation, perhaps seeking to regain some of the authority that had been eroded by the coalition’s unauthorized recourse to force. In resolution 1483, 22 May 2003, the SC recognized “the speciﬁc authorities, responsibilities, and obligations under applicable international law of [the US and UK] as occupying powers under uniﬁed command” and aﬃrmed their obligations under international law including in particular the 1907 Hague Regulations and 1949 Geneva Conventions. However, acting under UN Charter chapter VII, the SC also implicitly adapted and reformulated the laws of occupation (for example by placing the disbursement of funds in the Development Fund for Iraq at the direction of the Authority) in what has been termed “transformative military occupation”.49 The resolution made no reference to human rights law other than within the context of the mandate of the Secretary-General’s Special Representative suggesting this to be a concern of the international community, humanitarian agencies and the Iraqi people rather than of the occupiers. This was the plurality of international legal regimes potentially applicable to the case of Al-Skeini.50 Al-Skeini involved a number of test cases that were brought by relatives of Iraqi civilians who had been killed by UK soldiers in varying circumstances during the period of military occupation. Like the claimants in Gentle they sought an inquiry into aspects of the war against Iraq, in this instance through judicial review of the Secretary of State for Defence’s refusal to order an independent, impartial and eﬀective inquiry into the incidents that led to these deaths. To succeed the claimants had to show that they came within the scope of the ECHR and, under the Human Rights Act that a public authority had acted incompatibly with their Convention rights. The Convention rights claimed were the procedural requirements of the ECHR, articles 2 (right to life) and 3

47

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Corporal Payne pleaded not guilty to manslaughter and perverting the course of justice. Six other soldiers pleaded not guilty to all charges. The six month long court martial acquitted the soldiers of all these charges. M. Koskenniemi, ‘International Law: Between Fragmentation and Constitutionalism’, lecture delivered at the Australian National University, Canberra, 27 November 2006. A. Roberts, ‘Transformative Military Occupation: Applying the Laws of War and Human Rights’, 100 AJIL, 2006, 580. R (Al-Skeini and others) v. Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust and others intervening) [2007] 3 WLR 33 (HL) (Al Skeini).

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(prohibition of torture). In June 2007 the UK House of Lords held that an Iraqi hotel receptionist, Mr Baha Mousa, who had died as a result of brutality inﬂicted by British troops whilst being held in UK military custody in Iraq, came within the terms of the Human Rights Act,51 but that this was not the case for Iraqi civilians who were killed in other ways such as being shot at a road block, or in house searches, or caught in crossﬁre. The case for judicial review turned on whether the claimants came within the scope of the Human Rights Act which required determination of whether the European Convention on Human Rights is applicable to the extra-territorial actions of UK military forces, such as those in Iraq. Unlike the Geneva Conventions, 1949 which apply “in all circumstances”, the geographical scope of the rights secured by the European Convention is more limited: Article 1 of the European Convention secures Convention rights only to persons “within the jurisdiction” of States parties. But the Geneva Conventions did not hold out the promise of an independent investigation. Thus the human rights route was preferred. To determine the applicability of the Convention the courts examined in detail the Strasbourg jurisprudence, including early decisions of the European Commission arising out of Turkish military action in Cyprus from 1974 onwards. The Commission concluded that acts of Turkish soldiers in killing civilians, raping, torturing civilians who were arbitrarily held in detention, causing displacement of civilians from their homes and families, and conﬁscating homes, farms and livestock all constituted violations of the Convention.52 The applicable principle was that authorised state agents (for example military forces) “not only remain under [the state’s] jurisdiction when abroad but bring any other person . . . ‘within the jurisdiction’ of that state, to the extent they exercise authority over such persons.” In subsequent cases brought after the assertion of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus in 1983, Turkey claimed that the local administration and not its soldiers were responsible for continued human rights violations. The Court however considered that the continued presence of large numbers of Turkish troops meant that Turkey could be deemed still to be in eﬀective control in Northern Cyprus and as such remained responsible for securing ECHR rights there.53

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In the Court of Appeal the Secretary of State had accepted that the case of Baha Mousa came within the terms of the Convention but nevertheless contended that it did not come within the terms of the Human Rights Act and accordingly that any remedy would have to be sought in Strasbourg. Much of the discussion in the case turns on interpretation of the Human Rights Act but this note will focus on the discussion of jurisdiction in the jurisprudence of the European Convention on Human Rights. Cyprus v. Turkey (1976) 4 EHRR 482. Loizidou v, Turkey (Preliminary Objections) (1995) 20 EHRR 99, para. 62.

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After these assertions of the extra-territorial reach of the European Convention, either through the exercise of authority by a state agent or the eﬀective control of an area, in Bankovic v. Belgium54 the Court denied its applicability to military actions committed against Serbia. In that case six Yugoslav nationals living in Belgrade brought proceedings against the European member states of NATO with respect to NATO’s campaign of air strikes against the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (now Serbia) during the Kosovo conﬂict, alleging violation of a number of rights, including the right to life. The European Court determined that there was no jurisdictional link between the victims of the acts complained of and the NATO states – the latter did not exercise administrative control over the territory and the military actions did not bring the victims within the Convention’s ambit. The Convention was an instrument of European public order that was not designed to be applied throughout the world, even with respect to the conduct of states parties. It considered that the position with respect to Turkey in northern Cyprus was ‘entirely diﬀerent’ from that appertaining in Serbia since “the inhabitants of northern Cyprus would have found themselves excluded from the beneﬁts of the Convention safeguards and system which they had previously enjoyed, by Turkey’s ‘eﬀective control’ of the territory and by the accompanying inability of the Cypriot Government, . . . to fulﬁl the obligations it had undertaken under the Convention.”55 Further, the Convention could not be “divided and tailored” in accordance with the particular circumstances of the extra-territorial act. It was to be applied in its entirety or not at all. Accordingly the relatives of the victims of the bombing could not seek a remedy under the Convention. In Al-Skeini the House of Lords retreated from the position established in the early Cyprus cases that a state is responsible for violations of the ECHR caused by the wrongful acts of its soldiers and preferred the ‘watershed’ case of Bankovic. In so doing the Court gave minimal attention to post-Bankovic jurisprudence in the European Court of Human Rights, notably Issa v. Turkey.56 The context was a Turkish military raid in northern Iraq during which time Iraqi shepherds were abducted and killed. The Court did not reject the case on the basis that that the extra-territorial jurisdiction of the ECHR was limited to Europe – a form of European legal space (espace juridique) – but instead focused on the link between military occupation and eﬀective control. It accepted that Turkey could well have been in eﬀective control of part of northern Iraq that coincided with its occupation but on the facts did not ﬁnd this to be the case with respect to the speciﬁc area where the shepherds had died, as there was no

54 55 56

Bankovic v. Belgium and Others (2001) 11 BHRC 435. Ibid., para. 80. (2004) 41 EHRR 567.

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evidence that Turkish troops had conducted operations there at the relevant time. Admittedly this factual ﬁnding somewhat lessens the signiﬁcance of Issa as a decision at odds with Bankovic, as does the fact that it was not a decision of the Grand Chamber. The European Court of Human Rights in Bankovic stressed that it should “take into account any relevant rules of international law”.57 However the House of Lords paid scant heed to emerging trends of international law, for example from within the jurisprudence of the International Court of Justice, the opinions of the UN human rights treaty bodies, or jurisprudence of other regional human rights courts, preferring to give pre-eminence to the Bankovic decision. In both the Wall and Uganda58 cases the ICJ upheld the applicability of human rights treaties in occupied territories and the UN human rights treaty bodies in opinions,59 Concluding and General Comments60 have asserted the applicability of the human rights treaties where the state exercises its jurisdiction on foreign territory. Nor was military occupation of itself suﬃcient to establish the necessary level of eﬀective control for the application of human rights standards. The House of Lords noted that the factual situation on the ground during the occupation had been extremely volatile so that UK forces had not been able to exercise control in South-East Iraq, despite the fact that the UK was the primary partner in Multi-National Division (South East) and the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) South. The Al-Skeini case demonstrates well some of the issues that are faced when domestic courts are faced with political and ethical questions couched as questions of international law. The underlying question here was simple: what standard of behaviour do we demand from our military forces when acting overseas? And what are the mechanisms of accountability for that behaviour? The House of Lords stressed the legal nature of these questions. In the words of Lord Rodger:61 However reprehensible, however contrary to any common understanding of respect for ‘human rights’, the alleged conduct of the British forces might have been, it had no legal consequences under the Convention, unless there was that link and the deceased were within the jurisdiction of the United Kingdom at the time. For, only then would the United Kingdom have owed them any obligation

57 58

59 60

61

Bankovic, para. 57. Case Concerning Armed Activities on the Territory of the Congo (DRC v. Uganda) ICJ Reports 2005, especially at paras. 206, 211, 215–220. E.g., Lopez Burgos v. Uruguay 68 ILR, 1981, 29; Casariego v. Uruguay 68 ILR, 1981, 41. Human Rights Committee, General Comment 31, Nature of the General Legal Obligation on States Parties to the Covenant, UN Doc. CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.13 (2004). Al Skeini, para. 64.

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Similarly the independence of the judges at Strasbourg meant that Resolution 1386 of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe calling on states parties to accept the full applicability of the Convention to the activities of their forces in Iraq, remains irrelevant despite its clear expression of political will.62 To make this legal ﬁnding as to the applicability of the ECHR the House of Lords had to construe the language of the Human Rights Act and the extensive Strasbourg jurisprudence. But “the judgments and decisions of the European Court do not speak with one voice”.63 This is unsurprising given the widely different contexts of conﬂict that have arisen, that the Convention was not drafted in the language of a Statute, that UK negotiators never anticipated judges would have to apply it in UK courts,64 the lack of any doctrine of precedent under the Convention, and a style of judgment writing that does not lend itself to common law analysis. The language of the ECHR does not provide an answer. The concept of jurisdiction in international law is multifaceted but even the most detailed and learned analyses do not explain its meaning or scope under article 1 of the Convention.65 The principles of treaty interpretation set out in the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, 1969, articles 31–33 oﬀer little guidance. In the face of inconsistent jurisprudence the choice had to be made as to where to give greatest weight and the choice was Bankovic, despite its very diﬀerent facts from those in Al Skeini. Trends within specialist international law institutions – the ICJ and human rights bodies – might have been thought to oﬀer some guidance but were largely overlooked. Contemporary international law derives from a multiplicity of hard and soft law; the House of Lords turned to the authority of Bankovic rather than to the persuasiveness of other sources and thus failed to reﬂect the richness of international law in their decision-making.66 The concept of jurisdiction to confer enforceable ECHR rights that was adopted by the House of Lords is extremely narrow in that it depends upon an individual being taken into custody and detained within a military facility. Accordingly those persons beaten, shot and killed in the street or in their house

62 63 64

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Al-Skeini, para. 65 per Lord Rodger. Ibid., para. 67. A. W. B. Simpson, Human Rights and the End of Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). F. Mann, ‘The Doctrine of Jurisdiction in International Law’, RCADI, Vol. 111, 1964–I, p. 15; M. Akehurst, ‘Jurisdiction in International Law’, 46 BYBIL (1972–1973) 145. K. Knop, ‘Here and There: International Law in Domestic Courts’, 32 NYU J ILP, 1999– 2000, 501 points to the variable impact of binding and non-binding international law in their treatment by domestic courts.

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(including unfortunate bystanders) could not claim human rights protection under the ECHR. From the perspective of civilian safety during periods of armed interventions and instability – what is increasingly being termed human security – this is unfortunate and inconsistent.67 It seems that if Mr Mousa had been killed at the hotel before being taken into detention, or had been released and subsequently killed, the Convention would not have applied to him.68 Suppose he had been taken to some other place and held and tortured there, but it was not a recognised military detention centre? What about a temporary holding centre? A gap appears to have been forged in Al Skeini between occupation law and the application of human rights. In resolution 1483 the SC had recognised the UK to be an occupying power and partner in the CPA. Under the Hague Regulations, article 42 occupation rests upon the fact of authority having passed to the occupier. Yet occupation was not of itself deemed suﬃcient to establish the requisite control for the application of human rights law. While governments may argue that to demand compliance with human rights standards in the uncertain and hostile situation of military occupation would be to impose an excessive burden on occupiers, the result would appear to be that the state can escape responsibility under the Convention, even for investigation of the deaths of civilians provided they do not take place in military detention. The fact that insuﬃcient troops had been provided to establish eﬀective control cannot constitute an adequate answer: a state that undertakes military intervention and occupation of a foreign country should ensure that it has the capabilities to comply with the human rights obligations it thereby incurs. In the House of Commons on 14 May 2008 the armed forces minister announced a public inquiry under the Inquiries Act 2005 into the death of Mr Mousa and the treatment of those detained with him.69 There is little doubt that this was a response to the litigation (both the civil case and the court martial), media coverage (including graphic pictures of the injuries inﬂicted upon Mr Mousa) and ongoing campaigning, which had ensured that the victims’ stories were told in the public domain. This had engendered the realisation that the 67

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The Human Rights Committee found this position “disturbing”: Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Communication No.CCPR/C/GBR/CO/6, 25 July 2008, para. 14. In the Court of Appeal Sedley LJ concluded that there were ‘good reasons of principle and of substantive law’ for holding that jurisdiction under ECHR, article 1 could ‘extend beyond the walls of the British military prison and include the streets patrolled by British troops.’ Al Skeini, [2006] 3 WLR 508 (CA), para. 205. The Terms of Reference are “To investigate and report on the circumstances surrounding the death of Baha Mousa and the treatment of those detained with him, taking account of the investigations which have already taken place, in particular where responsibility lay for approving the practice of conditioning detainees by any members of the 1st Battalion, The Queen’s Lancashire Regiment in Iraq in 2003, and to make recommendations.”

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questions raised in particular by the death of Mr Mousa were not going to go away. A public inquiry provides for investigation by a senior member of the judiciary but is restricted by the terms of its mandate. The limitation to the death of Mr Baha Mousa and the treatment of those detained with him allows an assumption that this incident was somehow exceptional, and not symptomatic of either government policy or regular military behaviour. But the full story of the conditions of detention and treatment accorded to all UK detainees and those others with whom UK forces come forcibly into contact in Iraq (and elsewhere such as Afghanistan) is needed to enhance transparency, accountability and to initiate the practical measures to ensure non-repetition. In the words of Phil Shiner, lawyer for the Iraqi civilians in Al-Skeini: “It will not be suﬃcient if the inquiry has a narrow remit and does not look at all the cases and issues. The public, as well as parliament, must be given the opportunity of fully understanding what went wrong in our detention policy in Iraq and what are the lessons to be learned for the future.”70 But even where it is accepted that the ECHR applies – in military detention – there may be further obstacles preventing its beneﬁts from being guaranteed. In the case of Al-Jedda the moral supremacy of international human rights law was set against the realities of power as exercised though the SC, with international humanitarian law positioned as a pragmatic middle. Mr Al-Jedda is an Iraqi/UK dual national who had been detained by UK forces in Iraq since October 2004 on suspicion of membership of a terrorist group involved in explosive attacks in Iraq. No charges were brought against him. The Secretary of State acknowledged that there was insuﬃcient evidence to support criminal charges and that his detention was preventive for imperative reasons of security. The political situation in Iraq had changed again by the time of Mr Al-Jedda’s detention. Formally at least the occupation was over. SC resolution 1546, 8 June 2004 endorsed the termination of the Coalition Provisional Authority in June 2004 and the transfer of authority to the Interim Iraqi Government. This did not of course mean that US and UK forces left Iraq. The resolution noted the continued presence of the multinational force71 to be at the request of the incoming Interim Iraqi Government and decided that the force “shall have all the authority to take all necessary measures to contribute to the maintenance of security and stability in Iraq in accordance with the letters annexed to this resolution.” The letters referred to were from the Prime Minister of the Interim

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Phil Shiner, Public Interest Lawyers in response to the announcement of an inquiry into the death of Baha Mousa, The Guardian, 14 May 2008 available at http://www.guardian.co.uk/ uk/2008/may/14/military.iraq. The multinational force had been authorised by SC resolution 1511, 16 October 2003 to take all necessary measures to contribute to the maintenance of security and stability in Iraq.

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Iraqi Government and then US Secretary of State, Colin Powell. The latter stated that: Under the agreed arrangement, the MNF stands ready to continue to undertake a broad range of tasks to contribute to the maintenance of security and to ensure forces protection. These include activities necessary to counter ongoing security threats posed by forces seeking to inﬂuence Iraq’s political future through violence. This will include . . . internment where this is necessary for imperative reasons of security in Iraq.

The language of this letter replicates that of Geneva Convention IV, article 78 (allowing for internment of protected persons) evidencing the Coalition’s intention “to continue the pre-existing security regime and not to change it.”72 Occupation may have formally ended but the factual situation did not change completely overnight.73 The commitment of all forces “to act in accordance with international law, including obligations under international humanitarian law” was noted by the Security Council. Under the decision in Al Skeini the ECHR applied to Mr Al-Jedda while he was in detention. The UK government argued that SC resolution 1546 and the terms of the letter quoted above authorised Mr Al-Jedda’s detention and that the safeguards of the ECHR, article 5 were not applicable.74 The House of Lords reviewed the terms of the UN Charter in some detail, notably that “member states had bound themselves (art 2) to fulﬁl in good faith the obligations assumed by them in accordance with the Charter.”75 Decisions of the SC (binding under article 25) are made as part of its “primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security.” The importance of that task “can scarcely be exaggerated.”76 A “miscellaneous provision”, article 103 asserts the superiority of obligations under the Charter.77 The House of Lords recognised the dilemma facing them: “internment without trial is so antithetical to the rule of law as understood in a democratic society that recourse to it requires to be carefully scrutinised by the courts of that

72 73 74

75 76 77

Al-Jedda, HL, para. 32 per Lord Bingham. A. Roberts, ‘The End of Occupation: Iraq 2004’, 54 ICLQ, 2005, 27, 46. In the House of Lords the government argued unsuccessfully that the acts of the MNF were attributable to the United Nations, not the UK. This argument was based on the cases of Behrami v France (Application no. 71412/01) and Saramati v France, Germany and Norway (Application no. 78166/01) decided by the ECtHR, Grand Chamber, 2 May 2007. Al-Jedda, HL, para. 28. Al-Jedda, HL, para. 34 per Lord Bingham. “In the event of a conﬂict between the obligations of the Members of the United Nations under the present Charter and their obligations under any other international agreement, their obligations under the present Charter shall prevail.”

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society”.78 But it had apparently been authorised by the Security Council. Nevertheless in Al-Jedda their Lordships did not balk at interpreting SC resolution 1546, to determine that “authorisation” constitutes obligation. In the CND case Lord Justice Brown had queried on what basis English courts should presume to give an authoritative ruling on the meaning of a SC resolution which was binding on all states. If it did so it would inevitably antagonise some other states and could hamper the UK in future Security Council negotiations.79 The High Court in Al-Jedda had deemed it important that a SC resolution constructs a uniform framework within which all states operate. Accordingly “[i]t would be absurd if that single regime was intended to be dependent upon unilateral action by way of derogation by individual member States subject to their own diﬀering international obligations.”80 In similar vein Lord Justice Brooke had considered that it would be “quite wrong for a national court to indulge in an interpretative exercise of its own.”81 This of course is precisely what their Lordships did. It should also be noted that states routinely enter international organisations with a slew of diﬀering legal obligations and entitlements, that multinational forces operate under diverse rules of engagement and come from diﬀerent social, cultural and military backgrounds. It seems somewhat disingenuous to be concerned about multiple obligations in this context. Further, since resolution 1546 has not been incorporated into UK law giving it eﬀect requires accepting that a SC resolution unconsidered by Parliament prevails over domestic law82 – the Human Rights Act – a position at odds with the dualist position assumed by the United Nations Act. Lord Bingham noted that the appellant was entitled to submit that the promotion of human rights is also a fundamental purpose of the UN. The Court of Appeal had considered that the Charter human rights provisions do not “go beyond the stage of the aspirational, setting strategic aims for the future without creating immediately enforceable obligations.”83 The House of Lords was not so dismissive of human rights but nevertheless considered that the European Court of Human Rights faced with the dilemma of these conﬂicting positions would give priority to the UN Charter through what was determined to be a purposive interpretation of article 103. In response to the acuteness of the problem Lord Bingham considered the only way of reconciling the clash was to allow the detention for

78 79 80 81 82 83

Al-Jedda, HL, para. 130 per Lord Carswell. See also para. 39 per Lord Bingham. CND, para 41 per Lord Justice Brown. Al-Jedda, [2005] HRLR 39, HC, para. 91 per Moses J. Al-Jedda, [2006] 3 WLR 954, CA, para. 74 per Lord Justice Brooke. This ‘stark eﬀect’ was described in High Court of Justice, Al-Jedda, HC, para. 74. Al-Jedda, CA, para. 77.

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imperative reasons of security84 while ensuring that Mr Al-Jedda’s Convention rights “are not infringed to any greater extent than is inherent in such detention.” Those rights are not displaced but merely qualiﬁed.85 That his rights were only qualiﬁed might be somewhat surprising news to Mr Al-Jedda, although he was in fact released sometime after the decision of the House of Lords. Baroness Hale observed the emptiness of the commitment in the letter from the US Secretary of State that the MNF would act consistently with the Geneva Conventions, for they were in any case inapplicable to Mr Al-Jedda’s situation. He was not a protected person, nor was the UK any longer in occupation in Iraq. Resort was had to “some sort of post-conﬂict, post-occupation, analogous power to intern anyone where this is thought ‘necessary for imperative reasons of security’.”86 The scope of the SC authorisation had remained abstract and not explained in terms of its practical application. The attempt to resolve the dilemma through the concept of ‘qualiﬁed’ rights is ﬂawed in that it assumes that it can be resolved in a principled rather than an arbitrary manner. It provides an example of how legal argument may be used for persuasion that the right answer has been reached rather than admitting the emptiness of the distinction. Such linguistic indeterminacy conﬂates legal validity and legal certainty and allows dominance and control to be imposed through the instrumentality and plausibility of law. The discussion has centred around United Kingdom jurisprudence arising out of armed conﬂict and military occupation – the context for international humanitarian law. However the message from the litigation has been a clear preference by advocates for human rights law, notably that of the ECHR. This might be put down to the fact that the Convention has been given eﬀect in domestic law by the Human Rights Act but it should be remembered that the Geneva Conventions and Protocols have long been incorporated into English law and the courts have taken the applicability of international humanitarian law for granted. In Al-Jedda for example Geneva Convention IV and the Hague Regulations were uncontroversially cited with respect to the occupier’s obligations vis-à-vis protected persons. The tighter, more precise formulations of Geneva and The Hague might have been thought preferable to the more open-ended language of human rights. The preference for human rights law

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Another potential solution was derogation under ECHR, article 15, which had not been done. Lord Bingham found article 15 inapplicable in that is “hard to think that these conditions [of article 15] could ever be met when a state had chosen to conduct an overseas peacekeeping operation, however dangerous the conditions, from which it could withdraw.” Al-Jedda, HL, para. 38 per Lord Bingham. Al-Jedda, HL, para. 126 per Baroness Hale. Ibid., para, 128 per Baroness Hale.

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is based especially on the positive obligations incurred by states. Lord Justice Brooke explained in Al Skeini that What is known as international humanitarian law imposes a number of unexceptional moral precepts on occupying forces . . . but it imposes none of the positive human rights obligations that are inherent in the ECHR. It is a far cry from the complacency of ‘You must not kill but need not strive oﬃciously to keep alive’ to the obligation imposed . . . by the case law on Articles 1 and 2 of the ECHR (‘the High Contracting parties shall secure to everyone within their jurisdiction [their] right to life.’).

However since the cases turned on the applicability (and not the interpretation) of human rights law the impact of its substantive requirements on international humanitarian law (and vice versa) were not generally subjected to detailed analysis. This might have been the case in Al-Jedda where the House of Lords held the standards of the ECHR, article 5 to be qualiﬁed by occupation law (through the mediation of SC resolution 1546, although occupation law was not technically applicable) but their Lordships failed to provide any guidelines as to how this might be done. Nor was there reference to the irony that in other circumstances international humanitarian law has been ‘transformed’ in the name of human rights – although the consequence is in each case to accord greater powers to the occupiers. Two themes have been running through this brief discussion of some of the issues of international law that have been presented to UK courts in innovative and imaginative arguments drawing especially upon international humanitarian law, human rights law and SC resolutions. These legal regimes are not themselves always compatible and the purposes for which they are advocated varies. The ﬁrst theme has been to see how UK judges behave and whether they can be said to follow a coherent and consistent approach to the applicability of international law, with perhaps a sub-text of whether it provides them with solutions to the problems they face. Second has been whether international law has been used to enhance human security in situations of armed conﬂict and occupation. What is clear is that the judiciary has given no weight to traditional monist or dualist theories87 – the very plurality of international legal regimes with which they are dealing perhaps making this implausible.88 Rather it seems that there has been an ad hoc, contextual approach whereby judges have appeared to see their role as legal gatekeepers,89 allowing in or rejecting 87

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“These judgments scramble the traditional view”, P. Capps, ‘The Court as Gatekeeper: Customary International Law in English Courts’, 70 MLR, 2007, 458, 459. A. Paulus, ‘The Emergence of the International Community and the Divide between International and Domestic Law’, in J. Nijman and A. Nollkaemper, supra (note 22) pp. 216, 217. This analysis is found in P. Capps, ‘The Court as Gatekeeper: Customary International Law in English Courts’, 70 MLR (2007) 458; see also C. Walter, ‘International Law in a Process

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international law as they see ﬁt, and resorting to formalist or purposive reasoning to support their conclusion. In this sense they stand between civil society groups arguing international law as a form of tactical resistance90 or protest91 against government action (the Utopian view of international law). But are there any coherent principles upon which such gatekeeping might be based? Some suggestions have been made. One is that the form of proceedings may be inﬂuential in that international law standards are more readily accepted in private or administrative law proceedings than in criminal law.92 Thus in Jones the court ceded the role of gatekeeper to the legislature while in Al Skeini it allowed in international law, at least to a limited extent. But the boundaries of acceptance of international law in Al Skeini appear arbitrary (applicable to military detention but not to being killed in a private dwelling when it is raided by UK soldiers93 or being killed at a road block94). Closely related is a functional approach although this assumes clarity about the desired function of the relevant legal prescription. Much depends upon how a case is labelled: the cases discussed above can be variously described as about international peace and security; the limits of civil disobedience; the protection of government property; the formulation of criminal oﬀences; the prevention of an illegal war; the deployment and regulation of armed forces abroad; belligerent occupation or policing a civil order; or the limits of justiciability. The selected categorisation may dictate the response through judicial sensitivity to the implications of the choices before them. Another approach is one of seeking coherence through constitutionalism giving priority to international community values and recognising normative hierarchy.95 But there is no empirical certainty as to what are designated as community values,96 nor any certainty that there will be no

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92 93 94 95

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of Constitutionalization’, in J. Nijman and A. Nollkaemper (eds.), above note 22 at 191 who describes national courts as being at the centre of the intersection between national and international law. A. Williams, ‘Introduction’ in P. Shiner and A. Williams (eds.), The Iraq War and International Law (Hart, 2008), p. 6. Lord Hoﬀmann has described the use of litigation as “continuation of protest by other means.” R (On the Application of Bancoult) v Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Aﬀairs [2008] UKHL 61, para 53. P. Capps, supra (note 89), p. 468. Al-Skeini, case number 2. Al-Skeini, case number 4. M. Koskenniemi, Fragmentation of International Law: Diﬃculties arising from the Diversiﬁcation and Expansion of International Law, Report of the Study Group of the International Law Commission, UN Doc. A/CN.4/L.682, 13 April 2006. See also M. Moran, ‘Shifting Boundaries: The Authority of International Law’, in J. Nijman and A. Nollkaemper (eds.), supra (note 22), p. 163, who argues that domestic courts may adopt a ‘values’ approach whereby they are guided by the persuasive authority of the values

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clash between the normative and substantive hierarchy. In Al-Jedda the solution was to rely on the pedigree of the law (UN Charter over a human rights treaty) and thus to avoid making explicit value choices between preventative detention and peace and security, thereby allowing individual freedom to be curtailed in the name of human rights. When questions of international law are raised in domestic courts they are likely to be in the context of foreign policy, the exercise of prerogative power and national security. The courts have been apparently receptive to claims of international law while nevertheless favouring a ‘hands-oﬀ ’ approach to executive power, latterly through the instrumentality of SC decision-making, thereby supporting that body’s move towards the exercise of global legislative power. We are left with a ‘ﬂuid set of continuities and discontinuities in international and national law’97 that denies the certainty of legal protection required by those who believe that military activity has become a legally regulated – and therefore less dangerous – aﬀair.

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within unincorporated treaties. This approach was not relevant to these cases where the issue was the applicability of international law rather than whether the substance of domestic law is informed by international standards. J. Nijman and A. Nollkaemper, ‘Beyond the Divide’, in J. Nijman and A. Nollkaemper (eds.), supra (note 22), p. 359.

Chapter 12 Autour de l’aﬀaire Stoll Lucius Caﬂisch*

1. Introduction La jurisprudence de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme (Cour EDH) comporte de plus en plus d’éléments relevant du droit international général. Une conﬁrmation récente de cette tendance résulte des arrêts de la Cour en l’aﬀaire Stoll c. Suisse.1 Cette aﬀaire avait trait à une amende inﬂigée par les autorités suisses à un journaliste, donc à la liberté de la presse (article 10 de la Convention européenne des droits de l’homme, la Convention ou CEDH).2 Son élément international est le fait qu’elle touche à l’inviolabilité de la correspondance diplomatique. Dans toute société démocratique se pose la question de savoir comment balancer la liberté d’action de l’Etat – notamment dans le domaine des relations extérieures – et le droit de l’individu à l’information. L’Etat n’est pas l’ennemi du peuple, et le peuple n’est pas l’adversaire de l’Etat. Ce dernier est, en fait, formé par le peuple. C’est pourquoi la recherche d’un équilibre est nécessaire: le droit d’être informé, comme d’autres droits garantis par la Convention, comporte nécessairement des restrictions. Les limitations aux droits individuels autorisées par la CEDH peuvent émaner de plusieurs sources: – l’article 15 de la Convention, qui permet des dérogations aux obligations énoncées par la CEDH « en cas de guerre ou d’autre danger public menaçant la vie de la nation », sauf en ce qui concerne les articles 2 (droit à la vie), 3 (interdiction de la torture), 4 par.1 (interdiction de l’esclavage) et 7 (pas de crime, pas de peine sans loi);

* Ancien juge, Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, Strasbourg; professeur honoraire de l’IHEID; membre de la Commission du droit international des Nations Unies. 1 Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, Stoll c. Suisse, n° 69698/01, arrêt du 25 avril 2006 (ci-après: Arrêt de la Chambre), et arrêt de la Grande Chambre (GC) du 10 décembre 2007 (ci-après: Arrêt). 2 Série de traités européens, n° 5.

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– l’article 57 qui permet aux Etats Parties à la Convention, sous certaines conditions, de formuler des réserves (et, a fortiori, des déclarations interprétatives); – les règles du droit international général relatives à l’interprétation des traités, codiﬁées aux articles 31 et 32 de la Convention de Vienne sur le droit des traités, du 23 mai 1969,3 en particulier la règle qui prescrit que les traités – et notamment la CEDH – sont à interpréter compte tenu de leur objet et de leur but; – l’idée que la CEDH elle-même, comme tout autre traité, établit des règles de droit international dont la portée doit être déterminée à la lumière des autres règles du droit des gens et du caractère – impératif ou dispositif – de celles-ci.4 Les relations entre les règles générales du droit des gens et celles énoncées dans les instruments conventionnels sur la protection internationale des droits de l’homme ont fait – et continueront sans doute à faire – l’objet de recherches et de publications.5 L’aﬀaire Stoll, traitée dans la présente contribution, fait partie de celles qui portent sur ces relations.

2. Faits de la cause Le cas Stoll a pour arrière-plan les négociations menées, en 1996 et 1997, entre la Suisse, notamment les banques suisses, et le Congrès juif mondial sur l’indemnisation des victimes de l’holocauste pour les avoirs en déshérence sur des comptes bancaires suisses. Ces négociations, et les faits qui étaient à leur base, ont jeté une ombre sur la réputation de la Suisse et de son secteur bancaire, les faits en cause ayant du reste fait l’objet d’une autre requête examinée par la Cour EDH.6

3 4

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6

Nations Unies, Recueil des traités, vol. 1155, p. 331. C’est ainsi que, dans l’aﬀaire Al-Adsani c. Royaume-Uni, GC, n° 35763/97, arrêt du 21 novembre 2001, CEDH 2001–XI, p. 117, la Cour a constaté que l’interdiction de la torture ﬁgurant à l’article 3 de la CEDH est une règle de jus cogens; mais la majorité a ajouté que cela ne suﬃt pas pour faire céder l’immunité d’un Etat étranger s’agissant d’une action civile contre cet Etat fondée sur de prétendus actes de torture. Voir la rubrique annuelle de G. Cohen-Jonathan, J.-F. Flauss, ‘Cour européenne des droits de l’homme et droit international général’, publiée dans AFDI ; L. Caﬂisch, A. A. Cançado Trindade, ‘Les Conventions américaine et européenne des droits de l’homme et le droit international général’, RGDIP, 2004, 5–62. Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, Monnat c. Suisse, n° 73604/01, arrêt du 21 septembre 2006.

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Le 19 décembre 1996, Carlo Jagmetti, ambassadeur de Suisse aux Etats-Unis, rédigea un « document stratégique » qu’il envoya par télécopie au chef de la task force (équipe de négociation) constituée au sein du Département fédéral des aﬀaires étrangères (DFAE) à Berne; dix-neuf copies furent adressées à d’autres personnes au sein de l’administration fédérale et aux missions diplomatiques suisses à Tel-Aviv, New-York, Londres, Paris et Bonn. A la suite d’une violation du secret de fonction qui n’a jamais pu être élucidée, le requérant entra en possession de ce document et publia, le 26 janvier 1997, deux articles dans la « SonntagsZeitung ». Le premier portait le titre: « L’ambassadeur Jagmetti insulte les Juifs » et livrait au lecteur quelques-unes des expressions utilisées dans le rapport mais sorties de leur contexte: la référence à la « guerre » que « la Suisse avait menée » contre des « adversaires » « auxquels il est impossible de se ﬁer ». Puis M. Stoll dévoilait à ses lecteurs l’idée, exprimée par l’ambassadeur, de faire un « versement d’une somme globale » aux Juifs, d’entretenir un dialogue suivi avec les organisations juives, qui devraient être « cultivées de manière amicale mais non servile », et d’entreprendre un « eﬀort de relations publiques bien orchestrées ». Le second article traitait de la conduite de l’ambassadeur en général et des déclarations faites par lui devant la presse, notamment au sujet des comptes bancaires en déshérence, déclarations jugées d’autant plus préjudiciables par la « SonntagsZeitung » que la situation avait semblé s’être apaisée entre la Suisse et le Congrès juif mondial. A la demande du Conseil fédéral (Gouvernement) suisse, la situation créée par ces deux publications fut examinée par le Conseil suisse de la presse, instance de plainte pour les questions concernant les média. Dans une prise de position détaillée du 4 mars 1997, ce Conseil, après avoir qualiﬁé de « droit fondamental » la liberté de la presse, estima qu’il fallait soigneusement peser le pour et le contre de telle publication ou telle autre et rechercher si des intérêts méritant protection risquaient d’être lésés. Pour ce qui était plus spéciﬁquement de la conduite des aﬀaires extérieures, le Conseil eut ceci à dire: Les rapports internes des diplomates sont conﬁdentiels de droit, mais ne méritent pas dans tous les cas d’être protégés. La fonction de critique et de contrôle des médias englobe également la politique étrangère, ce qui a pour conséquence que les responsables des médias peuvent publier un rapport diplomatique s’ils considèrent que son contenu présente un intérêt public.7

Dans le cas de M. Jagmetti, poursuivit le Conseil, il y avait bien un intérêt à la publication – l’importance du débat public sur les avoirs des victimes de l’holocauste, la position de premier plan de l’ambassadeur de Suisse à Washington 7

Arrêt, par. 24.

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et le contenu du « document stratégique » –, mais la « SonntagsZeitung » y avait procédé de manière partielle et en rendant insuﬃsamment compte de la chronologie des événements.8 M. Stoll ﬁt également l’objet de poursuites pénales sur la base de l’article 293 du Code pénal suisse, qui interdit la publication d’actes secrets.9 Condamné le 5 novembre 1998 par la Préfecture de Zurich à une amende de quatre mille francs suisses, cette amende étant ensuite ramenée à huit cents francs par la deuxième instance, le Tribunal de district de Zurich rendit un arrêt circonstancié. Dans cet arrêt, le Tribunal insista sur le caractère peu banal du « document stratégique » et expliqua que celui-ci avait pour but, en donnant une appréciation de la situation diﬃcile dans laquelle se trouvait la Suisse, de permettre au chef de la task force (suisse) de se faire une opinion et d’inﬂuer sur la manière de traiter le problème des biens en déshérence. Cela étant, il s’agissait bien d’un document secret au sens de l’article 293 du Code pénal. D’après le recourant, cependant, le ton employé par l’ambassadeur était à tel point inopportun qu’une publication s’imposait aﬁn de l’écarter de l’aﬀaire. D’après l’arrêt du Tribunal de district, l’indignation manifestée par le recourant pouvait paraître quelque peu naïve et portait atteinte au climat de discrétion indispensable à la conduite des relations diplomatiques, ce qui aﬀaiblissait ou compromettait la position de la Suisse dans les négociations. De plus, l’infraction n’était pas d’importance mineure. Un recours en nullité sur le plan cantonal contre ce jugement fut écarté par la Cour d’appel de Zurich le 25 mai 2000.10 Devant le Tribunal fédéral, la plus haute instance judiciaire suisse, M. Stoll ﬁt valoir qu’un journaliste ne pouvait qu’exceptionnellement être condamné pour infraction à l’article 293 du Code pénal. Le secret en cause devait revêtir une importance si extraordinaire que sa publication ébranlerait les fondements mêmes de l’Etat. Dans deux arrêts du 5 décembre 2000, le Tribunal écarta les recours en nullité et de droit public formés par le journaliste.11 Dans son premier arrêt, le Tribunal fédéral distingue le secret au sens formel du terme – par exemple un acte déclaré conﬁdentiel par l’autorité – du secret matériel, soit d’un fait qui n’est accessible qu’à un cercle restreint de personnes,

8

9

10 11

Ibid. Le document doit avoir abouti chez M. Stoll en décembre 1996 mais ne fut publié que le 26 janvier 1997, quand la négociation était en plein cours. Code pénal suisse du 21 décembre 1937 (Recueil systématique de la législation fédérale, 311.0). L’article 293 de ce Code a la teneur suivante: « 1. Celui qui, sans en avoir le droit, aura livré à la publicité tout ou partie des actes, d’une instruction ou des débats d’une autorité, qui sont secrets en vertu de la loi ou d’une décision prise par l’autorité dans les limites de sa compétence, sera puni des arrêts ou de l’amende. 2. La complicité est punissable. 3. Le juge pourra renoncer à toute peine si le secret livré à la publicité est de peu d’importance. » Arrêt, par. 28–29. Ibid., par. 32–34.

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à condition que l’autorité compétente veuille le garder secret et que cette volonté se justiﬁe par un intérêt digne de protection. Le Tribunal se réfère ensuite à la proposition, faite par le Conseil fédéral en 1996, de supprimer l’article 293 du Code pénal. Pour les partisans de cette proposition, il est injuste de punir le journaliste, alors que celui qui a permis la publication du secret demeure souvent impuni. En outre, dans une situation comme la présente, il restera toujours, dans ce domaine, la possibilité d’envisager les infractions de trahison diplomatique (article 267) et de violation de secrets militaires (article 329), de sorte que l’abolition de l’article 293 ne mettrait pas en échec la protection du secret dans des domaines importants. On a aussi fait valoir, à propos de l’article 293, que cette disposition est rarement appliquée. Passant de l’abstrait au concret, le Tribunal relève que l’infraction visée à l’article 293 repose sur la notion de secret au sens formel. Cependant, depuis le moment où le législateur a modiﬁé cette disposition en y ajoutant un troisième paragraphe permettant de renoncer à toute peine « si le secret livré à la publicité est de peu d’importance », le juge suisse doit également déterminer, pour savoir s’il convient d’appliquer cette adjonction, si la classiﬁcation formelle de l’acte divulgué en tant que « secret » est justiﬁable vu son objet et son contenu. C’est le cas en l’espèce. Le recourant demande que le champ d’application de l’article litigieux soit limité à la divulgation de secrets majeurs, qui ébranle les fondements de l’Etat. Ce faisant, il sollicite une décision dont le contenu irait bien au-delà de l’interprétation que les termes de la Constitution lui permettent de faire. La même remarque vaut pour l’argument selon lequel l’application de l’article 293 du Code pénal suisse dépend d’une pesée des intérêts de l’Etat et de ceux des professionnels des média. Cette pesée n’aﬀecte en rien la présence des éléments constitutifs de l’infraction, mais seulement, le cas échéant, « le motif de justiﬁcation extralégal que constitue la protection d’intérêts légitimes »; de toute façon, dans le cas d’espèce, les conditions pour conclure que la protection d’intérêts légitimes justiﬁe la publication ne sont pas remplies. Quoi qu’il en soit, dit le Tribunal fédéral, le maintien du secret en la présente aﬀaire pesait plus lourd que la connaissance des passages livrés au public. Il était dans l’intérêt du pays tout entier, autant que dans celui du Conseil fédéral et de l’ambassadeur, que le secret ne soit pas éventé. La publication en cause allait perturber la formation d’opinions et la prise de décisions par les organes étatiques et, surtout, accroître la diﬃculté des négociations. A l’inverse, la publication de propos sortis de leur contexte, oﬀrant une vue banale de la situation, ne permettait guère au public d’aboutir à des conclusions claires quant à la mentalité de l’ambassadeur et à sa capacité de mener à bien sa mission. Le second arrêt du Tribunal fédéral était axé sur l’allégation de traitement discriminatoire du recourant par rapport à celui accordé à des collègues qui, eux aussi, s’étaient attaqué au « document stratégique ». Ce grief n’entrant pas

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directement dans les considérations dont il s’agit de débattre, il n’est pas nécessaire d’en poursuivre l’examen ici.

3. Arrêt de la Chambre12 Ce fut ensuite au tour d’une chambre de la Quatrième Section de la Cour de Strasbourg de déterminer s’il y avait eu violation de l’article 10 de la CEDH.13 Ayant constaté qu’il y avait eﬀectivement eu ingérence dans l’exercice de la liberté d’expression, la Chambre aﬃrma que cette ingérence était prévue par la loi et poursuivait un but légitime puisqu’elle visait à empêcher la « divulgation d’informations conﬁdentielles ». Restait le point de savoir si l’ingérence était « nécessaire dans une société démocratique ». Rappelant la jurisprudence de la Cour en la matière, la Chambre constata: 1) que la liberté d’expression valait pour les informations ou idées inoﬀensives, « mais également pour celles qui heurtent, choquent ou inquiètent », cette tolérance étant cependant limitée par les exceptions prévues au paragraphe 2 de l’article 10, exceptions qui, toutefois, appelaient une interprétation étroite; 2) que le qualiﬁcatif « nécessaire » utilisé dans ce même paragraphe impliquait un « besoin social impérieux »; et 3) que la Cour, même si elle n’avait pas pour tâche de se substituer aux tribunaux internes, pouvait vériﬁer si ceux-ci n’avaient pas dépassé le pouvoir d’appréciation dont ils disposaient dans l’application de l’article 10, et qu’elle le ferait en examinant si l’ingérence litigieuse était proportionnée au but poursuivi par cette disposition. Passant du général au particulier, la Chambre nota que, s’agissant du domaine du discours politique ou de questions d’intérêt général, l’Etat mis en cause ne disposait guère de marge d’appréciation et que les limites de la critique étaient moins contraignantes concernant les politiciens et les fonctionnaires que pour

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Voir supra note 1. Cette disposition prévoit ce qui suit: « 1. Toute personne a droit à la liberté d’expression. Ce droit comprend la liberté d’opinion et la liberté de recevoir ou de communiquer des informations ou des idées sans qu’il puisse y avoir ingérence d’autorités publiques et sans considération de frontière. Le présent article n’empêche pas les Etats de soumettre les entreprises de radiodiﬀusion, de cinéma ou de télévision à un régime d’autorisations. 2. L’exercice de ces libertés comportant des devoirs et des responsabilités peut être soumis à certaines formalités, conditions, restrictions ou sanctions prévues par la loi, qui constituent des mesures nécessaires, dans une société démocratique, à la sécurité nationale, à l’intégrité territoriale ou à la sûreté publique, à la défense de l’ordre et à la prévention du crime, à la protection de la santé ou de la morale, à la protection de la réputation ou des droits d’autrui, pour empêcher la divulgation d’informations conﬁdentielles ou pour garantir l’autorité et l’impartialité du pouvoir judiciaire. »

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un simple particulier; en l’espèce, il s’agissait d’un haut fonctionnaire, agent diplomatique ayant le rang d’ambassadeur.14 La Chambre admit qu’a priori la conﬁdentialité des rapports diplomatiques méritait certes protection mais pas à tout prix. Notamment pas lorsqu’il s’agissait de questions d’intérêt général, largement discutées par la presse suisse et l’opinion publique. Ainsi, elle jugea légitime l’intérêt du public à être renseigné sur les agents chargés de la négociation et sur la nature et les enjeux de celleci, largement inconnus à ce moment-là. En second lieu, le document portait la mention « conﬁdentiel », ce qui, dans la jurisprudence de la Cour, correspondait à un degré peu élevé de secret. De plus, le journaliste, n’étant pas lui-même à l’origine de l’indiscrétion, n’en était que le bénéﬁciaire.15 Les informations contenues dans le « compte rendu » (sic) de M. Jagmetti méritaient-elles d’être protégées? La Chambre estima que non, car elles n’avaient trait ni à la « sécurité nationale », ni à la « sécurité publique ». Les limites à la liberté d’expression appelant une interprétation étroite, elle pensait que la divulgation d’éléments de la stratégie à adopter dans les pourparlers sur les avoirs des victimes de l’holocauste, et sur le rôle joué par la Suisse au cours de la Seconde Guerre mondiale, ne saurait être subordonnée à l’intérêt de l’Etat.16 Cela étant, poursuivit la Chambre, le journaliste exerçant sa liberté d’expression n’était pas délié, par l’article 10, des « devoirs et responsabilités » résultant du paragraphe 2 de cette disposition:17 il devait agir de bonne foi, fournir des informations exactes et respecter la déontologie.18 Il est vrai qu’en l’espèce les passages publiés n’avaient pas été placés dans le contexte du rapport de M. Jagmetti, qui aurait pu être publié intégralement pour que les lecteurs puissent former leur propre opinion. Mais la Chambre estima que le public devait pouvoir connaître et juger les idées et attitudes de ses dirigeants et que, à cet égard, l’exercice de la liberté de la presse « comprend aussi le recours possible à une dose d’exagération, voire même de provocation ».19

14

15 16 17

18

19

Il est vrai que le politicien ou fonctionnaire, étant impliqué dans la gestion de la chose publique, s’expose à la critique bien plus qu’un simple particulier. Et le politicien s’y prête davantage que le simple fonctionnaire. Le bien le plus précieux que ce dernier a à défendre est sa probité. S’il la perd, il perd tout. Ou, pour le dire plus clairement, maìs gentiment, il était le dépositaire d’un bien subtilisé par autrui. Arrêt de la Chambre, par. 51–52. Voir Arrêt de la Chambre, par. 53, qui cite, mutatis mutandis, Handyside c. Royaume-Uni, arrêt du 7 décembre 1976, série A, n° 24, p. 23, par. 49, 3e alinéa. Arrêt de la Chambre, par. 54; Goodwin c. Royaume-Uni, GC, arrêt du 27 mars 1996, Recueil 1996–II, p. 483, par. 39, et Fressoz et Roire c. France, GC, n° 29183/95, arrêt du 21 janvier 1999, CEDH 1999–I, p. 1. Ici encore surgit la question de savoir si la publication d’informations obtenues par des moyens irréguliers est conforme à la déontologie du journaliste. Arrêt de la Chambre, par. 55.

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Enﬁn, la Chambre aﬃrma que, malgré le fait que la sanction imposée était peu sévère, il fallait relever comme élément déterminant le fait que le journaliste avait été condamné. La condamnation pouvait être vue comme une censure, c’est-à-dire un élément tendant à dissuader les journalistes de participer aux discussions publiques intéressant la vie de la collectivité. La condamnation du requérant n’était donc pas un moyen raisonnablement proportionné au but légitime visé, ce qui conduisit la Chambre à constater une violation de l’article 10 de la Convention. L’arrêt de la Chambre fut rendu à la majorité étroite de quatre voix contre trois, ce qui, vu l’importance et la délicatesse de l’aﬀaire, laissait présager un renvoi à la Grande Chambre de la Cour EDH selon ce que prévoit l’article 43 de la CEDH. L’opinion dissidente du juge suisse, M. Wildhaber, à laquelle s’étaient joints MM. Borrego Borrego et Šikuta, commence par un ralliement de l’auteur aux vues de la Cour sur le rôle des médias. Mais, selon M. Wildhaber, il ne suﬃsait pas de réitérer des généralités sur l’importance de la presse et les devoirs des journalistes; c’était à un examen adéquat et critique des nombreuses facettes de l’aﬀaire que la majorité aurait dû procéder. L’une de ces facettes était le caractère conﬁdentiel des rapports diplomatiques, précepte qui existe dans tous les Etats et qui dérive de la nécessité d’assurer un bon fonctionnement de l’échange d’informations entre hauts fonctionnaires et gouvernants, à l’abri des ingérences. La divulgation de documents diplomatiques conﬁdentiels peut entraîner des conséquences paralysantes pour la politique extérieure et, de plus, avoir pour eﬀet quasi automatique de rendre l’agent concerné indésirable dans son pays d’accréditation. Si, malgré ces conséquences, des documents de ce genre sont rendus publics à la suite d’indiscrétions, les intérêts publics et privés en présence doivent être soigneusement pesés. Et M. Wildhaber de s’aligner sur les vues du Conseil suisse de la presse en aﬃrmant que la conﬁdentialité des rapports diplomatiques doit être assurée, mais pas à n’importe quel prix. M. Wildhaber poursuit en expliquant que, contrairement à ce qui s’était produit dans d’autres aﬀaires – notamment Fressoz et Roire c. France 20 –, il s’agissait, ici, de faits peu connus, énoncés dans un document interne qualiﬁé de « conﬁdentiel », et remis par un inconnu. Le journaliste ne pouvait ignorer que leur divulgation était réprimée par l’article 293 du Code pénal suisse. La publication était moins urgente ici que dans le scandale du Watergate ou dans l’aﬀaire des documents du Pentagone, par exemple.21 De plus, s’agissant de

20 21

Voir supra, note 18, par. 53 de l’arrêt. U.S. Supreme Court, New York Times Co. v. United States (The Pentagon Papers Case), 403 US 713 (1971).

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questions d’intérêt général, les « devoirs et responsabilités » du journaliste impliquaient que ce dernier devait agir de bonne foi et fournir des informations exactes et dignes de crédit en respectant la déontologie journalistique. La Cour de Strasbourg a toujours évité d’indiquer à la presse comment il fallait agir, ce qui, cependant, a eu pour eﬀet de banaliser des questions sérieuses. Le Conseil suisse de la presse, en revanche, qui n’est pas une agence gouvernementale mais un organe de surveillance créé par la presse elle-même, ne s’est pas imposé la même retenue et a fustigé le manque de professionnalisme et l’irresponsabilité qui ont conduit aux publications en cause. M. Wildhaber partage l’opinion du Conseil à ce sujet. Qui plus est, les publications de M. Stoll ne comprenaient non seulement une dose d’exagération, voire de provocation,22 mais ne donnaient qu’une vue partielle de la question des fonds en déshérence, ce qui signiﬁait qu’elles ne pouvaient pas contribuer à un débat constructif au sein d’un public bien informé.

4. Arguments développés par les parties et les intervenants devant la Grande Chambre de la Cour A. Arguments des parties i. Le requérant Le requérant aﬃrme que la notion purement formelle de secret visée à l’article 293 du Code pénal suisse entraîne des conséquences néfastes pour la liberté d’expression. La publication de n’importe quel document déclaré conﬁdentiel par un fonctionnaire devient punissable, ce qui n’est pas, selon lui, compatible avec les exigences de la Convention. L’article 293 est anachronique et devrait disparaître. Et ce d’autant plus que la divulgation des informations les plus sensibles est sanctionnée par d’autres dispositions légales.23 Par ailleurs, seuls des secrets particulièrement importants devraient échapper à la liberté d’expression protégée par l’article 10 de la CEDH. Du reste, poursuit le requérant, ses publications ont utilement contribué au débat, sensibilisant l’administration aux complexités du dossier et montrant qu’au moment des publications litigieuses, les autorités suisses n’avaient aucune

22

23

Voir Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, Ibrahim Aksoy c. Turquie, nos 28635/95, 30171/96 et 34535/97, arrêt du 10 octobre 2000, par. 51 in ﬁne. Article 276 (provocation et incitation à la violation des devoirs militaires) du Code pénal suisse, et articles 86 (espionnage et trahison par violation de secrets militaires) et 106 (violation de secrets militaires) du Code pénal militaire du 13 juin 1927 (Recueil systématique de la législation fédérale, 321.0). Voir également les articles 24 et 320 du Code pénal, qui permettent la condamnation d’un journaliste pour instigation à la violation du secret de fonction.

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position claire et cohérente ni quant à la responsabilité de la Suisse, ni quant à la stratégie à adopter. Les publications en question répondaient donc à un intérêt général. Le requérant concède que ses articles auraient pu être plus équilibrés mais il dit n’avoir pas eu le temps d’y veiller. Qui plus est, il avait décidé de se concentrer sur le vocabulaire choquant employé par l’ambassadeur Jagmetti, indigne d’un haut représentant de la Suisse et à peine compatible avec la politique étrangère du pays. Pour ce qui est de l’avis du Conseil suisse de la presse, le requérant en minimise la portée en soulignant que cet organe n’a aucun caractère oﬃciel et que ses constatations ne lient pas le juge pénal. Les explications du requérant relatives à la protection du travail des diplomates revêtent un intérêt particulier. Si M. Stoll admet le principe d’une telle protection, celle-ci doit être ni absolue, ni couvrir tout genre d’information. ii. Le Gouvernement suisse Etant très complète, l’argumentation du Gouvernement suisse ne peut être retracée que dans ses grandes lignes. Les éléments permettant de déterminer sa marge d’appréciation sont, selon le Gouvernement, le contexte politique de l’aﬀaire, le fait que l’auteur du document comptait sur la conﬁdentialité, la forme des publications, les motifs de celles-ci ainsi que la nature et la sévérité de la sanction. Selon le Gouvernement, l’auteur du document a raisonnablement pu escompter la conﬁdentialité de ce dernier, vu notamment la règle de la conﬁdentialité de la correspondance diplomatique codiﬁée aux articles 24 à 27 de la Convention de Vienne du 18 avril 1961 sur les relations diplomatiques24 en tant que « principe absolu » du droit coutumier. Vu le précepte Pacta sunt servanda et les règles sur la responsabilité des Etats pour fait illicite, les Etats Parties à la Convention doivent tout mettre en œuvre pour respecter l’obligation ainsi souscrite. Comme dans toutes les négociations devant aboutir à des solutions à l’amiable, le secret était de rigueur; son absence risquait de mettre en péril la position suisse et de compromettre les négociations. De plus, la publication eut lieu à un moment où la négociation avait été engagée depuis plusieurs semaines. En outre, la publication ne visait aucunement l’ouverture d’un débat d’intérêt général, mais la personne de l’ambassadeur. Cela est démontré par le fait que, d’une part, les tribunaux internes n’ont pas trouvé, sous la rubrique « sauvegarde d’intérêts légitimes », des motifs pouvant justiﬁer la divulgation interdite à l’article 293 du Code pénal et par le fait que, d’autre part, le Conseil de la presse a critiqué le ton et la présentation de la publication, y voyant un manque de

24

Nations Unies, Recueil des traités, vol. 500, p. 95.

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professionnalisme et une violation des devoirs des journalistes. Il y a également le fait que la « SonntagsZeitung » n’a pas publié l’ensemble du rapport, selon le principe de la publication intégrale, principe dont l’importance et l’utilité ressortent pourtant de la jurisprudence de la Cour EDH. D’autres journaux ont, quant à eux, reproduit l’intégralité du document. Enﬁn, en ce qui concerne la sanction, le Gouvernement critique l’aﬃrmation de la Chambre suivant laquelle ce n’est pas l’absence de sévérité de la sanction qu’il faut mettre en exergue, mais le fait même de la condamnation du requérant. B. Arguments des intervenants i. Le Gouvernement français Contrairement aux hommes politiques, les diplomates ne cherchent pas à s’exposer devant la presse, surtout lorsqu’ils se sont exprimés dans des documents conﬁdentiels. Dans tous les pays du monde, les rapports diplomatiques ont un caractère secret. S’il en allait autrement, ce serait la ﬁn des rapports de conﬁance entre le gouvernement et ses représentants à l’étranger. Les diplomates exerceraient une autocensure qui serait de nature à nuire à leur performance et, par là, aﬀecterait les relations interétatiques. Le Gouvernement français critique la Chambre pour avoir admis que l’intérêt général d’une publication devait se mesurer selon la couverture accordée à la question par les média25 car, d’une part, il appartiendrait alors à la presse ellemême de déterminer les limites de sa liberté d’expression et, d’autre part, parce qu’il est rare que les rapports adressés par les ambassadeurs à la centrale ne portent pas sur des questions d’intérêt général. En l’espèce, la Chambre a constaté que les règles de la déontologie des journalistes n’avaient pas été respectées, comme l’avait déjà relevé le Conseil suisse de la presse, mais elle n’en a pas pour autant tiré de conséquences. De plus, la motivation de son arrêt fait ﬁ de l’exigence de proportionnalité, ce qui est d’autant plus gênant que le but poursuivi par les Etats qui protègent la conﬁdentialité de certains documents n’est pas la sauvegarde d’intérêts privés, mais de ceux de l’Etat, et le maintien de l’harmonie des relations internationales. ii. Le Gouvernement slovaque Selon le Gouvernement slovaque, aucun Etat ne permet aux journalistes d’accéder aux documents diplomatiques, et le refus de le faire ne saurait constituer une violation de l’article 10 de la CEDH. Le courrier diplomatique permet l’échange d’informations entre les diplomates d’un Etat ou entre ceux-ci

25

Arrêt de la Chambre, par. 49.

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et la centrale. Ces échanges ne sont pas protégés seulement lorsque la « sécurité nationale » ou la « sûreté publique » sont en jeu, ou lorsque leur divulgation menace les fondements mêmes de l’Etat. De plus, dans la présente aﬀaire le requérant a procédé à une publication sélective, à sensation, après avoir obtenu copie du document grâce à la violation du secret de fonction par un tiers. Toutes ces raisons, selon le Gouvernement slovaque, militent en faveur d’un nouvel examen de l’aﬀaire par la Grande Chambre de la Cour.

5. L’arrêt de la Grande Chambre A. Les principes appliqués par la Cour Comme elle en a l’habitude, la Cour commence par résumer les principes appliqués par elle dans le domaine en cause, à savoir la liberté d’expression: 1) Cette liberté couvre, non seulement les informations et idées accueillies avec faveur, inoﬀensives ou indiﬀérentes, mais aussi celles qui heurtent, choquent ou inquiètent; elle est cependant assortie d’exceptions, énoncées à l’article 10 para. 2 de la CEDH qui, toutefois, appelle une interprétation étroite.26 2) L’expression « nécessaire dans une société démocratique », utilisée dans cette disposition, limite les exceptions à la liberté d’expression et présuppose l’existence d’un « besoin social impérieux ». Si les Etats jouissent d’une « certaine marge d’appréciation pour juger de l’existence d’un tel besoin », la Cour EDH est habilitée à vériﬁer si la restriction est compatible avec la liberté protégée. 3) En procédant à cette vériﬁcation, la Cour examine si l’Etat défendeur a usé de son pouvoir « de bonne foi, avec soin et de façon raisonnable », mais également si, à la lumière de l’ensemble de l’aﬀaire, l’ingérence litigieuse était proportionnée au but légitime poursuivi et si les motifs invoqués par l’autorité nationale pour justiﬁer cette ingérence apparaissent « pertinents et suﬃsants ».27 La Cour rappelle par ailleurs l’obligation de toute personne exerçant sa liberté d’expression d’assumer les « devoirs et responsabilités » qui en découlent. Ainsi le journaliste, malgré le rôle essentiel joué par les média dans les sociétés démocratiques, reste en principe assujetti à la loi pénale, et les restrictions découlant de l’article 10 para. 2 de la CEDH demeurent applicables, cela même lorsque des questions sérieuses d’intérêt public sont en cause. Ainsi, les intéressés doivent agir de bonne foi, se fondant sur des faits avérés, et fournir des informations « ﬁables et précises », en respectant – le point n’est 26

27

Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, Steel et Morris c. Royaume-Uni, n° 68416/01, arrêt du 15 février 2005, CEDH 2005–II, p. 45, par. 87. Arrêt, par. 101.

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pas sans importance – la déontologie des journalistes.28 Cela revêt une importance considérable dans un monde de plus en plus médiatisé, confronté à une masse immense d’informations. Dans le domaine de la presse, la « marge d’appréciation » concédée aux Etats pour aﬃrmer l’existence d’un « besoin social impérieux » est restreinte. Il n’y a guère de restrictions dans les domaines du discours politique ou des questions d’intérêt général, et la Cour doit être prudente dans l’appréciation de mesures ou sanctions qui « sont de nature à dissuader la presse de participer à la discussion de problèmes d’un intérêt général légitime ».29 Il n’en est pas moins vrai que les réglementations au sein des Etats membres du Conseil de l’Europe sont d’une grande variété tant en ce qui concerne la déﬁnition du secret que la poursuite de ceux qui le divulguent de façon illicite. Les Etats peuvent donc revendiquer une certaine marge d’appréciation. B. Application de ces principes au cas d’espèce i. Le domaine qui est en jeu Selon la Cour, le présent cas porte sur la publication de « débats oﬃciels secrets » au sens de l’article 293 du Code pénal suisse, à savoir un rapport rédigé par l’ambassadeur de Suisse aux Etats-Unis et ayant pour objet de déﬁnir la stratégie à suivre par le Gouvernement suisse dans les négociations ayant lieu notamment entre le Congrès juif mondial et les banques suisses. Il s’agit ainsi de la diﬀusion d’informations conﬁdentielles, domaine sur lequel la Cour a déjà eu à s’exprimer. Les principes résumés plus haut s’appliquent à la présente espèce. La liberté de la presse revêt une importance certaine dans le domaine des activités et décisions étatiques. En raison de leur caractère conﬁdentiel, celles-ci échappent au contrôle démocratique ou judiciaire, car la condamnation éventuelle d’un journaliste pourrait décourager les membres de cette profession de participer aux discussions, les dissuader de jouer leur rôle indispensable de « chiens de garde » et les empêcher de fournir des informations précises et ﬁables. Pour déterminer si l’interférence litigieuse de l’Etat défendeur était néanmoins nécessaire, plusieurs aspects sont à considérer: les intérêts en présence, le contrôle exercé par les juridictions nationales, le comportement du requérant et la proportionnalité de la sanction.

28 29

Voir infra, p. 280. Arrêt, par. 106, citant, par exemple, l’arrêt du 20 mai 1999 en l’aﬀaire Bladet Tromsø et Stenvaas c. Norvège, GC, n° 21980/93, CEDH 1999–III, p. 355, par. 64.

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ii. Les intérêts en présence La Grande Chambre commence par constater que la marge d’appréciation des autorités nationales ne dépend pas de la nature et des fonctions de l’auteur du document en cause. Cela étant dit, la protection d’un intérêt public, ﬁnancier et moral, est en jeu et s’oppose à l’intérêt, également public, à la divulgation. Ainsi deux intérêts publics s’aﬀrontent et doivent être mis en balance: celui des lecteurs à recevoir des informations sur un sujet d’actualité, et celui des autorités à assurer une issue favorable des négociations en cours. En ce qui concerne l’intérêt du public, la Grande Chambre estima, comme l’avait déjà fait la Chambre, que les informations contenues dans le document en cause étaient d’intérêt public et s’inscrivaient dans le cadre du problème des comptes en déshérence et du rôle joué par la Suisse au cours de la Seconde Guerre mondiale, problème qui avait éveillé de grandes émotions au sein du public. L’aﬀaire Monnat c. Suisse30 en témoigne. Face à l’absence d’idées claires dans l’esprit des agents chargés du dossier sur la responsabilité de la Suisse et sur les démarches à entreprendre, le public avait également un intérêt à être renseigné sur la personnalité de ces agents. Le fait que le requérant s’était concentré sur la personne de l’ambassadeur, et sur son style personnel, n’ôtait pas toute pertinence à ses articles, qui rapportaient les termes belliqueux utilisés par M. Jagmetti, ce dernier ayant été un acteur important dans le cadre des négociations. Ainsi, aﬃrma la Cour, les articles litigieux pouvaient eﬀectivement contribuer au débat public sur les biens en déshérence. Concernant l’intérêt des autorités nationales, la Grande Chambre constata que l’on se trouvait en présence d’un rapport conﬁdentiel, rédigé par un diplomate de haut rang. Selon elle, il est primordial, pour les services diplomatiques et pour le bon fonctionnement des relations internationales, que les diplomates puissent se transmettre des informations conﬁdentielles ou secrètes . . .31

Il est vrai que la conﬁdentialité de la correspondance diplomatique n’est pas directement assurée par l’article 24 de la Convention de Vienne du 18 avril 1961 sur les relations diplomatiques32 puisque ce dernier met la correspondance diplomatique de l’Etat accréditant à l’abri des ingérences de l’Etat accréditaire, alors qu’il s’agit, dans le cas d’espèce, de la protéger contre les journalistes et le

30 31 32

Voir supra, note 6. Arrêt, par. 126. Cette disposition a la teneur suivante : « Les archives et documents de la mission sont inviolables à tout moment et en quelque lieu qu’ils se trouvent. »

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public du pays accréditant. Néanmoins, précise la Grande Chambre, ce principe atteste « de l’importance de la conﬁdentialité dans ce domaine ».33 Autre élément, la publication d’un texte « conﬁdentiel » ou « secret » émanant d’un ambassadeur, en plus de ses retombées négatives pour la politique extérieure de l’Etat concerné, aura pour conséquence quasi automatique que son auteur deviendra persona non grata auprès de l’Etat accréditaire, point illustré, d’ailleurs, par la démission de l’ambassadeur Jagmetti à la suite des publications litigieuses. Il est vrai, dit la Grande Chambre, que la CEDH protège des droits non pas théoriques ou illusoires, mais concrets et eﬀectifs. La Cour l’a d’ailleurs aﬃrmé dans l’aﬀaire Artico.34 De plus, il faut également tenir compte de ce postulat, selon la Cour, lorsqu’il s’agit d’apprécier l’ingérence dans un droit comme celui garanti par l’article 10 de la Convention. « En d’autres termes », précise la Cour, si la conﬁdentialité des rapports diplomatiques est a priori justiﬁée, elle ne saurait être justiﬁée à tout prix . . . La fonction de critique et de contrôle des médias s’applique également à la sphère de la politique étrangère . . . Dès lors, l’exclusion absolue du débat public des questions relevant des aﬀaires étrangères en raison de la protection due à la correspondance diplomatique n’est pas acceptable.35

Dans le cas d’espèce, les publications litigieuses n’ont pas, en déﬁnitive, empêché le Gouvernement et les banques suisses de trouver un terrain d’entente avec la partie adverse. Cependant, le point décisif n’est pas là. La question essentielle est celle de savoir si les articles du requérant étaient, au moment de leur publication, de nature à causer « un préjudice considérable » aux intérêts de l’Etat défendeur. L’information est une denrée périssable ; en retarder la publication, ne seraitce que pour une brève période, peut la priver de son intérêt. A priori, on ne peut donc demander à un journaliste de diﬀérer la publication d’éléments d’intérêt général, si ce n’est pour répondre à des impératifs d’intérêt public ou pour protéger les intérêts d’autrui.36 La Grande Chambre pense que tel aurait été le cas en l’espèce. Pour ce qui est du contenu du rapport de M. Jagmetti, les articles litigieux ont été publiés alors que les négociations étaient engagées depuis plusieurs semaines. Le rapport évaluait la situation et esquissait des stratégies devant permettre au

33 34

35 36

Arrêt, par. 126. Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, Artico c. Italie, arrêt du 13 mai 1980, série A, n° 37, p. 16, par. 33. Arrêt, par. 128. Arrêt, par. 131–132, citant Editions Plon c. France, n° 58148/00, arrêt du 18 mai 2004, CEDH 2004–IV, p. 1, par. 53.

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chef de la task force de se faire une opinion et, partant, d’inﬂuencer la suite des événements. Il était donc important de connaître les vues de l’ambassadeur et les éléments qui lui servaient de base. Sous l’angle formel, le langage employé par l’auteur du rapport, même si cet élément semblait peu important, était susceptible d’entraîner des conséquences graves. Les expressions utilisées pouvaient provoquer une réaction négative au sein du Congrès juif mondial et ainsi compromettre l’issue des pourparlers. Ce fut notamment le cas des phrases consistant à dire qu’on ne pouvait « se ﬁer » aux « adversaires », mais qu’à la limite « une véritable transaction pourrait être conclue ». La publication même partielle du rapport a donc pu, selon la Grande Chambre, porter atteinte au bon déroulement des négociations à un moment particulièrement délicat et, ainsi, causer un préjudice appréciable aux intérêts de la Suisse. iii. Le contrôle exercé par les juridictions internes L’article 293 du Code pénal suisse repose sur une conception purement formelle de la notion de secret, ce qui, en soi, aurait pu pousser le juge suisse à ne pas tenir compte du contenu du document. La procédure devant le Tribunal fédéral, décrite plus haut, à toutefois montré que le paragraphe 3 de l’article 293 permet désormais de renoncer à punir la divulgation de secrets de peu d’importance, ce qui présuppose un examen matériel du document et un contrôle de l’ingérence litigieuse avec la liberté protégée par l’article 10 de la CEDH. iv. Le comportement du requérant Le requérant n’a pas directement pris possession de l’information conﬁdentielle divulguée, ce qui fait que, selon lui, on a poursuivi la mauvaise personne. Les autorités suisses auraient pu ouvrir une enquête en vue de découvrir et poursuivre les responsables de l’indiscrétion.37 Mais, objecte la Grande Chambre, l’absence de comportement délictueux de la part du requérant ne permet pas forcément de résoudre la question de sa responsabilité. Etant journaliste, il ne pouvait en eﬀet ignorer de bonne foi que la publication était réprimée par l’article 293 du Code pénal. Quant au point de savoir si la forme des articles répondait aux règles de la déontologie, il n’appartient pas à la Cour de dire comment les journalistes doivent faire leur travail. Néanmoins, la Grande Chambre, à l’instar du Conseil suisse de la presse, constate des carences formelles dans les publications du requérant. En premier lieu, les articles, s’ils étaient et pouvaient à bon droit être

37

Les faits portés à la connaissance de la Cour suggèrent qu’une enquête a eu lieu au sein de l’administration fédérale mais n’a pas abouti. Voir Arrêt, par. 17.

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axés sur la personnalité de M. Jagmetti, citent des passages du rapport sortis de leur contexte. Quant aux stratégies élaborées par l’ambassadeur, elles ne portent que sur un élément, celui de la « transaction ». On aurait pu, comme cela a été fait par la suite, publier l’intégralité du document. En deuxième lieu, le vocabulaire employé tend à imputer des sentiments antisémites à l’ambassadeur, accusation face à laquelle il faut, selon la Grande Chambre, faire preuve de fermeté, et qui a probablement précipité la démission de M. Jagmetti. En troisième lieu, les titres et sous-titres utilisés par la « SonntagsZeitung »38 sont empreints d’un sensationnalisme peu adapté au sujet traité et ont eu pour eﬀet de renforcer, auprès des lecteurs, le sentiment que M. Jagmetti était peu apte à exercer des fonctions diplomatiques. En dernier lieu, les lecteurs ont été induits en erreur quant à la date du « document stratégique ». Celui-ci avait été rédigé le 19 décembre 1996, alors que les publications litigieuses n’eurent lieu que le 26 janvier 1997. Tous ces éléments ont amené la Grande Chambre à conclure, avec le Gouvernement et le Conseil suisse de la presse, que le requérant a eu comme intention première non pas tant d’informer le public sur une question d’intérêt général mais de faire du rapport de l’ambassadeur Jagmetti un sujet de scandale inutile 39 [et que] la forme tronquée et réductrice des articles en question, laquelle était de nature à induire en erreur les lecteurs au sujet de l’ambassadeur, a considérablement réduit l’importance de leur contribution au débat public protégé par l’article 10 de la Convention.40

v. Proportionnalité de la sanction L’ingérence de l’Etat se mesure aussi à l’importance de la sanction. D’une part, la Cour doit veiller à ce que la lourdeur de celle-ci ne décourage pas les journalistes de participer à la discussion publique de questions d’intérêt général. D’autre part, il y a accord, parmi les Etats membres du Conseil de l’Europe, sur la nécessité de prévoir des sanctions pénales permettant de protéger certaines données conﬁdentielles.

38

39 40

Voici le ﬂorilège d’expressions oﬀert au par. 149 de l’Arrêt: « L’ambassadeur Jagmetti oﬀense les Juifs – Document secret: Impossible de se ﬁer à nos adversaires »; « L’ambassadeur en peignoir [lors d’une interview qui était sans rapport avec la présente aﬀaire et à laquelle M. Jagmetti s’était présenté de la sorte] et gros sabots met les pieds dans le plat – L’ambassadeur suisse Carlo Jagmetti foule aux pieds les usages diplomatiques ». Arrêt, par. 151. Ibid., par. 152.

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En l’espèce, la peine prononcée contre lui n’a pas empêché le requérant d’écrire, puisqu’elle n’est intervenue qu’après la publication des articles.41 De plus, elle ﬁgure parmi les sanctions les plus faibles, celles prenant la forme de contraventions. Le Tribunal de Zurich avait admis l’existence de circonstances atténuantes et avait estimé que la divulgation du rapport n’avait pas ébranlé les fondements de l’Etat. L’impunité des journalistes ayant publié l’intégralité du document ne saurait être considéré comme discriminatoire ou disproportionnée. Le principe de l’opportunité laisse à l’Etat une latitude considérable quant à la décision de poursuivre ou non. Des considérations de déontologie, notamment, peuvent entrer en ligne de compte. Ainsi la Grande Chambre arrive à la conclusion que l’amende inﬂigée n’est pas disproportionnée par rapport au but poursuivi. C. Conclusion Se fondant sur l’ensemble des considérations exposées plus haut, la Grande Chambre parvient à la conclusion, par douze voix contre cinq, que l’article 10 de la CEDH n’a pas été enfreint.

6. Opinion concordante et opinion dissidente Dans une opinion concordante la Juge Ziemele, qui a voté en faveur de l’arrêt, expose qu’au lieu d’examiner le préjudice que le comportement du requérant a pu porter aux intérêts de l’Etat défendeur, la Cour aurait dû se demander si ce comportement a permis de résoudre une « question internationale ancienne et importante » ou si, au contraire, il a rendu les choses plus diﬃciles encore. L’opinion dissidente du Juge Zagrebelski, à laquelle se sont ralliés les juges Lorenzen, Fura-Sandström, Jaeger et Popović, suit largement l’arrêt de la Chambre de la Cour du 25 avril 2006. Selon le juge dissident, la Grande Chambre accorde trop de poids, dans son arrêt, à la nécessité de préserver le secret dans un domaine qui ne relève ni de la sécurité nationale, ni de la sûreté publique, ni enﬁn de la protection des droits d’autrui, éléments énumérés à l’article 10 par. 2 de la CEDH. Selon M. Zagrebelski, la « conﬁdentialité » d’un rapport diplomatique n’est pas une valeur en soi, et une ingérence dans la liberté de la presse doit être dûment justiﬁée. En l’espèce, cela n’est guère possible. Le préjudice

41

Et la Cour de citer, a contrario, son arrêt du 26 novembre 1994 en l’aﬀaire Observer et Guardian c. Royaume-Uni, série A, n° 216, p. 30, par. 60 ; un arrêt (non publié) X. c. Ministère public du canton de Vaud rendu par le Tribunal fédéral suisse va dans le même sens (considérant 8.4). Il semble y avoir confusion. Le postulat de ne pas décourager les journalistes ne vaut pas pour le passé mais pour l’avenir.

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était peu signiﬁcatif et la publication centrée sur la façon dont l’ambassadeur s’était exprimé. Le juge dissident estime donc que la Cour devrait maintenir sa jurisprudence relative à l’article 10 de la Convention et admettre que la licéité d’une ingérence dans une société démocratique dépend d’un « besoin social impérieux », d’où la conclusion que « les autorités ne disposent que d’une marge d’appréciation restreinte » et que La Cour doit faire preuve de la plus grande prudence lorsque, comme en l’espèce, les mesures prises . . . par l’autorité nationale sont de nature à dissuader la presse de participer à la discussion de problèmes d’un intérêt général légitime.42

Comme la Cour a récemment dit dans l’aﬀaire Dupuis et autres c. France, le pouvoir d’appréciation national se heurte à l’intérêt de la société démocratique à assurer et à maintenir la liberté de la presse. De même, il convient d’accorder un grand poids à cet intérêt lorsqu’il s’agit de déterminer, comme l’exige le paragraphe 2 de l’article 10, si la restriction était proportionnée au but légitime poursuivi.43

Au lieu de développer et d’appliquer ces principes, dit M. Zagrebelski, la Grande Chambre est allée en sens contraire et ce précisément dans un domaine – celui de la politique étrangère – où on a fait l’expérience que le contrôle démocratique ne peut s’exercer qu’après des fuites et grâce à la publication de documents conﬁdentiels. De plus, pour juger de la légitimité de l’ingérence, la Cour ne s’est pas fondée sur le seul intérêt du Gouvernement à préserver le secret. Elle s’est également appuyée sur la « forme » des publications litigieuses, forme contraire, selon elle, à la déontologie journalistique, introduisant par là un élément de censure destiné à protéger l’ambassadeur et n’accordant aucun poids à l’intention du requérant d’examiner le caractère et l’attitude de l’ambassadeur concernant l’aﬀaire des fonds en déshérence. Selon le juge dissident, la Grande Chambre serait ainsi tombée dans un piège consistant à tolérer, au niveau national, l’ouverture d’une poursuite pénale pour violation de la conﬁdentialité d’un document au lieu d’un procès en diﬀamation. En conclusion, le juge Zagrebelski estime que, dans la présente aﬀaire, l’intérêt gouvernemental à la conﬁdentialité ne suﬃt pas à contrebalancer la liberté de la presse. La critique que la Grande Chambre fait porter sur la forme des publications est trop sévère et manque de pertinence. Pour ce qui est de la sanction inﬂigée au requérant et de ses eﬀets sur le travail de la presse, le juge dissident partage les conclusions de l’arrêt de la Chambre du 25 avril 2006 et celles ﬁgurant dans l’arrêt Dupuis et autres c. France. La Cour a toujours

42 43

Arrêt, par. 105–106. Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, n°1914/02, arrêt du 7 juin 2007, par. 36.

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préconisé une conception large de la liberté d’expression et une interprétation restrictive des limites à cette liberté. La Grande Chambre aurait dû conclure à une violation de la liberté d’expression.

7. Conclusions On admettra sans peine que l’arrêt de la Grande Chambre de la Cour de Strasbourg en l’aﬀaire Stoll c. Suisse, tel qu’il vient d’être décrit, est nuancé et soigneusement motivé. Pour l’auteur de ces lignes, il ne fait aucun doute que justice a été faite. Peut-être aurait-on pu procéder plus simplement, en mettant davantage l’accent sur un élément passablement négligé de l’article 10 para. 2 de la CEDH, à savoir l’idée que la liberté d’expression peut être limitée par des mesures nécessaires « à la protection de la réputation des droits d’autrui ». En l’espèce, la réputation de l’ambassadeur Jagmetti a sérieusement pâti de révélations dont l’intérêt pour le public – autre que les titillations éveillées par le sensationnalisme – paraît inﬁme. En ce qui concerne le préjudice causé à l’Etat défendeur, on voit mal en quoi la révélation du fait que l’ambassadeur a qualiﬁé d’ »adversaire » (en allemand: « Gegner ») son partenaire dans la négociation aurait pu nuire à celui-ci, et il en va de même concernant la suggestion d’une éventuelle « transaction ».44 En revanche, rendre publics les passages du rapport suggérant que ce partenaire n’était pas digne de conﬁance et ceux faisant référence à une « guerre », pouvait causer l’échec des négociations. L’aspect central de l’arrêt Stoll réside cependant dans sa signiﬁcation pour les activités gouvernementales et, en particulier, la conduite des relations extérieures. L’aﬀaire ici examinée, en eﬀet, n’est pas sans rappeler Marković et autres c. Italie.45 Il est vrai que, dans cette dernière aﬀaire, il ne s’agissait pas de la liberté de la presse, mais de l’accès aux juridictions nationales pour contester des décisions prises par un gouvernement dans l’exercice de ses compétences, en particulier dans les domaines des relations étrangères et de la défense nationale. Le point commun entre les deux litiges réside dans le fait que l’on a cherché, par diﬀérents moyens, à assujettir des aspects de la politique étrangère de l’Etat au juge national, puis au juge international. Autrement dit, par le biais de la protection internationale des droits de l’homme et à l’aide de dispositions conventionnelles diﬀérentes – les articles 6 par. 1 et 10 de la CEDH –, la politique 44

45

Cela étant, on s’étonne de l’indignation peut-être faussement naïve des journalistes devant l’utilisation de ces termes. Voir aussi, sur ce point, le considérant 6 de l’arrêt du Tribunal de district de Zurich du 22 janvier 1999, voir Arrêt, par. 28 et supra p. 268. No 1398/03, arrêt du 14 décembre 2006. Sur les détails de cette aﬀaire, voir, du présent auteur, ‘Actes de gouvernement et droits de l’homme: L’aﬀaire Marković’, Liber Amicorum Joseph Voyame (sous presse).

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étrangère serait appelée à devenir un champ d’activité pour tous, journalistes ou particuliers, sans que le principe de la séparation des pouvoirs puisse y faire obstacle. Dans la présente aﬀaire, on a ainsi assisté à une tentative d’envahir, au nom de la liberté de la presse, le domaine des relations extérieures en se prévalant de la démocratie, de la participation et de la transparence. Si, à l’avenir, de telles tentatives devaient aboutir, une partie des relations entre Etats seraient subordonnées à des impératifs de politique nationale, par l’eﬀet même des principes de droit international que constituent les droits de l’homme. Ce résultat semble en tout cas voulu par certains juges, peut-être peu conscients des exigences de la conduite des relations internationales. Il serait grotesque de s’imaginer que ces dernières pourraient normalement fonctionner si les rapports entre la centrale et ses représentants à l’étranger et les instructions données par la première aux seconds risquaient, à tout moment, d’être étalées sur la place publique : d’abord devant les négociateurs de l’autre partie, ensuite devant les milieux politiques internes. Autrement dit, il n’y aurait plus ou peu de relations internationales dignes de ce nom si, en raison de la liberté de la presse, garante du processus démocratique et de la transparence, tout risquait à tout moment de basculer dans le domaine public. Une telle évolution, si elle devait se réaliser, empêcherait une application saine et raisonnable des droits de l’homme sur le plan international. Pour démontrer la valeur d’une certaine conﬁdentialité dans le domaine des relations extérieures, la Cour, sans doute inﬂuencée par les développements consacrés à cette question par l’Etat défendeur,46 s’est référée à l’inviolabilité de la correspondance et des archives diplomatiques prescrite par le droit international coutumier et codiﬁée par la Convention de Vienne de 1961 sur les relations diplomatiques. Il ne fait aucun doute que ces règles s’appliquent aux rapports entre Etat accréditant et Etat accréditaire. Cependant, il s’agissait, dans le cas présent, de relations entre un Etat et des individus. Etant donné l’impossibilité pour l’Etat d’exercer normalement ses fonctions dans le domaine des relations internationales si on lui refuse, ou presque, le droit de limiter le champ d’action d’une presse toute-puissante, on ne saurait cependant refuser d’étendre l’application de ce principe, par analogie, aux rapports entre l’Etat et l’individu. On ne peut, en eﬀet, admettre que ce qui est interdit sur le plan interétatique puisse être légitimé sur le plan interne en invoquant les règles sur la liberté de la presse. Le principe de la conﬁdentialité de la correspondance diplomatique doit pouvoir s’appliquer, a fortiori, sur le plan national, ne serait-ce qu’en raison

46

Pour ces développements, voir ‘Pratique suisse en matière de droit international public 2007’, n°7.2, RSDIE, 2008, 499.

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du fait que la liberté de l’Etat de conduire ses relations extérieures à sa guise est le fondement de son indépendance. C’est donc à juste titre que la majorité des juges de la Grande Chambre ont estimé inacceptables les conclusions de la Chambre. Pour parvenir à leur décision, ils ont invoqué un large éventail de motifs: publication partielle du document, contribuant à aﬀaiblir la position de négociation de la Suisse ; personnalisation de l’aﬀaire en axant le contenu des articles sur la personne de l’ambassadeur ; langage inacceptable, contraire à l’éthique du journaliste ; et moment inopportun de la publication. Sur ce dernier point, on notera – peutêtre la Cour aurait-elle pu davantage insister sur cet aspect de l’aﬀaire – que les deux articles du requérant, dédiés à la noble cause de l’intérêt public, ont vu le jour, non pas au moment de la réception du rapport par M. Stoll, mais quelques semaines plus tard, au beau milieu des négociations, c’est-à-dire au moment même où ils risquaient de faire le plus de mal. Voilà pour la pureté de la cause et le respect de la déontologie. Les raisonnements qui précèdent ont été rendus nécessaires par le refus de la Grande Chambre d’admettre que, sauf circonstances exceptionnelles ou présence de règles contraires de droit interne, la conﬁdentialité de la correspondance diplomatique doit, de par la nature même des choses, l’emporter sur l’article 10 de la CEDH et sur des règles semblables. Elle s’est ménagé une porte de sortie en refusant d’établir une priorité de nature absolue. Au paragraphe 128 de son arrêt, elle aﬃrme que si la conﬁdentialité de la correspondance diplomatique semble a priori justiﬁée, elle ne saurait l’emporter dans tous les cas, en ajoutant que la fonction de critique et de contrôle des média doit englober la sphère de la politique étrangère. Pour ce motif, l’exclusion de tout débat public en raison de la conﬁdentialité de la correspondance diplomatique ne serait pas acceptable. Les juges dissidents applaudissent mais veulent plus: une présomption d’irrégularité en cas d’interférence avec l’article 10. Certains, dont l’auteur de ces lignes, diront au contraire que la Cour aurait dû consacrer la présomption inverse, celle de la conﬁdentialité, notamment dans les cas où le document en cause a été transmis à la presse de façon illicite – ex injuria jus non oritur. Cette présomption serait renversée si le document parvenu à la presse révélait l’existence d’infractions pénales. Soucieux d’un sain équilibre entre conduite des aﬀaires étrangères et respect des droits de l’homme, l’auteur de la présente contribution aurait souhaité que la Cour suive cette dernière voie.

Chapter 13 Droits individuels et droits de l’homme: Chevauchements et diﬀérences Christian Dominicé *

1. L’interrogation de la jurisprudence Dans l’évolution et le développement du droit international contemporain on peut observer, entre autres, le rôle accru tenu par l’être humain, l’individu, en tant qu’acteur autonome. Si la question de sa personnalité juridique en droit international fait encore l’objet de visions doctrinales diﬀérentes,1 il est généralement admis que l’individu est titulaire de droits qui lui sont conférés par le droit international soit plus précisément par des normes internationales, conventionnelles voire coutumières, qui en font leur destinataire. L’individu est également tenu par des obligations prescrites par le droit international, dont la transgression est susceptible d’entraîner sa responsabilité pénale.2 Le modeste propos de cet article destiné à honorer Vera Gowlland-Debbas est inspiré par la jurisprudence de la Cour internationale de Justice. Elle met en lumière la consécration internationale des droits individuels, tout en laissant ouvertes, jusqu’ici, quelques interrogations. Notre point de départ est l’arrêt rendu par la Cour dans l‘aﬀaire LaGrand.3 Appelée à s’exprimer sur l’article 36 par.1, de la Convention de Vienne sur les

* Professeur honoraire à la Faculté de droit de l’Université de Genève et à l’Institut de hautes études internationales et du développement, Genève. Ancien directeur de l’Institut universitaire de hautes études internationales, Genève. 1 Nous estimons que l’ordre juridique international connaît deux catégories de sujets. D’une part, ceux à qui le droit international lui-même attribue la personnalité juridique et qui sont investis de ce fait des diverses capacités internationales. D’autre part, ceux qui sont issus d’autres ordres juridiques et sont simplement reconnus et n’acquièrent pas de ce fait d’autres capacités que celles qu’ils possèdent à l’origine, ainsi que les capacités ponctuelles qui leur sont expressément attribuées. L’individu appartient à cette deuxième catégorie. 2 Les juridictions pénales internationales, notamment la Cour pénale internationale ainsi que les tribunaux pénaux internationaux ad hoc en fournissent une évidente illustration. 3 Aﬀaire LaGrand (Allemagne c. Etats-Unis d’Amérique), arrêt du 27 juin 2001, CIJ Rec. 2001, 466. Voir M. Menneke, ‘Towards the Humanization of the Vienna Convention of Consular

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relations consulaires,4 elle a indiqué que l’alinéa a) et l’alinéa b) de cette disposition confèrent aux personnes détenues des droits individuels, susceptibles d’être invoqués par l’État dont la personne détenue a la nationalité.5 Cette thèse avait été combattue en cours de procédure. Les Etats-Unis avaient en eﬀet soutenu que ce sont les Etats et non les individus qui sont titulaires des droits reconnus par la Convention de Vienne, mais la Cour estima que si, assurément, l’article 36 institue des droits au bénéﬁce des Etats parties, il crée également des droits individuels pour les ressortissants de ces Etats. Cette aﬃrmation est fondée sur le libellé du texte conventionnel. Dans ce même arrêt, il est fait allusion à l’argument avancé par l’Allemagne selon lequel le droit de l’intéressé d’être informé aux termes du paragraphe premier de l’article 36 de la Convention de Vienne “(. . .) n’était pas seulement un droit individuel, mais avait aujourd’hui acquis le caractère d’un droit de l’homme’’. La Cour estima cependant que, dès lors qu’elle avait conclu à la violation par les États-Unis des droits que les frères LaGrand tenaient de l’article 36 par.1, il ne lui paraissait pas nécessaire d’examiner l’argumentation supplémentaire développée par l’Allemagne.6 Dans l’aﬀaire Avena,7 la Cour a conﬁrmé, en ce qui concerne l’article 36 par.1 de la Convention de Vienne de 1963 sur les relations consulaires, sa jurisprudence LaGrand en ce sens que cette disposition crée des droits individuels.8 Le Mexique, comme l’avait fait l’Allemagne dans l’aﬀaire LaGrand, prétendit que le droit à la notiﬁcation consulaire et à la communication consulaire était un droit humain fondamental, si fondamental que sa violation aurait pour eﬀet de vicier toute la procédure pénale conduite à la suite de cette transgression.9 La Cour estima que la question de savoir si les droits institués par la Convention de Vienne de 1963 relevaient de la catégorie des droits humains n’était pas une matière sur laquelle elle avait à se prononcer.10 Elle observa cependant que

4 5 6 7

8 9 10

Rights – The LaGrand Case before the International Court of Justice’, 44 German Yearbook of International Law, 2001, 430. Nations Unies, Recueil des traités, vol. 596, p. 261. Arrêt LaGrand, para. 77. Ibid., para. 78. Aﬀaire Avena et autres ressortissants mexicains (Mexique c. Etats-Unis d’Amérique), arrêt du 31 mars 2004, CIJ Rec. 2004, 12. Voir M. Benlolo-Carabot, ‘L’arrêt de la Cour internationale de Justice dans l’aﬀaire Avena et autres ressortissants mexicains (Mexique c. Etats-Unis d’Amérique) du 31 mars 2004’, AFDI, 2004, 259. Arrêt Avena, para. 40. Ibid., para. 124. Idem.

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ni le texte, ni l’objet et le but de la Convention, ni aucune indication résultant des travaux préparatoires, ne venaient à l’appui de cette assertion.11 Ainsi, aucun des deux arrêts ne nous éclaire sur les rapports qui pourraient s’établir entre les droits individuels tels qu’entendus dans la jurisprudence et les droits de l’homme. Il y a donc lieu d’examiner chacune de ces deux notions pour mieux comprendre les rapports qu’elles entretiennent.

2. Les droits individuels On n’a pas attendu l’arrêt LaGrand pour savoir que le droit international, par l’eﬀet de diverses normes, confère des droits à l’individu. On connaît assurément les traités de sauvegarde et de protection des droits de l’homme. On connaît aussi, depuis longtemps, divers types de traités d’établissement, qui ne manquent pas d’instituer, au bénéﬁce des ressortissants des parties contractantes, divers droits. Il s’agit là de textes qui instituent des droits pour l’individu, quand bien même certaines questions demeurent ouvertes, et controversées, quant aux moyens de faire valoir ces droits individuels. Ce qu’il y a de particulier dans les arrêts LaGrand et Avena est le fait qu’ils ont pour eﬀet de créer des droits individuels à partir de normes conventionnelles qui, au premier chef, règlent des rapports entre Etats. Il est diﬃcile de prétendre que lors de la négociation de la Convention de Vienne de 1963, les États avaient l’intention de créer des droits individuels.12 C’est bien plutôt une interprétation contemporaine, inspirée par l’évolution du droit international au cours des dernières décennies, qui voit dans l’article 36 une norme créatrice de droits individuels. Même si elle n’a pas fait l’unanimité,13 cette thèse des ‘’droits individuels’’ est certainement convaincante. Le texte lui-même y conduit, car il impose à l’État de résidence diverses obligations à l’égard du détenu. Les droits correspondants sont ceux de l’État national du détenu mais aussi, en bonne logique, ceux de celui-ci.14

11 12 13 14

Idem. Dans ses arrêts, la Cour ne se réfère pas à l’intention initiale des parties. Voir l’opinion individuelle du Vice-Président Shi, CIJ Rec. 2001, 518. Dans les deux arrêts LaGrand et Avena, l’État demandeur a fait valoir la dualité de sa prétention, fondée d’une part sur ses droits propres, et d’autre part sur la protection diplomatique exercée au bénéﬁce d’un ressortissant dont un droit individuel a été transgressé.

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Il est donc légitime qu’un texte qui impose à un État l’obligation d’accorder des droits à un individu soit interprété dans le sens qu’il accorde ces mêmes droits à l’individu. Cela ne sera peut être pas très fréquent, mais cela peut se présenter. Par exemple, dans l’arbitrage qui a opposé la France à l’UNESCO au sujet de l’imposition de la retraite des anciens fonctionnaires,15 l’organisation internationale a plaidé que la disposition de l’accord de siège qui la lie à l’État hôte (la France) prescrivant l’exonération ﬁscale des traitements et émoluments des fonctionnaires de l’UNESCO pouvait également être invoquée par les fonctionnaires retraités. Le tribunal arbitral a rejeté cet argument, au motif que la disposition en cause ne concernait pas les anciens fonctionnaires. Il a néanmoins tenu à déclarer, en intitulant un paragraphe ‘’La règle selon laquelle les dispositions d’un traité peuvent créer des droits subjectifs dans le chef des particuliers’’, que “cette règle appartient au droit international contemporain’’.16 Quant au contenu de ces droits individuels, ou à la matière qu’ils concernent, ils ne sont pas conﬁnés à un domaine particulier. En d’autres termes, ils ne relèvent pas nécessairement des droits humains. Un droit individuel peut être n’importe quel droit subjectif.

3. Les droits humains Dans les deux cas LaGrand et Avena, l’État requérant avait soutenu que les droits individuels de ses ressortissants, dont il déplorait la violation, avaient le caractère de droits humains.17 Cet argument fut présenté comme un argument complémentaire, destiné à renforcer la signiﬁcation et la portée du droit individuel consacré par l’article 36 de la Convention de Vienne sur les relations consulaires (droit à l’information particulièrement). La Cour n’a pas jugé nécessaire d’aborder cette question, qui est donc restée ouverte. La première observation que l’on peut faire est que les droits de l’homme constituent une catégorie spéciﬁque ratione materiae de droits individuels. Ce sont des droits individuels qui se distinguent par leur objet, la protection de la personnalité et de la dignité de l’être humain. Tous les droits humains sont des

15 16 17

Sentence du 14 janvier 2003, RGDIP, 2003, 221. Ibid., para. 82, 251. Sur le droit à l’information en matière consulaire, voir M. Feria Tinta, ‘Due Process and the Right to Life in the Context of the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations: Arguing the LaGrand case’, 12 EJIL, 2001, 363.

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droits individuels,18 quelle qu’en soit la source,19 mais tous les droits individuels, comme déjà dit, ne sont pas des droits de l’homme. Une deuxième observation concerne le motif pour lequel tant l’Allemagne (aﬀaire LaGrand) que le Mexique (aﬀaire Avena) ont avancé la thèse des droits humains. Il s’agissait, dans leur esprit, de reconnaître que le droit à l’information était revêtu d’une autorité particulière.20 Que faut-il penser de cette argumentation ? Il nous paraît que ce n’est pas le caractère de droit de l’homme qui peut, en tant que tel, revêtir une disposition d’une autorité particulière. Il faut observer en eﬀet que certains droits de l’homme ont valeur impérative, mais ce n’est pas le cas pour tous les droits énoncés. Il y a lieu, dans chaque cas, de déterminer si un droit particulier est consacré par une norme relevant du ius cogens. Lorsque tel est le cas, on peut alors admettre que cette norme a une autorité particulière et qu’en cas de conﬂit avec une autre norme, elle doit l’emporter.

4. Conclusions Les observations qui précèdent conduisent aux conclusions suivantes: a) Droits individuels et droits de l’homme sont des notions diﬀérentes. La première met l’accent sur le titulaire – ou l’un des titulaires – du droit, indépendamment du contenu de celui-ci. Les droits de l’homme se distinguent particulièrement par leur objet et leur ﬁnalité. b) Il y a d’évidents chevauchements, en ce sens que les droits de l’homme sont, le plus souvent, des droits individuels.21 Le titulaire peut s’en réclamer lorsque l’occasion lui en est donnée. Sinon, son État national peut exercer sa protection diplomatique, après épuisement des voies de recours internes. c) Lorsqu’un droit individuel est un droit de l’homme, il est susceptible de présenter un caractère impératif. Si tel est le cas, la norme qui le consacre l’emporte sur toute norme contraire. On observera, pour conclure, que le

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21

Peut être faut-il voir une exception dans les droits collectifs. Les droits individuels qui ont principalement retenu notre attention ici sont ceux qui résultent d’une disposition conventionnelle applicable au premier chef aux États. Il est évident qu’ils peuvent résulter d’autres types de dispositions conventionnelles, voire du droit non-écrit. L’Allemagne a argué que son caractère de droit de l’homme rendait l’eﬀectivité de cette disposition plus impérieuse encore (para. 78 de l’arrêt LaGrand), alors que pour le Mexique le droit en question était si fondamental que sa violation avait pour eﬀet de vicier toute la procédure pénale (para. 124 de l’arrêt Avena). Il y a cependant des droits collectifs.

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silence de la Cour, dans les deux arrêts cités, tout à fait explicable car il n’était pas nécessaire pour elle de se prononcer sur les droits de l’homme, ne couvrait pas une diﬃculté majeure. Quelques règles et principes simples étaient en jeu.

Chapter 14 The Extra-Territorial Reach of Human Rights Obligations: A Brief Perspective on the Link to Jurisdiction1 Guy S. Goodwin-Gill

The involvement of European States in peacekeeping and peace-monitoring operations around the world, and even in combat against or on behalf of other States, such as Iraq and Afghanistan, puts in question the extent to which the international obligations of the State travel with it when it ventures abroad.2 Less immediately controversial operations, such as the interception at sea of “irregular migrants” or measures to combat piracy, also invite attention to the extent to which national forces remain obliged and, more particularly, whether those directly aﬀected and injured by such activities can have any claim, either under national law or through regional human rights machinery, such as that established by the European Convention on Human Rights. Here, we are at the brink of law and power, where policy confronts obligation, where principles of good faith and accountability demand a measure of attention, and where the availability of a remedy for those aﬀected, from one perspective, may be considered an inappropriate limitation on sovereign power; and from another, as conﬁrmation of the rule of law. It is trite knowledge that the State is responsible in international law for the conduct of its organs, and that it will be liable for such conduct if it is attributable to the State, and if that conduct violates an international obligation

1

2

This paper is based on the Third Annual Distinguished Lecture given at the Centre for Criminal Justice and Human Rights, University College Cork, Ireland, 23 March 2009. I am grateful to Dr Ursula Kilkelly, Co-Director of the Centre, for having invited me to present the Lecture, to Dr Siobhán Wills for having facilitated the visit, and for the helpful comments received. For recent analysis of many of the issues, see S. Wills, Protecting Civilians: The Obligations of Peacekeepers, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009).

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binding on the State.3 Less certain, though, is where that liability is to be activated; in which court, tribunal or other forum? What principles do or ought to determine the jurisdiction of a competent tribunal? Of course, there can well be municipal law consequences where State organs act contrary to international law. The local law may provide remedies in damages against the State, or permit challenges to the legality of State conduct. Even where the State acts outside its territory, municipal law may still enter the frame, for example, again in actions for damages, in the criminal prosecution of members of the armed forces for violations of international humanitarian law, or in judicial review of the lawfulness of oﬃcial action in the light of national legislation.4 The applicability of law remains contested, however, particularly where the State, acting extraterritorially, violates individual, human rights. Recent litigation has included claims for unlawful killing, unlawful detention, illegal surrender (refoulement), and interception at sea. The defendants, directly or indirectly, have included Canada, Spain, Turkey, NATO forces in Kosovo, NATO forces over Serbia, the United States, and the United Kingdom. In each case, in one form or another, the defendants have argued that the protective law in question (the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, United States legislation and/or the Constitution, the United Kingdom’s Human Rights Act, and the European Convention on Human Rights), either does not apply extra-territorially or, to the same eﬀect, that the particular claimants do not in the circumstances come “within the jurisdiction” of the respondent State. Although they may shade one into the other, the implications at the core of each defence are potentially very diﬀerent. In the one case, the State claims not to be bound by any obligation; in the other, that while the State may indeed be bound by obligation, no remedy is available to the claimant within the particular regime relied on. So, for example, the victim of torture at the hands of the military may be denied the right to claim for the violation of his or her rights, but the soldier responsible may yet be prosecuted for breach of the international rule (generally incorporated in relevant domestic law). One question that arises is, whether a rigid separation of legal regimes is justiﬁable, either on the face of the law, or as a matter of policy.5 Is the State

3

4

5

In the absence of any procedure for the compulsory settlement of disputes, and given the general immunity from the jurisdiction of any other State which is consequential on sovereignty, it is not always clear how such international liability is to be activated; however, this is a separate question. See, for example, R (European Roma Rights Centre and others) v Immigration Oﬃcer at Prague Airport and another (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees intervening) [2004] UKHL 55, [2005] 2 AC 1. Cf. D. McGoldrick, ‘Human Rights and Humanitarian Law in United Kingdom Courts’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 537, 553.

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which is bound by the prohibition on torture, and therefore bound also to take the necessary steps to ensure that its organs do not engage in torture, nevertheless free to conﬁne its implementing measures to control and punishment through the criminal law? Or does the principle of eﬀectiveness of obligations in fact limit the choice of means and require, as a matter of international law, that individual victims are able, irrespective of their status or location, to claim for their injury and loss? Writing in 1995, Ted Meron remarked that there was “no a priori reason to limit a state’s obligation to respect human rights to its national territory.”6 The exercise of power or authority, jurisdiction or de facto jurisdiction, he suggested, raised a presumption that the State’s obligation to respect human rights continues, and it should only be rebutted when the nature and the content of a particular right or treaty language suggest otherwise.7 Even though it leaves open the next step, from rule to remedy, this is a sound argument, solidly founded in the basic principles of State responsibility. However, the idea that human rights obligations and remedies do travel is far from consistently recognized, either in the practice of States or in the jurisprudence of national and international tribunals. Meron emphasizes the importance of looking at the “nature and content” of the particular right, or the language of the particular treaty in general, either or both of which might indicate a territorial limitation. So, for example, the right of every citizen to have access to the public service in his or her country8 expresses limitations in terms both of the individual (the citizen) and the place (his or her country), in which the right is to be exercised. While particular treaty provisions may delimit the reach of speciﬁc rights, many human rights treaties include general clauses on their intended scope of application which are not obviously tied to territory; it is here that the interest begins, and that much of the literature and practice has focused.9 Thus, article 1 of the 1950

6 7 8 9

T. Meron, ‘Extraterritoriality of Human Rights Treaties’, 89 AJIL, 1995, 78, 80–81. Ibid. Art. 25, International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 1966. The views brieﬂy expressed in this paper cannot do full justice to the very rich, recent literature on jurisdiction in human rights treaties, including F. Coomans and M. Kamminga, (eds.), Extraterritorial Application of Human Rights Treaties, (Antwerp: Intersentia, 2004); M. Milanović and T. Papic, ‘Case Comment. As Bad as it Gets: The European Court of Human Rights’ Behrami and Saramati decision and general international law’, 58 ICLQ, 2009, 267–96; A. Sari, ‘Jurisdiction and International Responsibility in Peace Support Operations: The Behrami and Saramati Cases’, 8 Human Rights Law Review, 2008, 151–70; M. Milanović, ‘From Compromise to Principle: Clarifying the Concept of State Jurisdiction in Human Rights Treaties’, 8 Human Rights Law Review, 2008, 411–48; N. Bamforth, ‘The methodology and extra-territorial application of the Human Rights Act 1998’, 124 Law Quarterly Review, 2008, 355–61; R. Wilde, ‘Triggering State Obligations Extraterritorially: The Spatial Test in Certain

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European Convention on Human Rights obliges States parties to secure rights and freedoms, “to everyone within their jurisdiction”; article 2 of the 1966 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and article 2 of the 1966 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights both require each State party “to respect and to ensure” the rights recognized, “to all individuals within its territory and subject to its jurisdiction . . .” Article 1(1) of the 1969 American Convention on Human Rights refers simply to all persons subject to the jurisdiction of the States party, while the 1981 African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights makes no mention of territory or jurisdiction, although certain rights (such as citizenship rights) are expressed by reference to one’s country or community.10 Clearly, such provisions exist for a purpose, one of which reﬂects the fact that sovereignty and responsibility are territorially based, if not exclusively territorial, and the self-evident proposition that no State is responsible for whether or not another State fulﬁls its own international obligations. However, as Meron pointed out, there is no a priori reason why the State’s obligation to respect human rights should be conﬁned to its national territory, and both the UN Human Rights Committee and the Committee against Torture have stressed that what counts over and above or besides territory, is power or factual or eﬀective control. In an early and still frequently quoted case, Lopez Burgos v Uruguay, the Human Rights Committee considered the applicability of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights to the abduction, arrest, secret detention and torture of a Uruguayan citizen by Uruguay agents outside State territory. Interpreting Article 2(1), the Committee said that, “The reference . . . to ‘individuals subject to its jurisdiction’ . . . is not to the place where the violation occurred, but rather to the relationship between the individual and the State in relation to a violation of any of the rights set forth in the Covenant, wherever they occurred . . . ”11 This interpretation has been conﬁrmed in the Human Rights Committee’s General Comment No. 31,12 and the UN Com-

10 11

12

Human Rights Treaties’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 503–26; D. McGoldrick, ‘Human Rights and Humanitarian Law in United Kingdom Courts’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 537–62. See, for example, articles 12, 13. Lopez Burgos v Uruguay, Human Rights Committee, UN doc. A/36/40, 29 July 1981, 176, §§ 12.1–12.3. Human Rights Committee, ‘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, paras. 10, 11: “. . . a State party must respect and ensure the rights laid down in the Covenant to anyone within the power or eﬀective control of that State Party, even if not situated within the territory of the State Party . . . This principle also applies to those within the power or eﬀective control of the forces of a State Party acting outside its territory, regardless of the circumstances

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mittee against Torture has adopted a similar line of reasoning. In relation to the preventive measures which a State is required to take under Article 2(1) of the Convention against Torture in respect of “any territory under its jurisdiction”, the Committee has emphasized the obligation to protect anyone subject to the de jure or de facto control of a State party.13 In another context, the International Court of Justice stated in its Advisory Opinion in the Wall case that the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, “is applicable in respect of acts done by a state in the exercise of its jurisdiction outside its own territory”.14 Recalling these views in the Congo case in 2005, the Court reiterated its conclusion that, “. . . international human rights instruments are applicable ‘in respect of acts done by a State in the exercise of its jurisdiction outside its own territory’, particularly in occupied territories”.15 When one turns to the customary international law formulation of particular obligations – such as the prohibition on torture or, in a European context, the prohibition on surrendering an individual who faces the risk of the death penalty or execution – it is entirely de-linked from either territory or jurisdiction, and rooted simply in the principle of attribution. While it is indeed likely that the individual’s claims upon the State and the State’s duties towards the individual will usually have a territorial framework, the challenge lies in the exceptions, and in determining whether and why, if at all, such cases

13

14

15

in which such power or eﬀective control was obtained, such as forces constituting a national contingent of a State Party assigned to an international peace-keeping or peace-enforcement operation.” Committee against Torture, General Comment No. 2, ‘Implementation of article 2 by States parties’: UN doc. CAT/C/GC/2, 24 January 2008; also, ‘Conclusions and recommendations: United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland’: UN doc. CAT/C/CR/33/3, 10 December 2004, para. 4(b). See further M. Nowak and E. McArthur, The United Nations Convention against Torture: A Commentary, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), paras. 4, 72, 180–1. The Inter-American Commission of Human Rights has based extraterritorial application of the American Convention and the American Declaration on the notion of persons “subject to [a State’s] authority and control”: see, for example, Coard et al v US, Report No 109/99, Case 10.951, (1999), §§ 37, 39, 41, 43, cited by the European Court of Human Rights in Banković, §§ 23–4. See generally C. M. Cerna, ‘Extraterritorial Application of the Human Rights Instruments of the Inter-American System’, in: F. Coomans and M. Kamminga, (eds.), Extraterritorial Application of Human Rights Treaties, (Antwerp: Intersentia, 2004), pp. 141–74; D. Cassel, ‘Extraterritorial Application of Inter-American Human Rights Instruments’, ibid., pp. 175–82. Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Advisory Opinion, [2004] ICJ Reports, § 111. Case Concerning Armed Activities in the Territory of the Congo (DRC v Uganda) ( Judgment) [2005] ICJ Reports, § 216; see also paragraph 219, in which the Court lists those human rights instruments which it found Uganda to have breached.

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should be treated diﬀerently, and whether or how this has anything to do with jurisdiction. A number of recent judgments have attempted to tease out the applicable law. The Federal Court in Canada, for example, has ruled that the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms does not apply to the detention and surrender to the Afghan authorities of persons detained by Canadian forces acting with the International Security Assistance Force.16 The US Supreme Court has held that statutory habeas corpus protection does not extend to US citizens detained by US forces in Iraq.17 In the United Kingdom, on the other hand, the House of Lords ruled in Al-Skeini that while individuals detained by British forces in Iraq were protected by the Human Rights Act and the European Convention on Human Rights, those killed or injured in “war ﬁghting” were outside jurisdiction and not so protected.18 In December 2008, the United Kingdom Court of Appeal also held that two detainees in British military custody in Basra from 2003–2008 did not come within the jurisdiction of the United Kingdom in the sense of Article 1 of the European Convention because they were held on the orders of an Iraqi court; there was therefore no basis upon which their surrender to the Iraqi authorities for trial for suspected war crimes could be resisted, irrespective of any evidence that they might be subject to treatment contrary to Article 3 ECHR50, or to the death penalty.19 The European Court of Human Rights took a diﬀerent view in this case,20 although the jurisprudence and reasoning of the Court in other cases and overall remains diﬃcult to reconcile. The leading case of Banković,21 for example, arose out of the loss of life in Belgrade occasioned by NATO bombing. The Court dismissed the claim on the ground that the victims did not come within the jurisdiction of the States parties. Proponents of a narrow scope of obligation and remedy will draw com-

16

17

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21

Amnesty International Canada and British Columbia Civil Liberties Association v. Chief of the Defence Staﬀ for the Canadian Forces, Minister of National Defence and Attorney General of Canada (2008) FC 229 (Mactavish J); (2008) FCA 401 (Federal Court of Appeal). In Munaf v Geren, 128 S. Ct. 2207 (2008) the US Supreme Court considered the extraterritorial applicability of statutory provisions on habeas corpus in the case of US citizens detained by US forces in Iraq, rather than any speciﬁc international obligation binding on the US; in denying protection, the Court relied on municipal law interpretations, but called in aid the principle of territorial jurisdiction as a reason for not extending the application of US law. See also J.-M. Piret, ‘Boumediene v. Bush and the extraterritorial reach of the U.S. Constitution: A step towards judicial cosmopolitanism?’ 4 Utrecht Law Review, 2008, 81–103. R (Al-Skeini) v Secretary of State for Defence [2007] UKHL 26, [2008] 1 AC 153. R (Al-Saadoon) v Secretary of State for Defence [2009] EWCA Civ 7; [2008] EWHC 3098 (Admin); the author was a member of the legal team in the Al-Saadoon litigation. Al-Saadoon and Mufdhi v. United Kingdom, (Appl. No. 61498/08), Decision on admissibility, 30 June 2009. Judgment on the merits was pending at the time of writing (December 2009). Banković v Belgium and others (2001) BHRC 435.

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fort from the Court’s emphasis on the fact that “jurisdiction” is in principle territorial, and that the Convention is primarily, if not exclusively, for application within the legal space (the espace juridique) of the States parties, which is largely conterminous with the geographical space occupied by the forty-seven States party to the European Convention.22 On the other hand, this judgment has inspired considerable debate, particularly insofar as the European Court recognized that Convention liability might attach for acts “performed, or producing eﬀects” outside State territory,23 for example, where there was “eﬀective control of . . . relevant territory and its inhabitants abroad as a consequence of military occupation or through the consent, invitation or acquiescence of the Government of that territory”; where the Contracting State, “exercises all or some of the public powers normally exercised by that Government”;24 or in “cases involving the activities of its diplomatic or consular agents abroad and on board craft or vessels registered in, or ﬂying the ﬂag of, that State . . .”25 The ﬁrst two instances involve observable eﬀective control (occupation) or authority (exercise of public powers);26 the essence of the third exception (diplomatic activities) is less clear, and the question is, whether there is nevertheless a common rational basis to these exceptions which will permit coherent identiﬁcation of the circumstances in which the protection of the Convention will apply. Unfortunately, this is yet another area in which the inherent ambiguities of language seem inevitably to lead to ambiguities of result; and the challenge still is to ﬁnd the words that give coherence to the theory and practice of Convention protection, and to explain, if possible, the precise role of jurisdiction in delimiting responsibility. Although in Banković, as mentioned above, State acts produced eﬀects outside State territory, liability was denied on the ground that the claimants were not within the jurisdiction of the States concerned. In Issa,27 the Court clariﬁed that the “exercise of jurisdiction” is a necessary condition of responsibility, and that responsibility may attach where individuals, though physically present in 22

23 24 25 26

27

Considered together with any territories to which a State may have extended application of the Convention under article 56. Banković, § 67, Ibid., § 71. Ibid., § 73. Note the useful discussion of two potential bases of jurisdiction, “eﬀective control of an area” (ECA) and “state agent authority” (SAA) in the Court of Appeal in the Al-Skeini case, particularly at [2007] QB 140, [2005] EWCA Civ 1609, §§ 48 and following (Brooke LJ). But see also Sedley LJ at § 190: “. . . I would accept that while ECA and SAA have proved useful exegetic tools in analysing the decisions of the ECtHR, they do not represent discrete jurisprudential classes each of which attracts state liability. The single criterion is eﬀective control.” Issa v Turkey (2005) 41 EHRR 27.

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another State’s territory, are nevertheless found to be under the “authority and control” of the State impugned, though the activities of its agents. In Öcalan, the Court adopted a similar approach, noting that “directly after being handed over to the Turkish oﬃcials by the Kenyan oﬃcials, the applicant was under eﬀective Turkish authority and therefore within the jurisdiction of that State for the purposes of Article 1.”28 Following the analytical path suggested by principles of State responsibility, the essential basis for extra-territorial Convention responsibility can thus be rationalised in terms of attributability, eﬀective control, and public powers. This leaves open the third category of exceptions comprising, (or typiﬁed by?), the activities of diplomatic and consular authorities abroad and on board certain craft and vessels. As a matter of law and practice, it cannot be said that diplomatic agents “exercise eﬀective control” over those entering diplomatic premises, in the same way that an occupying power exercises control over territory through the application of authority backed by military force. The rationale for Convention responsibility must therefore be found and framed in some other form of words, such as power, or authority, or competence, or capacity to alter the personal situation of individuals, in violation of their Convention rights. What exactly that covers may be a matter of some speculation, but clearly the liability of the Contracting State is not contingent, in the diplomatic context, on its being able to implement the totality of its Convention obligations. In this scenario, responsibility is tailored to context and to the nature and content of the particular obligation said to have been violated or to be at risk of violation. This would certainly seem to be supported by the reasoning implicit in the Banković second exception, where the Contracting State exercises in the territory of another State all or some of the public powers normally exercised by the government of that State. The context necessarily implies that Convention responsibility can co-exist even if the Contracting State cannot implement the whole of the Convention, because one or more areas of public power remain reserved to the territorial sovereign. This invites further consideration of the European Court’s view in Banković that “the wording of Article 1 does not provide any support for the . . . suggestion that the positive obligation in Article 1 to secure ‘the rights and freedoms deﬁned in Section 1 of this Convention’ can be divided and tailored in accordance with the particular circumstances of the extra-territorial act in question . . .”29 In the Court of Appeal in Al-Skeini, Lord Justice Brooke considered that Banković had “authoritatively refuted” any suggestion that individuals might come within the jurisdiction of the UK simply

28 29

Öcalan v Turkey (2005) 41 EHRR 985, § 91 (emphasis added). Banković, § 75.

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because they were aﬀected by the activities of street patrols,30 but accepted that in relation to one claimant, Baha Mousa, the UK had jurisdiction (control and authority) from the time of his arrest and through the period of his subsequent detention.31 In his view, however, it could not be said that the UK, although an occupying power within the meaning of the law of armed conﬂict, was in eﬀective control of Basra City for the purposes of the European Convention: If it had been, it would have been obliged, pursuant to the Bankovic judgment, to secure to everyone in Basrah City the rights and freedoms guaranteed by the ECHR. One only has to state that proposition to see how utterly unreal it is.32

Lord Justice Sedley, on the other hand, disagreed on this point, and saw no reason, “why the presence or absence of adequate civil power for eﬀective control in international law should be tested by asking whether there is suﬃcient control to enforce the full range of Convention rights.”33 In his view, Banković did not require this result, and referring to paragraph 75 of the judgment in that case, he said: The holding that the underlying obligation contained in art.1 of the Convention cannot be ‘divided and tailored [in the French text, fractionnée et adaptée] in accordance with the particular circumstances of the extra-territorial act in question’ may not ﬂow inexorably from either of the propositions which follow it by way of explanation. ‘Jurisdiction’ need equate only with state agency: it does not have to operate ‘in all circumstances’ as the 1949 Geneva Conventions do. And there may be room for debate whether jurisdiction and breach, even if they are separate admissibility questions, are nevertheless synergistic to the extent that the nature of the breach may condition or determine whether the responsibility of the state is extra-territorially engaged.34

This approach did not ﬁnd general approval in the House of Lords, however, where Lord Rodger interpreted the European Court as saying in eﬀect that, . . . the whole package of rights applies and must be secured where a contracting state has jurisdiction. This merely reﬂects the normal understanding that a contracting state cannot pick and choose among the rights in the Convention: it must secure them all to everyone within its jurisdiction.35

Lord Brown was of much the same mind, ﬁnding that it would make a nonsense of what was said in Banković, particularly on regional context, if, apart from the limited exceptions recognized in that case, it were accepted that, “whenever a

30 31 32 33 34 35

R (Al-Skeini) v Secretary of State for Defence [2005] EWCA Civ 1609, [2007] QB 140, § 81. Ibid., § 108. Ibid., § 124. Ibid., § 195. Ibid., § 201. R (Al-Skeini) v Secretary of State for Defence [2007] UKHL 26, [2008] 1 AC 153, § 79.

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contracting state acts (militarily or otherwise) through its agents abroad, those aﬀected by such activities fall within its article 1 jurisdiction.”36 However, Lord Justice Sedley’s analysis – an “approach from speciﬁc breach rather than from general applicability of the ECHR”37 – allows a closer and more principled accommodation with the exceptions to the essential territoriality of jurisdiction recognized by the European Court. Indeed, elements of this approach are also reﬂected in B’s case, where the Court of Appeal found that Article 1 ECHR50 jurisdiction existed with regard to two young Afghan men who had absconded from immigration detention in Australia and presented themselves at the British Consulate in Melbourne in search of refuge. Arguably the Court then applied the wrong threshold test, but it nevertheless accepted that in certain circumstances Article 3 of the European Convention would require that they not be surrendered or required to leave, for example, if at imminent risk of serious injury.38 Although that risk might be immediately attributable to another State or non-State actor, responsibility here reﬂects the principle laid down by the European Court in Soering, which is based on the foreseeability of apprehended harm outside territory and jurisdiction.39 In so far as any liability under the Convention is or may be incurred, it is liability incurred by the extraditing Contracting State by reason of its having taken action which has as a direct consequence the exposure of an individual to proscribed ill-treatment.40

Soering, an extradition case, involved State action with regard to a person still on its territory and still clearly within its jurisdiction, territorially considered. B’s case takes us into another realm, where we are faced with “the actual exercise of a State’s competence or jurisdiction abroad”.41 Up to this point, the focus has been on, as it were, the eﬀective control of State organs over a particular territory and its inhabitants; or their exercise of public powers vis-à-vis others; or the activities of certain State personnel in and against others with whom they enter into contact and whose situation they alter or inﬂuence by their conduct. But jurisprudence and practice equally recognize the other dimension of control and authority which exists independently of any actual or potential victim, but simultaneously nevertheless with the international responsibility of the State. Here, the focus must be adjusted, moving

36 37 38 39 40 41

Ibid., § 127. R (Al-Skeini) v Secretary of State for Defence [2005] EWCA Civ 1609, [2007] QB 140, § 202. R (B) v Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Aﬀairs [2005] QB 643, §§ 88–9. Soering v United Kingdom [1989] 11 EHRR 439, §§ 86, 88, 90. Ibid., § 91. See also R (Ullah) v. Special Adjudicator [2004] 2 AC 323 at § 22 per Lord Bingham. Banković, § 68.

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from the rights of the potential claimant, to the duties of the State as a subject of international law. Again, however, the clarity of the picture is not helped by the judgment of the European Court of Human Rights in Behrami.42 Here, Contracting States which contributed troops to KFOR avoided being held responsible for alleged violations of the Convention, because the relevant acts and omissions were attributable to the United Nations and not to individual States. Taking that ﬁnding together with the fact that the impugned acts did not take place on the territory of the respondent States or by virtue of a decision of their authorities, the Court concluded that the Applicants’ complaints were incompatible ratione personae with the Convention.43 For the most part, the respondent and intervening States argued, not attribution, but no jurisdiction in the sense of Article 1 ECHR50.44 For the Court, however, the primary consideration was its own competence, broadly considered, and whether it was in fact the appropriate forum within which to conduct a review of acts and omissions which had occurred within the context of a UN-authorised international administration. . . . the question raised by the present cases is, less whether the respondent States exercised extra-territorial jurisdiction in Kosovo but far more centrally, whether this Court is competent to examine under the Convention those States’ contribution to the civil and security presences which did exercise the relevant control of Kosovo.45

Clearly, the Court was uncomfortable with this role, and although it relied on “attribution” to the United Nations as the basis for determining that the Applicants did not come within the personal scope of the Convention (were not within the jurisdiction of the respondent States), eﬀectively (and conveniently) what it did was to ﬁnd an international rule limiting its own jurisdiction; that is, regardless of the merits and the actual scope of Article 1 ECHR50, the Court’s subsidiary relationship to the United Nations – “an organisation of universal jurisdiction”46 – barred it from interfering.47 If the United Nations were therefore taken out of the picture, or if its eﬀective authority were less, then that obstacle would be removed.

42 43 44

45 46 47

Behrami v France; Saramati v France, Germany and Norway (2007) 45 EHRR 10. Ibid., §§ 151–2. For example, France: § 82; Norway: § 85; Denmark: § 96; Germany: § 103; Greece: § 109; United Kingdom: § 112. Ibid., § 71. Ibid., § 151. Ibid.,§ 149: the Court apparently feared that its review would ‘interfere with the fulﬁlment of the UN’s key mission’, and ‘impose conditions on the implementation of a UNSC Resolution which are not provided for in the text of the Resolution itself.’

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To some extent, this is what happened in Al-Jedda,48 where the House of Lords had to consider whether the action of UK forces in detaining the Appellant was indeed to be attributed to the UK, or to the United Nations, given various UN Security Council resolutions providing authorization for the MultiNational Force.49 On the issue of attribution, Lord Bingham considered and rejected the suggestion that, in the circumstances of the invasion, the occupation, and the post-occupation regime, the United Nations could be said to have had eﬀective control over the conduct of UK forces in general, and over their speciﬁc conduct in detaining the Appellant: At no time did the . . . UK disclaim responsibility for the conduct of [its] forces or the UN accept it. It cannot realistically be said that . . . UK forces were under the eﬀective command and control of the UN, or that UK forces were under such command and control when they detained the appellant.50

What needs emphasis in the analysis of comparable situations, are the functional and political realities on the ground, including day to day operational control, with a view to identifying which authority or organ is in fact competent and able to ensure that military or other forces comply with international obligations. In most cases, that will be the national State,51 although sometimes jointly with another party, State or international organization. To return to Meron’s a priori position: There is no reason in principle why the relevant ﬁeld of international obligations should not include both international humanitarian law (which we might take for granted where troops are deployed), and human rights law (which may be no less necessary, for example, if international humanitarian law is ruled out or qualiﬁed by technical considerations, such as the (non)-incidence of an armed conﬂict or of an “occupation” as understood in the Geneva Conventions). In those circumstances, is there any reason in principle why individual victims of violations of human rights should not be able to invoke the international responsibility of States in appropriate forums, at national, regional, or

48 49

50 51

R (Al-Jedda) v Secretary of State for Defence [2007] UKHL 58, [2008] 1 AC 332. This argument was raised by the Government at the last minute, following the decision of the European Court of Human Rights in Behrami. Al-Jedda, above note 48, §§ 22–3. For example, by way of disciplinary or criminal proceedings. In Behrami, the Court found that ultimate authority and control over Kosovo rested with the Security Council, and that operational command only was delegated to troop contributing nations (§§ 133–6). In the Court’s view, this was not diluted by the fact that troop contributing nations retained ‘some authority’ over the troops (§§ 138–40). The Court did not consider, however, that both the UN and troop contributing nations might be jointly responsible in general international law (the UN’s position), but concluded that it was not competent to examine the question (§ 149).

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other level? Policy and executive convenience might say otherwise, but no rule of law explains why the actions of troop contributing nations are not attributable for European Convention purposes, but may be attributable for the purposes of general international law. In the Genocide Convention case, the International Court of Justice put its ﬁnger on one of the many systemic weaknesses of the international system, while nevertheless strongly reaﬃrming the primacy of international obligation. The Court recalled, . . . the fundamental distinction between the existence and binding force of obligations arising under international law and the existence of a court or tribunal with jurisdiction to resolve disputes about compliance with those obligations. The fact that there is not such a court or tribunal does not mean that the obligations do not exist. They retain their validity and legal force. States are required to fulﬁl their obligations under international law, including international humanitarian law, and they remain responsible for acts contrary to international law which are attributable to them . . .52

Some may be wary of seeking to apply general principles of State responsibility in a human rights context.53 Certainly, it is correct that the ILC’s Articles do not provide a total picture, and the legal dimensions of responsibility remain uncertain where the obligation alleged to have been violated is not clearly owed to one or another State (no injured State), or where the beneﬁciaries or “rightsholders” are individuals or non-State entities (such as international organisations).54 The Articles thus leave open the precise consequences of breach where

52

53

54

Application of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (Bosnia and Herzegovina v Serbia and Montenegro), [2007] ICJ Reports, § 148. In Al-Saadoon, for example, above note 20, the UK Government argued that the question for the Court was ‘whether the applicants were within the United Kingdom’s jurisdiction, not whether the acts of the United Kingdom forces were generally attributable to the United Kingdom’: § 80. Part One of the Articles (The Internationally Wrongful Act of the State) applies to all cases in which an internationally wrongful act may be committed. Article 1 “covers all international obligations of the State and not only those owed to other States”: J. Crawford, The International Law Commission’s Articles on State Responsibility: Introduction, Text and Commentaries, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 192–3, Article 28, Commentary, § 3, while Article 12 emphasizes that breach may occur, “when an act of [the] State is not in conformity with what is required of it by [the] obligation, regardless of its origin or character”: ibid., Article 12, Commentary, pp. 125–30. Part One is thus broader than Part Two (Content of the International Responsibility of the State), which “does not apply to obligations of reparation to the extent that these arise towards or are invoked by a person or entity other than a State. In other words, the provisions of Part Two are without prejudice to any right, arising from the international responsibility of a State, which may accrue directly to any person or entity other than a State, and article 33 makes this clear”: ibid., Article 28, Commentary, § 3, pp. 192–3.

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the primary beneﬁciary is not a State, but an individual, for example, in a human rights case. It is for human rights law, considered also as the law which attaches to particular universal and regional regimes, to ﬁll that gap. The concept of jurisdiction as a threshold criterion of responsibility for human rights violations remains problematic, particularly in the case of claims arising from the extra-territorial acts and omissions of the State. It is most usually used against a general international law background, where it signiﬁes the legal competence of the State – judicial, legislative and administrative – “often referred to as sovereignty”.55 But as Brownlie notes, jurisdiction is also understood to include enforcement or prerogative jurisdiction, namely, “. . . the power to take executive action in pursuance of or consequent on the making of decisions or rules.”56 It is this sense of “jurisdiction” which stands out in human rights claims arising out of extra-territorial actions. The argument here is about speciﬁc accountability to individuals, and therefore about remedies, rather than generalised obligations to behave. Human rights obligations are certainly capable of binding the State in its extraterritorial activities. Whether they do, and what are the consequences, depend ﬁrst on the nature and content of the primary rule establishing the obligation; secondly, on whether the claimant comes within the scope of that rule; and thirdly, on whether the injury, the act, is attributable to the State impugned. Attribution, in its State responsibility sense, links the acts of State organs to the (legal) responsibility of the State itself. In most cases involving State organs, attribution is indisputable; not even excess of authority or contravention of instructions will suﬃce to break that chain.57 Courts interpreting and applying the European Convention need to look beyond the formal terms of Article 1 and to the content of such obligation as is relied on in the particular case, considered in light of the object and purpose of the Convention. Article 3 – the prohibition of torture or cruel or inhuman treatment – is manifestly capable of being fulﬁlled (or breached) by State organs, wherever they act. Other articles, such as Article 2 (the right to life), Article 4 (prohibition of slavery), or Article 5 (liberty and security), may also be capable of implementation in, and subject to the limits of, particular scenarios of extra-territorial operations by State forces. Human rights law requires that the individual be protected, and whether the State is responsible for the failure

55

56 57

I. Brownlie, Principles of Public International Law, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 7th edn., 2008), p. 299. Ibid. Crawford, supra note 54, Article 4, Commentary, pp. 94–9; ibid., Article 7, pp. 108–9. For limited exceptions in the case of organs place at the disposal of another State, see ibid., Article 6, pp. 103–5.

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to protect depends upon whether its actions are the cause of the injury; in this context, the fact that the State exercised control, authority, or custody over the individual provide the necessary nexus. In ﬁnding their application admissible in the case of Al-Saadoon and Mufdhi v United Kingdom, the European Court of Human Rights placed particular emphasis on the fact that the detention facilities where they were held had been established through the exercise of military force, and that the United Kingdom exercised control and authority over them initially solely as a result of the use or threat of military force.58 It is no answer to say that the overall purpose of human rights protection is fulﬁlled by parallel measures, such as war crimes legislation, international criminal law, or courts martial, for these have proven inadequate to the purpose.59 Not only must responsibility for human rights violations be recognized at the international level, but human rights claims also require adjudication, if executive action – enforcement and prerogative jurisdiction – is to be kept within the rule of law. “Jurisdiction”, if it is to have a coherent meaning in the context of human rights protection, should therefore be seen to reﬂect that aspect of the term in general international law which recognizes that every State has the sovereign capacity to act outside its territory, while leaving open the question whether such exercise of jurisdiction is lawful vis-à-vis other States, or consistent with the human rights obligations of the acting State. Where the facts disclose an actual or potential violation of human rights, then it should fall to the State to show why, in the particular case, no liability attaches in the particular case. The espace juridique to which the European Court referred in Banković is not just about enforcing rights in a particular regional and territorial context. It is also about values, as the Preamble to the Convention makes clear, and as the Court itself has frequently emphasized. It is about obligations, if not at large, erga omnes all the world, then at least towards those touched by State conduct beyond State territory; obligations, the impact and consequences of which do not depend and are not contingent for their realisation on any discrete territorial link; but which rather reﬂect the responsibility attaching, in the normal course of events, to conduct, power, authority and control over the lives of others. As constitutional nations, governed by the rule of law and committed to certain values, having a body of human rights law can help in the better formulation of policy and legislation. It can assist also in better managing the space within which, as sovereign and interdependent States, we are confronted

58 59

Al-Saadoon and Mufdhi v United Kingdom, supra note 20, § 87. The United Kingdom also argued in Al-Saadoon and Mufdhi that the non-applicability of the Convention did not entail freedom to act with impunity: ibid., § 81.

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with the human dimension to the movement of peoples and the challenges of national security, among others. As experience shows, not taking that factor into account commonly leads, not only to ineﬃciency and failures of achievement, but also to injury, often irreparable, to the dignity, worth and rights of those aﬀected.

Chapter 15 The wall in the occupied Palestinian territory Vaughan Lowe*

Others have written in this volume on subjects on which Vera GowllandDebbas has herself made signiﬁcant contributions to the scholarly literature. Many of those contributions, and of her presentations at seminars and public lectures, have been concerned with the situation in Palestine. They are but the tip of the iceberg. Vera’s commitment to lawyering on behalf of the Palestinians is long and deep. In particular, she played an important part in the preparations for the submissions made to the International Court in the course of the proceedings concerning the request for an Advisory Opinion in the Wall case.1 That case gives rise to some of the most fundamental questions concerning international law, and in particular the question why it is that some international situations, such as the 2003 invasion of Iraq, are commonly analysed and debated in essentially legal terms while other situations, such as Palestine, are addressed in essentially political terms. Why is compliance with international law and the fulﬁlment of legal rights and obligations given great importance in some contexts, while in others the law is largely ignored and the problems said to be soluble only by a political settlement which may compromise or abandon to a very signiﬁcant extent the entitlements of the parties? One result of the Wall case was to aﬃrm that Palestine and Israel both have legal rights for which they do not have to bargain, and which do not have to be bought by concessions and promises. The case proceeded on the unchallenged premise that Israel had the right to defend itself, and to build a security barrier on its own territory to protect itself from attack. Israel could have built a wall on Israeli territory, following the course of the Green Line which marks the boundary between Israel and the occupied territory: but it did not. It built in on occupied Palestinian territory, and in many places deep within Palestinian territory; and that – together with the legal régime controlling movement

* The author was counsel for Palestine in the Wall case. 1 Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 2004, p. 136.

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around the occupied territory, of which the Wall was but one, particularly visible, component – was what was in question in the proceedings in the Court. One passage in the Court’s Opinion has, in my view, been widely misinterpreted. In paragraph 139 the Court wrote: Under the terms of Article 51 of the Charter of the United Nations: Nothing in the present Charter shall impair the inherent right of individual or collective self-defence if an armed attack occurs against a Member of the United Nations, until the Security Council has taken measures necessary to maintain international peace and security. Article 51 of the Charter thus recognizes the existence of an inherent right of selfdefence in the case of armed attack by one State against another State. However, Israel does not claim that the attacks against it are imputable to a foreign State. The Court also notes that Israel exercises control in the Occupied Palestinian Territory and that, as Israel itself states, the threat which it regards as justifying the construction of the wall originates within, and not outside, that territory. The situation is thus diﬀerent from that contemplated by Security Council resolutions 1368 (2001) and 1373 (2001), and therefore Israel could not in any event invoke those resolutions in support of its claim to be exercising a right of self-defence. Consequently, the Court concludes that Article 51 of the Charter has no relevance in this case.

Some have read this as indicating that Israel had no right of self-defence because the attacks upon it emanated not from a recognized State but from nonState actors, groups within occupied territory. That interpretation does not, I think, give adequate weight to the context in which the Court’s statement was made. It had been suggested to the Court that Israel might justify the Wall on the basis of its right of self-defence under the Charter. The response made in the oral pleadings by Palestine was that: . . . self-defence, does not belong to international humanitarian law or the jus in bello, but to the jus ad bellum. Israel makes here an impermissible confusion between the two branches of the law of war that have to be kept radically apart. Once an armed conﬂict is brought into being, the jus in bello (or international humanitarian law) comes into play, as the lex specialis governing the ensuing situation regardless of the rules of the jus ad bellum. Moreover, logically, how can one say that a State exercises self-defence against a territory under its own military occupation, that is under its eﬀective control, and in which it has the authority and even the obligation to “ensure public order and safety” according to Article 43 of the Hague Regulations?2

2

See the transcript of the public sitting held on Monday 23 February 2004. The submission was made by Professor James Crawford, counsel for Palestine.

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The point here is simple, and limited. Israel, as the occupying power in Palestinian territory, has a comprehensive set of legal rights to impose order and to take measures to protect itself against attack. Those rights are set out in the Fourth Geneva Convention of 1949, on the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War. The Convention stipulates what rights an Occupying Power has, and what conditions and duties attach to the exercise of those rights. An Occupying Power cannot say, we have used all of the rights that we have under the Geneva Convention, but that is not enough: we wish to take further steps, not justiﬁable under the Geneva Convention, and in order to do so we will rely upon a wider, residual right of self-defence. Once a State is in occupation of territory its right to take defensive measures is no longer dependent upon the temporary Article 51 right of self-defence, which exists in the face of an armed attack and which lasts until the Security Council has taken necessary measures. The Occupying Power’s rights to take action in the occupied territory are circumscribed by the Geneva Convention. To say this is not at all the same thing as to say that a State has no right to defend itself against an attack from a non-State actor. It would be absurd to suggest that there is no such right; and, as I read it, nothing in the Court’s Opinion does so. The published records of cases are inadequate in their recognition of the contributions made to the preparation of the pleadings (and perhaps sometimes also of the judgments). Those who speak may be mentioned by name: those who write and oﬀer counsel often are not. The editors of this volume suggested that it would be an appropriate tribute to Vera to reprint part of the submission made on behalf of Palestine in that case, lightly revised in order to make it intelligible outside the courtroom in which it was delivered. I spoke the words in the Court, but they were the product of a collective eﬀort of the Palestinian team. It is a pleasure to oﬀer them here as a tribute to Vera’s contribution to another of the legal teams which worked on that landmark case. They are, of course, a pleading by one party to the agonising and protracted conﬂict in the Middle East. They do not purport to give a comprehensive and detached overview of the question, such as might be expected in an academic paper, or to summarize the Court’s response to the submissions made to it. But, as Vera well understands, lawyers do not only function in scholarly isolation: sometimes their role is not to expound, but to plead. THE VIOLATIONS OF INTERNATIONAL LAW Introduction My task is to present Palestine’s observations on the manner in which the rules of international law apply to the factual situation in the [Occupied Palestinian] Territory. The Court is not, of course, asked to rule upon particular breaches of international law. It is asked, as the principal judicial organ of the United Nations, to respond to requests for advice from the United Nations General Assembly.

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Chapter 15 The Assembly has determined in resolution ES 10/13 that the Wall is ‘in departure of the Armistice Line of 1949 and is in contradiction to relevant provisions of international law’. That resolution does not, however, answer all questions; it leaves open important questions. For example, in what respects, and under which rules of international law, is the Wall illegal? What must be done to restore the situation to legality? And what are the duties of States in the meantime? The tasks I have three main points to put before the Court: (a) ﬁrst, that Israel has, in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, only the rights of an Occupying Power, which are conferred by and limited by international law, and that the construction and operation of the Wall does not fall within those rights; (b) second, that Israel, as the Occupying Power, is legally bound to ensure the rights prescribed by international law for those persons lawfully resident in Palestine, and that the Wall violates those rights; and (c) third, that the eﬀect of the Wall is to change the status of the Territory in a manner tantamount to annexation, in violation of international law. The basic illegality of the Wall Let me begin with the underlying question of the legality of the Wall. The issue here is not whether Israel has the right to build a wall: it is whether it has the right to build the Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. Palestine’s main point is that whatever security eﬀects the Wall might have could be secured by building the Wall along the Green Line, on Israeli territory, so that there is no legal justiﬁcation for building it in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. . . . [T]he construction of the Wall has involved both the taking of land and the destruction of Palestinian property in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. Under international law the requisitioning of land and the destruction of property are permissible only within narrow and closely deﬁned limits. Requisitioning of land is governed by Article 52 of the 1907 Hague Regulations, which stipulates that ‘[r]equisitions in kind and services shall not be demanded from municipalities or inhabitants except for the needs of the army of occupation’. Israel admits that the route of the Wall is designed to protect Israeli civilian settlements which have been built in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, including East Jerusalem. It has explicitly said so, for example in [military order 03/57/ C, dated 24 August 2004, which conﬁscated market area land in Nazlat Issa, Tulakrem Governate, ‘out of necessity to protect Israeli settlements in the area.’]. In any event, the map speaks for itself. The Wall departs from the Green Line in order to ﬁx the settlements on what is no doubt thought of as the ‘Israeli’ side of the line. Perhaps the most striking examples are in the areas around Qalqilya and the Israeli settlement ‘Ariel’, and in and around East Jerusalem. Those settlements were themselves created in violation of international law. Article 49 (6) of the Fourth Geneva Convention prohibits the transfer by an occupying power of parts of its own civilian population into the occupied terri-

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tory. As a Legal Adviser to the United States State Department said, in relation to Israeli settlement policy, that prohibition ‘extends clearly to reach such involvements of the occupying power as determining the location of settlements, making land available and ﬁnancing of settlements, as well as other kinds of assistance and participation in their creation’.3 He concluded that Israel was in breach of that prohibition. Numerous Security Council and General Assembly resolutions have determined that the settlement activities breach international law. Now the breach is a serious matter. It is declared to be a ‘grave breach’ of international law by Article 85 of Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions. The logic is inescapable. The civilian settlements are unlawful. Therefore there is no right to divert the Wall from the Green Line in order to protect those unlawful settlements. Therefore the conﬁscations of Palestinian land for that purpose violate international humanitarian law. The Wall, away from the Green Line, has been constructed, and Palestinian property has been taken, for a legally impermissible purpose. There is no need to examine security concerns and arguments in depth in order to appraise the legality of those diversions.4 Similarly, the destruction of Palestinian property for the purpose of constructing the Wall is far removed from anything that is, in the words of Article 53 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, ‘rendered absolutely necessary by military operations’. There are no such military operations, in the sense in which Article 53 of the Convention uses the term. Indeed the route of the Wall sometimes seems to have been devised with a view to the inﬂiction of wanton damage . . . [T]he former market of Nazlat Issa, on which the livelihood of hundreds of Palestinian families depended, . . . was destroyed by the Israeli army ‘out of necessity to protect Israeli settlements in the area’. The nearest Israeli settlement is 4 km away. On this point, Palestine accordingly respectfully suggests that the Court should advise the General Assembly that the building and operation of the Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, including in and around East Jerusalem, violates international law. The Wall violates Palestinian human rights The impact of the Wall on the basic human rights of the men, women and children in the Occupied Palestinian Territory is graphically illustrated in the United Nations reports, and by the reports of B’Tselem, the Israeli human rights organization.5 There are two broad categories of violations. First, there are the direct seizures of land and destruction of property that the construction of the Wall entails. And those I have addressed already. Second, there are the rights that are violated as a result of the restrictions on the movement and residence of the Palestinian population that are imposed under the régime of the Wall. These violations aﬀect the entire population of the Occupied Palestinian Territory, not simply those whose property is taken or those who have been walled in by the Israeli Government.

3 4 5

Digest of US Practice in International Law 1978, 1575, p. 1577. Though submissions were made to the Court on these questions. These reports were cited in or annexed to the Written Statement submitted by Palestine: see .

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Chapter 15 The scale of those violations must be understood. This is not a technical squabble over Israeli trespass on Palestinian land. Three of the United Nations reports within the last year (the Bertini,6 Dugard7 and Ziegler8 reports) concluded that there is a ‘humanitarian crisis’ – their words, not mine – in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, and one that is man-made. We had intended to take the Court to passages in those reports that epitomise conduct in clear violation of international humanitarian law and international human rights law. We understand, however, the Court’s desire to focus at this stage on law rather than facts; and last Wednesday the International Committee of the Red Cross issued a statement which captures the essence of what we, and the various United Nations and other reports, are trying to communicate and ﬁxes it precisely in its legal context. It states the following: The ICRC is increasingly concerned about the humanitarian impact of the West Bank Barrier on many Palestinians living in occupied territory. Where it deviates from the ‘Green Line’ into occupied territory, the Barrier deprives thousands of Palestinian residents of adequate access to basic services such as water, health care and education, as well as sources of income such as agriculture and other forms of employment. The Palestinian communities situated between the ‘Green Line’ and the Barrier are eﬀectively cut oﬀ from the Palestinian society to which they belong. The construction of the West Bank Barrier continues to give rise to widespread appropriation of Palestinian property and extensive damage to or destruction of buildings and farmland. The ICRC has repeatedly condemned deliberate attacks against Israeli civilians and stressed that all acts intended to spread terror among the civilian population are in clear violation of international humanitarian law (IHL). It recognizes Israel’s right to take measures to ensure the security of its population. However, these measures must respect the relevant rules of IHL. The ICRC’s opinion is that the West Bank Barrier, in as far as its route deviates from the ‘Green Line’ into occupied territory, is contrary to IHL. The problems aﬀecting the Palestinian population in their daily lives clearly demonstrate that it runs counter to Israel’s obligation under IHL to ensure the humane treatment and well-being of the civilian population living under its occupation. The measures taken by the Israeli authorities linked to the construction of the Barrier in occupied territory go far beyond what is permissible for an occupying power under IHL. These ﬁndings are based on the ICRC’s monitoring of the living conditions of the Palestinian population and on its analysis of the applicable IHL provisions. The Israeli authorities have been regularly informed about the ICRC’s humanitarian and legal concerns.

6

7

8

Ms. Catherine Bertini, Personal Humanitarian Envoy of the Secretary-General, Mission Report, 11–19 August 2002, http://domino.un.org/bertini_rpt.htm, para. 3. Report of the Special Rapporteur of the Commission on Human Rights on the situation of human rights in the Palestinian territories occupied by Israel since 1967, submitted in accordance with Commission resolution 193/2A, 8 September 2003, E/CN.4/2004/6, para. 41. Dossier No. 56 accompanying the United Nations Secretary-General’s submission to the Court, paras. 8, 58

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The ICRC therefore calls upon Israel not to plan, construct or maintain this Barrier within occupied territory. I would respectfully direct the Court’s attention to the Written Statement submitted in this case by the Swiss Government,9 which has a particular position as the oﬃcial depository of the Geneva Conventions. It is helpful to read the words of the ICRC alongside that statement. Palestine’s Written Statement10 identiﬁes the main provisions of international humanitarian law and international human rights law that are applicable in this context. It identiﬁes breaches of several provisions of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which Israel has ratiﬁed. They include Articles 12, on freedom of movement, and 17 on the right to family life. There are breaches of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, also ratiﬁed by Israel, including Articles 11 and 12, on the right to food and to medical care, and Article 13 on the right to education. There are also breaches of the Convention on the Rights of the Child, again, ratiﬁed by Israel. Palestine attaches particular importance to this. Children constitute over half of the Palestinian population. The Written Statement identiﬁes breaches of Articles 24 and 27, on the right to food and medical care, Article 28 on the right to education, and Article 16 on the right to family life. The response of many Israeli oﬃcials has been: the Wall is the price that supporters of terrorism must pay; the solution lies in the hands of the Palestinian Authority. That is an unacceptable response, and not only because of Israel’s repeated incursions into the territory, its destruction of the Palestinian security apparatus and institutions, its imposition of curfews and roadblocks, and its construction of the Wall, all of which steps have undermined the Palestinian Authority. The response is unacceptable ﬁrst, because Israel, as Occupying Power, carries the legal responsibility to ensure basic human rights in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. It cannot claim the rights of a military occupant without accepting the corresponding responsibilities. Second, that response is tantamount to the imposition of a collective punishment. The Palestinian Authority has consistently condemned terrorist attacks on Israeli civilians; and it is as absurd as it is oﬀensive to imply that all Palestinians are engaged in a murderous conspiracy to attack Israel. To impose the Wall, and all the consequent restrictions on movement and access to property, jobs, welfare, education and families, as a punishment on the whole Palestinian population is unfair, unprincipled, and illegal. It appears to be, as was noted in one of the United Nations reports, a form of collective punishment in retribution for attacks on Israel.11 Collective punishments are speciﬁcally prohibited by the Laws of War, under Article 147 of the Fourth Geneva Convention and Article 75 of Additional Protocol I. Third, it is evident that the Wall, in so far as it departs from the Green Line and is built in Occupied Palestinian Territory, cannot be justiﬁed by appeals to

9 10 11

. . Dossier No. 56 accompanying the United Nations Secretary-General’s submission to the Court, para. 38.

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Chapter 15 Israel’s security interests. Israel’s legitimate interests can, as we have explained in our Written Statement, be protected by building the Wall on Israel’s soil; Israel has no legal right to take Palestinian land and destroy Palestinian property in order to protect unlawful settlements in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. Palestine accepts the right of every State to take protective measures. But those measures must be lawful. States cannot cast oﬀ all legal and moral constraints by merely calling on the name of ‘security interests’. The question before the Court is whether the Wall, as described in the SecretaryGeneral’s report, violates international humanitarian law and international human rights law. Our Written Statement sets out detailed submissions on this issue; but the point is a simple one. Having read the Secretary-General’s report and the reports that are appended to it, can the Court realistically say that it doubts whether Israel is violating international law in the Occupied Palestinian Territory? Having read through the supporting documents put before it in response to its request to States to provide relevant information, can it say that there is no reason to believe that, as the ICRC put it, ‘the measures taken by the Israeli authorities linked to the construction of the Barrier in occupied territory go far beyond what is permissible for an occupying power’? Palestine respectfully suggests that the Court should advise the General Assembly that Israel is obliged to ensure for the residents of the Occupied Palestinian Territory the rights to which they are entitled under international humanitarian law and international human rights law; that those rights include the rights listed in paragraphs C and D of Chapter 12 of Palestine’s Written Statement; and that those rights have been violated by the construction and operation of the Wall. The Wall alters the status of the territory The hardships that are borne all day, and every day, by the Palestinian people in the Occupied Palestinian Territory are naturally the main focus of concern. But as a matter of law, and in the long term, there is another matter of cardinal importance. It is that the Wall is, entirely foreseeably and probably deliberately, changing the status of the Occupied Palestinian Territory. It is a fundamental principle of international law that an Occupying Power is not entitled to change the status of occupied territory. It is allowed to remain in territory that is not its own, and to exercise limited powers there, because international law recognizes that in situations of armed conﬂict such action may be necessary in order eﬀectively to protect the State. Those rights are essentially defensive, and they are temporary: occupying armies are expected to withdraw once the conﬂict that led to the occupation has ended. Occupying Powers have no right to treat the occupied territory as their own, or to decide its future. International law does not prohibit only the annexation of occupied territory. It prohibits all changes in the status of that territory: plainly, the territory could not lawfully be made into a protectorate, or a colony, or otherwise have its status changed. That prohibition has been aﬃrmed by the Security Council, for example in resolution 446, which required Israel to desist from taking any actions which would result in changing the legal status and geographical nature and materially aﬀecting the demographic composition of the Arab territories occupied since 1967, including Jerusalem,

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and, in particular, not to transfer parts of its own civilian population into the occupied Arab territories. No State can evade the prohibition by refraining from making a formal and explicit annexation or other change in status while tying up the territory and its residents in a mass of restrictive legislation and physical constraints. International law looks to the reality of situations, not to the artiﬁce of forms. In the Starrett case,12 for example, it was held that property could be expropriated without a formal transfer of title, if the owner’s rights of enjoyment were seriously interfered with. And in the Nottebohm case,13 this Court looked behind the formality of naturalization to determine the reality of a man’s link with the territory of his putative State. The Wall is changing the status of the Occupied Palestinian Territory. It is, entirely foreseeably, causing demographic and other changes in the Occupied Palestinian Territory that will eliminate the possibility of the Palestinian people eﬀectively exercising their right to self-determination, and this is tantamount to a de facto annexation of territory. Israel maintains that the Wall, on which it is said to be spending around US$2 billion – two thousand million US dollars – is temporary. That is diﬃcult to believe. One might take a diﬀerent view if the Israeli Government were to announce publicly, now, that it recognizes that the Palestinian territory is occupied territory; that it recognizes that all of the settlements – including settlements such as Ariel, Ma’ale Adumin, and the settlements in East Jerusalem – are in Occupied Palestinian Territory, and as such within the territory that is in principle the Palestinian State under the two-State vision of the Road Map. But far from saying that, it appears from recent reports that the Israeli Government is planning to relocate settlers withdrawn from Gaza into the West Bank, thus consolidating its hold on the West Bank. Israeli regulations are dividing the Occupied Palestinian Territory into the area ‘inside’ the Wall, and the area outside and adjoining Israel. Prior to the Wall, people were free to move across that part of the Occupied Palestinian Territory, to their farms, workshops, schools, and hospitals. They were free to live in the area now covered by the Wall and the Closed Zone. Now, under these regulations, people need permits to move within that same Palestinian territory if that involves crossing the Wall; and they need permits to stay in their homes. And in a substantial proportion of cases permits are awarded late, capriciously, or not at all. All of this is explained, in detail, in our Written Statement. Many Palestinians are now moving out of the worst aﬀected areas, such as Qalqilya, displaced deeper into the Occupied Palestinian Territory. This creates facts on the ground. Palestinians are, in fact, being driven out of areas adjacent to the Wall, and adjacent to Israel. Some think that Israel is content to rule the Occupied Palestinian Territory without formally annexing it, because annexation would make it diﬃcult to deny citizenship, voting rights and equality before the law to those born in that territory. But whatever its reason, its status is plainly changed. And a recent United Nations report hit the point exactly. It said: ‘the wall is manifestly intended

12 13

Starrett Housing Corp v. Iran, 4 Iran-USCTR 122 (1983). I.C.J. Reports 1955, p. 4

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Chapter 15 to create facts on the ground. It may lack an act of annexation, as occurred in the case of East Jerusalem and of the Golan Heights. But its eﬀect is the same: annexation.’14 That puts this case in context. It arises from two concerns: one, that the lives of Palestinians have, already, been made nearly unbearable by the calculated imposition of a series of constraints and hardships, of which the Wall is the culmination; and the other, that the Wall is not simply a present hardship, but marks the boundary of the miserable patch of land into which Israel intends to force the Palestinian people, in a grotesque caricature of the two-State vision that is as far from justice as it is from legality. Palestine respectfully suggests that the Court should advise the General Assembly that the construction and operation of the Wall is changing the status of the Occupied Palestinian Territory, in violation of international law and Security Council resolutions, including resolution 446 . . .

Those submissions were made ﬁve years ago. Since that time, the situation in Palestine has deteriorated further.

14

Report of the Special Rapporteur of the Commission on Human Rights on the situation of human rights in the Palestinian territories occupied by Israel since 1967, submitted in accordance with Commission resolution 193/2A, 8 September 2003, E/CN.4/2004/6, para. 14.

Chapter 16 Compliance with human rights norms extraterritorially: ‘human rights imperialism’? Ralph Wilde*

1. Introduction It is a great honour and pleasure to contribute this chapter paying tribute to Professor Gowlland-Debbas. Vera is one of those exceptional people who combine excellence with integrity and collegiality. As an international lawyer, she is striking for being entirely comfortable with, and an authority in, both theoretical and doctrinal aspects of the ﬁeld. She is also a member of an increasingly rare breed in international law: the true generalist, able to range across all of the discipline, and be universally regarded as a leading expert, in some instances the leading expert, in whatever areas of international law she writes on – and she has focused on some of the most important, contested and diﬃcult areas of law. Her work is seminal, often foundational, always excellent. Vera has also combined superlative intellectual work with important engagements in both legal practice and institutionally at the United Nations in Geneva. She has, further, made an immense contribution to the international academy through leadership and service on national, regional and international research institutes, associations and journals. Perhaps above all this, Professor Gowlland-Debbas is valued for her warmth, kindness and collegiality. Not only does she illustrate powerfully what to aspire to on an intellectual level in the nature of one’s work. She has also inspired many of us on a personal level in the example she has set and the support she has given.

* Many thanks to Sara Corris for research assistance. Parts of this chapter include revised and expanded versions of ideas discussed in Ralph Wilde, Triggering State Obligations Extraterritorially: The Spatial Test in Certain Human Rights Treaties, 40 Isr. L. Rev., 2007, 503; and Ralph Wilde, Complementing Occupation Law? Selective judicial treatment of the suitability of human rights norms, 42 Isr. L. Rev., 80, 2009).

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This chapter is about the extraterritorial application of human rights law treaties.1 It oﬀers a critical evaluation of the treatment of two issues of principle by the English courts that were invoked in a decision about whether and to

1

For the relevant provisions of treaty law in the ﬁeld of civil and political rights concerning extraterritorial application, see European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, Arts 1 and 56, Nov. 4, 1950, 213 UNTS 221 [hereinafter ECHR]; International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Art. 2, Dec. 19, 1966, 999 UNTS 171 [hereinafter ICCPR]; American Convention on Human Rights, Art. 1, Nov. 22, 1969, OAS Treaty Series No. 36, 1144 UNTS 123 [hereinafter ACHR]; Convention on the Rights of the Child, Nov. 20, 1989, 1577 UNTS 3 [hereinafter CROC]; Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, Art. 2, 10 December 1984, 1465 UNTS 85 [hereinafter CAT]. For judicial/expert body comment, see, e.g. Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territories, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 2004, 163, at para. 112 [hereinafter Wall Advisory Opinion]; Case Concerning Armed Activities on the Territory of the Congo (DRC v. Uganda), ICJ Reports 2005, 116, at paras. 216–17 [hereinafter DRC v. Uganda]; Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 31: Article 2 of the Covenant: The Nature of the General Legal Obligation Imposed on States Parties to the Covenant, para. 10, UN Doc. CCPR/C/74/CRP.4/Rev.6 (2004) [hereinafter General Comment No. 31]; Lilian Celiberti de Casariego v. Uruguay, Comm. No. 56/1979, Human Rights Committee, UN Doc. CCPR/C/13/D/56/1979 (July 29, 1981); Lopez Burgos v. Uruguay, Comm. No. R.12/52, Human Rights Committee, Supp. No. 40, at 176, UN doc. A/36/40 (1981); Hess v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 6231/73, 2 Eur. Comm’n H.R. Dec. & Rep. 72 (1975); M. v. Denmark, Appl. No. 17392/90, Eur. Comm’n H.R. Dec. & Rep. 193 (1982); Drozd and Janousek v. France and Spain, 14 Eur. Ct. H.R. 745 (1992); Loizidou v. Turkey, 310 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A), at para. 62 (1995)(GC)(Preliminary Objections); Loizidou v. Turkey, 1996–VI, Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) 2216, 2234–35, at paras. 52–56 (GC)(Merits); Illich Sanchez Ramirez v. France, Appl. No. 28780/95, 86 Eur. Comm’n H.R. Dec. & Rep. 155 (1996); Cyprus v. Turkey, 2001–IV Eur. Ct. H.R. 1, at para. 77 (GC); Banković v. Belgium, 2001–XII Eur. Ct. H.R. 333, at paras. 70–71 (GC) (hereinafter Banković); Issa v. Turkey, 41 Eur. Ct. H.R. 27 (2004), at para. 71 (hereinafter Issa); Ilaşcu v. Moldova and Russia, 2004–VII Eur. Ct. H.R. (GC); Solomou v. Turkey, Appl. No. 36832/97, European Court of Human Rights, Judgment of 24 June 2008, paras. 43–52; Coard et al. v. United States, Case No. 10.951, Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, Report No. 109/99, 29 September 1999, at paras. 37, 39, 41; Committee Against Torture, Consideration of Reports Submitted by States Parties under Article 19 of the Convention, Conclusions and Recommendations: United States of America, para. 15, UN Doc. CAT/C/USA/CO/2 (25 July 2006) [hereinafter CAT: USA Report]; Committee Against Torture, General Comment No. 2: Implementation of Article 2 by States Parties, 23 Nov. 2007, UN Doc. CAT/C/GC/2, 24 Jan. 2008, para. 16; R (on the application of Al-Skeini) v. Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust intervening) [2007] UKHL 26; [2007] 3 WLR 33 [hereinafter Al-Skeini (HL)]; R (on the application of Al-Skeini) v. Secretary of State for Defence [2005] EWCA (Civ) 1609 (Dec. 21, 2005) [hereinafter Al-Skeini (CA)]; R (on the application of Gentle and another) v. The Prime Minister and others [2008] UKHL 20 (Apr. 9, 2008); R (on the application of Al-Saadoon) v. Secretary of State for Defence [2009] EWCA (Civ) 7 (Jan. 21, 2009); R (on the application of Hassan) v. Secretary of State for Defence [2009] EWHC 309 (Admin) (Feb. 25, 2009). For academic commentary see, e.g. Cristopher Lush, ‘The Territorial Application of the European Convention on Human Rights:

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what extent human rights obligations should apply to the UK in Iraq. Both issues can be understood to relate to ideas of imperialism and self-determination. The subject and nature of this enquiry is ﬁtting for a tribute to Professor Recent Case Law’, 42 ICLQ, 1993, 897; Theodor Meron, ‘Extraterritoriality of Human Rights Treaties’, 89 AJIL, 1995, 78; Joachim Frowein, ‘The Relationship Between Human Rights Regimes and Regimes of Belligerent Occupation’, Israel Yearbook on Human Rights, 1998, 1; Pasquale de Sena, La Nozione di Giurisdizione Statale nei Trattati sui Diritti dell’Uomo (2002); Orna Ben-Naftali and Yuval Shany, ‘Living in Denial: The Application of Human Rights in the Occupied Territories’, 37 Israel Law Review, 2003, 17; Matthew Happold, ‘Banković v. Belgium and the Territorial Scope of the European Convention of Human Rights’, 3 European Human Rights Law Review, 2003, 77; Alexander Orakhelashvili, ‘Restrictive Interpretation of Human Rights Treaties in the Recent Jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights’, 14 EJIL, 2003, 529; Kerem Altiparmak, ‘Banković: An Obstacle to the Application of the European Convention on Human Rights in Iraq?’, 9 Journal of Conﬂict & Security Law, 2004, 213; Kenneth Watkin, ‘Controlling the Use of Force: A Role for Human Rights Norms in Contemporary Armed Conﬂict’, 98 AJIL, 2004, 1; Fons Coomans and Menno Kamminga (eds.), Extraterritorial Application of Human Rights Treaties (2004); Silvia Borelli, ‘Casting Light on the Legal Black Hole: International Law and Detentions Abroad in the “War on Terror”’, 87 International Review of the Red Cross, 2005, 39; Gregory H. Fox, ‘The Occupation of Iraq’, 30 Georgia Journal of International and Comparative Law, 2005, 195, 270–78; Michael J. Dennis, ‘Application of Human Rights Treaties Extraterritorially in Times of Armed Conﬂict and Military Occupation’, 99 AJIL, 2005, 119; Olivier De Schutter, ‘Globalization and Jurisdiction: Lessons from the European Convention on Human Rights’, NYU School of Law, Center for Human Rights and Global Justice Working Paper No. 9 (2005), available at ; Michal Gondek, ‘Extraterritorial Application of the European Convention on Human Rights: Territorial Focus in the Age of Globalization?’, 52 Netherlands International Law Review, 2005, 349; Ralph Wilde, ‘Legal “Black Hole”?: Extraterritorial State Action and International Treaty Law on Civil and Political Rights’, 26 Michigan Journal of International Law, 2005, 739; Ralph Wilde, ‘The “Legal Space” or “Espace Juridique” of the European Convention on Human Rights: Is It Relevant to Extraterritorial State Action?’, 10 European Human Rights Law Review, 2005, 115; Adam Roberts, ‘Transformative Military Occupation: Applying the Laws of War and Human Rights’, 100 AJIL, 2006, 580; Ralph Wilde, ‘Casting Light on the “Legal Black Hole”: Some Political Issues at Stake’, 5 European Human Rights Law Review, 2006, 552; Michael J. Dennis, ‘Non-Application of Civil and Political Rights Treaties Extraterritorially During Times of International Armed Conﬂict’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 453; Dominic McGoldrick, ‘Human Rights and Humanitarian Law in the UK Courts’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 527; Gerry Simpson, ‘The Death of Baha Mousa’, 8 Melbourne Journal of International Law, 2007, 340; Ralph Wilde, ‘Triggering State Obligations Extraterritorially: The Spatial Test in Certain Human Rights Treaties’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 503; Tobias Thienel, ‘The ECHR in Iraq: The Judgment of the House of Lords in R (Al-Skeini) v. Secretary of State for Defence’, 6 Journal of International Criminal Justice, 2008, 115; Ralph Wilde, ‘Case Note, R (Al-Skeini) v. Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust intervening)’, 102 AJIL, No. 3, 2008, 628; Marko Milanovic, ‘From Compromise to Principle: Clarifying the Notion of State Jurisdiction in International Human Rights Treaties’, 8 Human Rights Law Review, 2008, 411; Ralph Wilde, ‘Complementing Occupation Law? Selective judicial treatment of the suitability of human rights norms’, 42 Israel Law Review, 80, 2009.

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Gowlland-Debbas. In oﬀering a detailed evaluation of the decision of a particular case, focusing on the issues of principle that underpinned this decision, it reﬂects her dual interests in doctrine and theory. As will be explained, one key matter of general international law relevant to the legal determination in the case concerns the inter-relationship between diﬀerent areas of international law, a topic that has been an abiding interest of Vera’s. In a broader sense, both the subject-matter of the decision – the UK occupation of Iraq – and the issues of principle in play – concerning imperialism self-determination – reﬂect matters that have been long-standing concerns of Vera’s, in both her writing and her legal practice. Finally, the nature of the enquiry in this chapter, considering the adequacy of a judicial attempt to grapple with important issues of principle, the determination of which resolving an entry-level question as to whether a state would be bound by international law at all, is Gowlland-esque: it concerns a foundational issue relating to compliance with international law, and seeks to test the adequacy of the judicial reasoning oﬀered. Whether or not this chapter provides as compelling an analysis as would be forthcoming from Professor Gowlland-Debbas, it is certainly inspired by her approach to scholarship. The decision under evaluation is the Al-Skeini case concerning the application of the European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR) to the UK presence in Iraq following the fall of Saddam Hussein in 2003. At the Court of Appeal stage of the case in 2005, a concern was expressed that the application of the ECHR to the UK would necessitate a more intrusive administrative presence in Iraq, thereby overriding the policy of transferring authority to the local population.2 At the House of Lords stage in 2007, a concern was expressed that extraterritorial application would necessitate the imposition of culturally inappropriate norms.3 In order, in part, to address these concerns, it was held that the ECHR should not apply extraterritorially. In eﬀect, then, ideas of selfdetermination and anti-imperialism were invoked to justify the inapplicability of human rights standards to a state acting outside its territory. Although Al-Skeini is a decision only about the ECHR, and only from the courts of a national legal system, it oﬀers a sustained treatment of key issues of principle relevant to the question of the suitability of applying human rights norms generally in extraterritorial situations. As such, it may inﬂuence how these issues of principle are understood by other courts and expert bodies, and in relation to other human rights treaties. This chapter oﬀers a critical evaluation of the way these issues of principle were addressed in Al Skeini. It begins by summarizing the general legal position on the extraterritorial application of human rights, and the facts and relevant

2 3

Al-Skeini (CA), supra (note 1). Al-Skeini (HL), supra (note 1).

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overall ﬁnding in Al-Skeini. It then outlines two general ﬁndings on the substantive eﬀect of the application of the ECHR which served as the foundation for the positions taken on the issues of principle. The ﬁrst ﬁnding was the suggestion that human rights obligations mean exactly the same thing, in terms of their substantive eﬀect, when they apply extraterritorially when compared to their application to a state acting within its sovereign territory. The second ﬁnding was that the extraterritorial application of human rights law based on the exercise of territorial control presupposes the exercise of civil administration. The chapter then sets out the two positions on the issues of principle adopted: that applying the ECHR to the UK in Iraq would involve both undermining the policy of returning power to the local population, and overriding local cultural traditions. The chapter then returns to the two general ﬁndings on the substantive eﬀect of the extraterritorial application of human rights obligations, and argues that they misunderstand how human rights obligations are conceived, and fail to give due account to the eﬀect on the meaning of human rights law of the application of other areas of international law. Bearing this in mind, the merits of the two related positions on the issue of principle are then considered. It is suggested that the extraterritorial application of human rights law would not necessarily prevent the state subject to such obligations from handing power over to the local population, and that the fear of imposing culturally inappropriate norms is, in the way articulated here, misconceived.

2. The Extraterritorial Application of Human Rights Treaties on Civil and Political Rights The main human rights treaties on civil and political rights do not conceive obligations simply in terms of the acts of states parties, as is the case, for example, under Common Article 1 of the Geneva Conventions of 1949, in which contracting parties undertake “to respect and to ensure respect for the present Convention in all circumstances.”4 Instead, responsibility is conceived in a particular context: the state is obliged to secure the rights contained in the treaty

4

Geneva Convention (I) for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Field, 12 Aug. 1949, 75 U.N.T.S. 31, Art. 1; Geneva Convention (II) for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded, Sick and Shipwrecked Members of Armed Forces at Sea, Geneva, 12 Aug. 1949, 75 U.N.T.S. 85, Art. 1; Geneva Convention (III) Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War, Geneva, 12 Aug. 1949, 75 U.N.T.S. 135, Art. 1; Geneva Convention (IV) Relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War, Geneva, 12 Aug. 1949, 75 U.N.T.S. 287, Art. 1 [hereinafter Geneva Conventions Common Article 1].

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only within its “jurisdiction.”5 Thus a nexus to the state – termed jurisdiction – has to be established before the state act or omission is covered by the regulatory framework. The consistent jurisprudence and authoritative statements of the relevant international human rights review bodies and the International Court of Justice has been to interpret “jurisdiction” as operating extraterritorially in certain circumstances.6 The term has been understood in the extraterritorial context as a connection between the state, on the one hand, and either the territory in which the relevant acts took place – referred to as a spatial or territorial connection – or the individual aﬀected by them – referred to as a personal, individual or, because of the type of State action involved, State-agent-authority connection.7

3. The Al-Skeini Case This case concerned the applicability of the Human Rights Act, a UK Act of Parliament, to the UK in Iraq.8 Since in the Court decisions (by a majority of four to one at the House of Lords stage) the extraterritorial meaning of the Human Rights Act was tied to that of the ECHR, the case involved a detailed

5 6

7

8

See the sources cited supra (note 1). See the sources cited supra (note 1). Some obligations are limited to the State’s territory: see, for example, Protocol No. 4 to the ECHR, 16 Sept. 1963, Council of Europe Treaty Series No. 46, Art. 3. Note also that the ECHR and its Protocols have separate provisions on applicability to overseas territories; see, e.g., ECHR, supra (note 1), Art. 56. The ICCPR provision on applicability, by including the word ‘territory’ in addition to ‘jurisdiction’, might be read to suggest that jurisdiction is limited to territory, thereby ruling out extraterritorial applicability. See ICCPR, supra (note 1), Art. 2. This position is diﬃcult to sustain given the aﬃrmation of extraterritorial applicability by the International Court of Justice and the United Nations Human Rights Committee in the cases, Wall Advisory Opinion and General Comment No. 31, cited supra (note 1). On the ‘spatial’ connection, see, e.g., Wall Advisory Opinion, supra (note 1), paras. 107–13; General Comment No. 31, supra (note 1), para. 10; Loizidou (Preliminary Objections), supra (note 1), para. 62; Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1), para. 52; Cyprus v. Turkey, supra (note 1), paras. 75–77; Banković, supra (note 1), generally, and in particular paras. 70 and 75; Issa v. Turkey, supra (note 1), paras. 69–70; Ilascu v. Moldova and Russia, supra (note 1), paras. 314– 16; CAT: USA Report, supra (note 1), para. 15. On the ‘personal’ connection, see, e.g., General Comment No. 31, supra (note 1), para. 10; Lopez Burgos v. Uruguay, supra (note 1), para. 12.3; Celiberti de Casariego v. Uruguay supra (note 1), para. 10.3; Banković, above note 1, generally, and in particular para. 75; Issa v. Turkey, supra (note 1), para. 71; Solomou v. Turkey, supra (note 1), paras. 45, 50–51; CAT: USA Report supra (note 1), para. 15. For commentary, see the academic sources listed supra (note 1). Human Rights Act, 1998, c. 42 (UK).

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consideration of the extraterritorial meaning of the term ‘jurisdiction’ in the Convention.9 In the words of Lord Bingham in the House of Lords decision, the case concerned . . . the deaths of six Iraqi civilians, and the brutal maltreatment of one of them causing his death, in Basra. Each of the deceased was killed (or, in one case, is said to have been killed) and the maltreatment was inﬂicted by a member or members of the British armed forces.10

Relatives of the deceased challenged the UK Defence Secretary’s refusal to order an independent enquiry into the deaths, and rejection of liability to aﬀord redress for causing them, on the basis of a right to such an enquiry and such redress when the right to life in Article 2 of the ECHR has been violated. The challenge therefore required the courts to determine whether there had been a violation of Article 2, which in turn required them to determine whether the obligation to secure that right applied to the UK’s actions in Iraq. This necessitated a detailed evaluation of the extraterritorial scope of the “jurisdiction” trigger in Article 1 of the ECHR. Five of the six deaths involved shooting in the streets or in buildings where UK soldiers were temporarily present. Applicability in relation to these incidents was considered as a matter of the spatial/territorial trigger: the issue of the UK exercising control over the area where the incidents took place. The sixth death, the result of maltreatment by UK soldiers, occurred while the victim was being held in a UK detention facility. Applicability in relation to this incident was considered as a matter of the personal/individual/state-agent-authority trigger: the issue of the UK exercising control over the individual involved. The relevant ﬁnding for present purposes concerned the spatial/territorial trigger for jurisdiction. Here, Lord Brown for the majority at the House of Lords stage asserted that it operated only with respect to actions within the territory of other states also parties to the ECHR.11 As Iraq was not a party to the treaty, the UK action there was not covered. What will be discussed below is the treatment of two related underlying issues of principle – that applicability would impede the handover of local administration and necessitate the imposition of culturally-inappropriate norms – that in part led to this ﬁnding.12 The

9

10 11 12

This brief summary is based on Wilde, Case Note, R (Al-Skeini) v. Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust intervening), supra (note 1), with the permission of the Editors-in-Chief of the American Journal of International Law. Al-Skeini (HL), supra (note 1), para. 1. Ibid., paras. 109 and 127. For more commentary on this ﬁnding, and the ﬁnding on the alternative trigger for jurisdiction concerned with the exercise of control over individuals, see e.g. Wilde, Case Note, R (Al-Skeini) v. Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust intervening), supra (note 1).

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issues were raised at the Court of Appeal and the House of Lords stages respectively. Although only the House of Lords judgment was actually determinative of the case, the discussion at both stages of the case is worth consideration because of its potential to inﬂuence future developments in this area of the law more generally.

4. The Meaning of Human Rights Law Extraterritorially The views expressed on the two issues of principle were based in part on determinations of two prior issues concerning the meaning of human rights law extraterritorially. A. Applicability cannot Mean Diﬀerent Things in Diﬀerent Circumstances The ﬁrst prior issue concerned whether the same set of human rights obligations can mean diﬀerent things, in terms of what a state must do or not do, when they are applied to diﬀerent situations. The determination on this issue came out of a consideration of a dictum from the Banković case concerning the NATO bombing of a radio and TV station in Belgrade in 1999.13 In Banković, the applicants claimed that “jurisdiction” under Article 1 of the ECHR could be said to exist on the basis of eﬀective territorial control to the extent that such control was in fact exercised, and that, accordingly, in the words of the European Court of Human Rights, “the extent of the positive obligation under Article 1 of the Convention to secure Convention rights would be proportionate to the level of control in fact exercised”.14 The Court rejected this submission, holding that there was no evidence that obligations could be “divided and tailored” in this way.15 At the House of Lords stage of Al-Skeini, the majority took this ﬁnding and expanded it out into a general doctrine that obligations could not be divided and tailored in the sense that they could not mean diﬀerent things, in terms of what the state would, in substance, be required to do, or not do, in diﬀerent circumstances.16

13

14 15 16

Banković, supra (note 1). For an explanation of the facts of the case, see id., paras 6–13. Many of the academic commentators cited supra (note 1) address this case. Ibid., para. 46. Ibid., para. 75. Al-Skeini (HL), supra (note 1), para. 75 (Lord Brown) and para. 69 (Lord Rodger).

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B. Extraterritorial Jurisdiction Based on Territorial Control Requires the Capacity to Exercise Public Administration The second prior issue, the determination of which also leading in part to the views expressed on the issues of principle, concerned the meaning of “spatial” or “territorial” trigger for extraterritorial jurisdiction. Speciﬁcally, the question was whether or not a capacity to exercise civil administration was part of this test. Again this determination came out of a consideration of a dictum by the European Court of Human Rights in the Banković case. In that case, the Court made the following general statement on the issue of eﬀective territorial control: . . . the case-law of the Court demonstrates that its recognition of the exercise of extra-territorial jurisdiction by a Contracting State is exceptional: it has done so when the respondent State, through the eﬀective control of the relevant territory and its inhabitants abroad, as a consequence of military occupation or through the consent, invitation or acquiescence of the Government of that territory exercises all or some of the public powers normally to be exercised by that Government.17

The relevant case law here concerned the Turkish presence in northern Cyprus.18 In Al-Skeini, the U.K. government argued that by their nature the obligations in the ECHR presuppose the exercise of civil administration for their fulﬁlment. As a result, the spatial trigger for applicability must include a capacity for this as part of its test. If such a capacity was not required before the obligations were triggered, the law would apply in circumstances where the state was incapable of fulﬁlling the obligations in play. The UK argued that it did not exercise public authority in Iraq at the relevant time, and so its presence there did not meet the civil capacity requirement within the spatial trigger test. These arguments found favour with Lord Justice Brooke in the Court of Appeal, as illustrated in the following passage from his opinion: [u]nlike the Turkish army in northern Cyprus, the British military forces had no control over the civil administration of Iraq . . . In my judgment it is quite impossible to hold that the UK . . . was in eﬀective control of Basrah City for the purposes of ECHR jurisprudence at the material time. If it had been, it would have been obliged, pursuant to the Banković judgment, to secure to everyone in Basrah City the rights and freedoms guaranteed by the ECHR. One only has to state that proposition to see how utterly unreal it is. The UK possessed no executive, legislative or judicial authority in Basrah City, other than the limited authority given to its military forces . . . It could not be equated

17 18

Banković, supra (note 1), para. 71. Loizidou (Preliminary Objections), supra (note 1); Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1); Cyprus v. Turkey, supra (note 1).

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In an apparently similar vein, Lord Brown stated at the House of Lords stage of the same case that: “. . . except where a state really does have eﬀective control of territory, it cannot hope to secure Convention rights within that territory . . .”20 According to these approaches, then, the test for territorial control must include a capacity to exercise public authority, because it is only in such circumstances that the state would actually be in a position to fulﬁll its obligations in the ECHR. In other words, the Convention cannot be applicable in a generalized sense when the state does not enjoy such authority, since the obligations it contains in part presuppose such enjoyment.

5. Human Rights Imperialism A. Applicability would Impede the Handover to Local Authorities The ﬁrst issue of principle invoked to curtail applicability is based on the prior determination that the trigger for applicability based on eﬀective territorial control presupposes a capacity to exercise civil administration. At the Court of Appeal stage in Al-Skeini, Lord Justice Brooke suggested that to have human rights law apply in circumstances where the state was not entitled to exercise public authority would undermine the policy of transferring authority to the local population. For him, [i]t would . . . have been contrary to the [US-UK] Coalition’s policy to maintain a much more substantial military force in Basrah City when its over-arching policy was to encourage the Iraqis to govern themselves. To build up an alternative power base capable of delivering all the rights and performing all the obligations required of a contracting state under the ECHR at the very time when the IGC [Iraqi Governing Council] had been formed, with CPA [US-UK Coalition Provisional Authority] encouragement, as a step towards the formation by the people of Iraq of an internationally recognized representative Government . . . would have run right against the grain of the Coalition’s policies.21

Here, then, a fear is expressed that being bound by human rights law in the absence of a public authority prerogative would require the coalition in Iraq to become more involved in Iraqi governmental matters rather than, as is intended, to reduce its presence, transferring power to local bodies as soon as possible. Another way of putting this is to suggest that applying human rights law might 19 20 21

Al-Skeini (CA), supra (note 1), paras. 123–24 (LJ Brooke). Al-Skeini (HL), supra (note 1), para. 129. Al-Skeini (CA), supra (note 1), para. 125 (LJ Brooke). See also ibid., at para. 126.

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somehow undermine the ability of the Iraqi people to exercise self-determination, by requiring the occupation of Iraq to be more prolonged. B. Applicability would Involve Imposing Culturally Inappropriate Norms The second issue of principle invoked to curtail applicability concerned whether the application of the obligations of an ECHR contracting state to that state’s actions in another state not also party to the Convention would involve imposing normative standards not shared by the people of the other state. At the Court of Appeal stage, Lord Justice Brooke raised a concern that applying the Convention to the UK in Iraq might involve inculcating “the common spiritual heritage of the member states of the country [sic] of Europe”22 (misquoting a phrase from the Golder case of the European Court of Human Rights)23 in a “predominantly Muslim country.”24 At the House of Lords stage, Lord Brown remarked that: . . . except where a state . . . is within the area of the Council of Europe [the organization comprising all the parties to the ECHR], it is unlikely . . . to ﬁnd certain of the Convention rights it is bound to secure reconcilable with the customs of the resident population.25

Lord Justice Brooke’s orientalist positioning of Islam and Europe as normative opposites implicitly renders invisible the Muslim people who live in Council of Europe countries, including Turkey, which one imagines the judge would regard as a “predominantly Muslim country.” Lord Brown’s relatively nuanced comments avoid this crude chauvinism, but his suggestion that the “customs of the local population” are necessarily going to be incompatible with the obligations in the ECHR needs to account for the fact that most of the rights in the ECHR and its Protocols can be found in other international human rights treaties that are not region-speciﬁc. For example Iraq, the state where the events at issue in the Al-Skeini case took place, is (and was at the relevant time) a party to the ICCPR.26

22 23

24 25 26

Ibid., para. 126 (LJ Brooke). In the Golder dictum, the word “States” is in title case, and reference is made to the “Council” not “Country” of Europe, which denotes the regional grouping under whose aegis the ECHR operates. See Golder v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 4451/70, European Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 18 (1975), para. 14. Al-Skeini (CA), supra (note 1), para. 126 (LJ Brooke). Al-Skeini (HL) supra (note 1), para. 129 (Lord Brown). Iraq ratiﬁed the ICCPR, supra (note 1), on 25 January 1971 (source: Oﬃce of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, at ). The events at issue in Al-Skeini took place between August and November 2003. See Al-Skeini (HL), supra (note 1), para. 6.

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However, the fact that treaties contain similar provisions does not, of course, mean that the substantive meanings of these provisions are necessarily identical, bearing in mind the need, for example, to take into account the relevant applicable law and practice of the contracting parties to the treaties – collections of states which may overlap, but not correspond exactly, across diﬀerent treaties – when interpreting these meanings.27 The jurisprudence of the Strasbourg Court has frequently referenced the European nature of the treaty, and the practice of its contracting states, in construing the meaning of particular provisions, in some cases seeking to identify

27

On this principle of treaty interpretation generally, see e.g. Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, May 23, 1969, 1155 U.N.T.S. 331, Arts 31–33, and the relevant commentary and sources cited in Lord Arnold Duncan McNair, The Law of Treaties, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986); Antony Aust, Modern Treaty Law and Practice, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), ch. 13; and Richard Gardiner, Treaty Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). On the relevance of these general principles to the interpretation of the ECHR, see Golder, supra (note 23), paras. 29–30, 34–36; Luedicke, Belkacem and Koc v. Germany, 29 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) at para. 39 (1978); The Sunday Times v. United Kingdom, 30 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A), at para. 48 (1979); James v. United Kingdom, 98 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A), at paras 42, 61, 64 (1986); Lithgow v. United Kingdom, 102 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A), at paras 114, 117 (1986); Johnston v. Ireland, 112 Eur. Ct. H.R. 24 (ser. A), at para. 51 (1986); Brogan v. United Kingdom, 145 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A), at para. 59 (1988); Cruz Varas v. Sweden, 201 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) at para. 100 (1991); Loizidou (Preliminary Objections), supra (note 1), para. 73; Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1), para. 43; Witold Litwa v. Poland, 2000–III Eur. Ct. H.R. at paras. 57–59; Al-Adsani v. United Kingdom [GC], 2001–XI Eur. Ct. H.R., at para. 55; Fogarty v. United Kingdom [GC], 2001–XI Eur. Ct. H.R. at para. 35; McElhinney v. Ireland [GC], 2001–XI Eur. Ct. H.R., at para. 36; Vo v. France [GC], 2004–VIII Eur. Ct. H.R., at paras. 4–5 (dissenting opinion of J. Ress); Ocalan v. Turkey [GC], 2005–IV Eur. Ct. H.R., at para. 4 (partly dissenting opinion of J. Garlicki); Bosphorus Hava Yollari Turizm ve Ticaret Anonim Sirketi v. Ireland [GC], 2005–VI Eur. Ct. H.R., at paras. 100, 150; Mamatkulov and Askarov v. Turkey [GC], 2005–I Eur. Ct. H.R. at paras 39, 111, 117, 123, and at paras. 5, 13, 18, 21–24 (joint partly dissenting opinion of J. Caﬂisch et al.); Jorgic v. Germany, 2007–IX Eur. Ct. H.R. at para. 68; Stoll v. Switzerland [GC], 2007–XIV Eur. Ct. H.R. at paras. 59–61; Behrami and Behrami v. France & Saramati v. France, Germany and Norway [GC], Appl. Nos 71412/01 and 78166/01, European Court of Human Rights, Admissibility Decision, 31 May 2007, obtainable from http://www.echr.coe.int, at para. 122; Saadi v. United Kingdom [GC], Appl. No. 13229/03, European Court of Human Rights, Judgment of 29 Jan. 2008, obtainable from http://www.echr.coe.int, at paras. 26, 61–62; Kononov v. Latvia, Appl. No. 36376/04, European Court of Human Rights. Judgment of 24 July 2008, obtainable from http://www.echr.coe.int, at para. 6 (joint dissenting opinion of J. Fura-Sandstrom et al.); Demir and Baykara v. Turkey [GC], Appl. No. 34503/97, European Court of Human Rights, Judgment of 12 Nov. 2008, obtainable from http://www.echr.coe.int, at paras. 65, 67; Andrejeva v. Latvia [GC], Appl. No. 55707/00, European Court of Human Rights, Judgment of 18 Feb. 2009, obtainable from http://www.echr.coe.int, at para. 19 (partly dissenting opinion of J. Ziemele).

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common standards in national practice across the contracting parties.28 Perhaps with this in mind, in paragraph 80 of the Banković judgment the Court stated that the Convention is a multi-lateral treaty operating . . . in an essentially regional context and notably in the legal space (espace juridique) of the Contracting States . . . The Convention was not designed to be applied throughout the world, even in respect of the conduct of Contracting States.29

In Al-Skeini, Lord Rodger discussed this dictum and observed that: The essentially regional nature of the Convention is relevant to the way that the court operates. It has judges elected from all the contracting states, not from anywhere else. The judges purport to interpret and apply the various rights in the Convention in accordance with what they conceive to be developments in prevailing attitudes in the contracting states. This is obvious from the court’s jurisprudence on such matters as the death penalty, sex discrimination, homosexuality and transsexuals. The result is a body of law which may reﬂect the values of the contracting states, but which most certainly does not reﬂect those in many other parts of the world. So the idea that the United Kingdom was obliged to secure observance of all the rights and freedoms as interpreted by the European Court in the utterly diﬀerent society of southern Iraq is manifestly absurd. Hence, as noted in Bankovic . . . para. 80, the court had ‘so far’ recognised jurisdiction based on eﬀective control only in the case of territory which would normally be covered by the Convention. If it went further, the court would run the risk not only of colliding with the jurisdiction of other human rights bodies but of being accused of human rights imperialism.30

28

29 30

The Preamble to the ECHR, above note 1 states that “[t]he governments signatory hereto, being members of the Council of Europe, . . . [b]eing resolved, as the governments of European countries which are like-minded and have a common heritage of political traditions, ideals, freedom and the rule of law, to take the ﬁrst steps for the collective enforcement of certain of the rights stated in the Universal Declaration . . .” ECHR jurisprudence frequently references this “common heritage” when construing the meaning of treaty provisions. See, e.g., Golder, supra (note 23), para. 34; United Communist Party of Turkey and Others v. Turkey, Appl. No. 19392/92, European Court of Human Rights, Reports 1998–I, para. 45; for academic commentary, see, e.g., Steven Greer, ‘Constitutionalizing Adjudication under the European Convention on Human Rights’, 23 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies, 2003, 405. The principle of treaty interpretation concerned with taking into account the relevant practice of the contracting parties is contained in Article 31.3.b. For an aﬃrmation of the applicability of this principle to the interpretation of the ECHR, see Cruz Varas, supra (note 27), para. 100; Loizidou (Preliminary Objections), supra (note 1), para. 73; Bosphorus, supra (note 27), para. 100; Mamatkulov, supra (note 27), paras. 5, 13, 18 (joint partly dissenting opinion of J. Caﬂisch et al.); The following cases also take into account the subsequent practice of state parties, but do not reference the Vienna rule as the basis for doing so: James, supra (note 27), para. 65; Soering v. United Kingdom, 161 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A), at paras. 102–104 (1989); Ocalan, supra (note 27), paras 162–65. Banković, supra (note 1), para. 80. Al-Skeini (HL), supra (note 1), para. 78 (Lord Rodger).

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It might be thought that, if anything, subjecting a foreign occupier to the regulation of human rights law would have the eﬀect of mitigating, not exacerbating, the imperial nature of the situation. However, in Lord Rodger’s view, it would aggravate it, because the human rights norms serving as the basis for regulation would not have resonance with, and might even contradict, the culture and traditions of the local population. The purchase of this view depends in part on the prior assumption that the obligations in the Convention always apply in an identical fashion – there can be no diﬀerential application as between situations abroad and those ‘at home’ which might be able to accommodate cultural diﬀerences. This view, although articulated in the context of the applicability of the ECHR, is potentially relevant more broadly to situations where states act in territory that is not their own, and which does not form part of another state that is also bound by the same human rights obligations as they are. This would cover territory of a state that is not a party to the same human rights treaty, such as the case of Iraq and the ECHR, and non-state territory that is not bound by any human rights treaties at all. It would also cover territory of a State that is party to the same treaty but subject to diﬀerent obligations under it, whether through reservations, declarations or a divergent position as far as additional instruments (e.g. optional protocols) to the treaty are concerned. According to this view, in any of these situations, having the human rights obligations applicable to the foreign state in the territory concerned would potentially introduce a normative regime that had not been in operation previously. This would amount to ‘human rights imperialism’ in the sense that it would potentially mandate the imposition of human rights standards which are not applicable on a universal level and, crucially, not applicable to the territory concerned, but, rather, ‘speciﬁc’ to a sub-universal grouping of States. This is not, then, a rejection of human rights law in toto; it is a rejection of human rights norms that have not yet been universally accepted, even if they have been accepted by the foreign state. Thus it would not rule out the extraterritorial application of human rights treaty obligations if these obligations were already binding on the occupied State. In the case of the UK in Iraq, then, in this view although the ECHR would be a problem, the ICCPR would not.

6. The Meaning of Human Rights Obligations Revisited What, then, are the merits of these ﬁndings on the two issues of principle concerning the suitability of applying human rights law extraterritorially? In order to appraise the ﬁndings, one must start with the two views on the meaning of human rights obligations on which the ﬁndings are partially based: that human

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rights obligations cannot mean diﬀerent things in diﬀerent situations, and that the spatial test for extraterritorial jurisdiction includes a requirement that there is a capacity to exercise public administration. A. Identical Obligations but Variated Meanings Beginning with the ﬁrst view on the meaning of human rights obligations, here it will be recalled that the majority at the House of Lords stage in Al-Skeini adopted a position that human rights obligations cannot mean diﬀerent things, in terms of the substantive policies which states are bound to adhere to, when applied to diﬀerent territorial situations. As previously mentioned, the majority adopted this view after considering the dictum from Banković, that there is no support for the contention that the rights in the ECHR can be “divided and tailored”. However, the Banković dictum was expressed in the particular context of what level of territorial control was needed to trigger obligations extraterritorially. The Court was rejecting a ‘cause and eﬀect’ notion of applicability – that it could apply only to the extent of territorial control exercised – holding that there was no evidence that the Convention could be divided and tailored in this way.31 It did not say that the Convention could not be divided and tailored at all, in any respect. In the ﬁrst place, then, the doctrine posited in Al-Skeini is not directly supported in what was said by the Strasbourg Court in Banković. More broadly, this doctrine contradicts the way in which human rights treaty obligations are understood. Actually, taking account of particular contextual situations is an integral part of understanding what the obligations amount to when they are applied. Beyond non-derogable rights, human rights norms are conceived to mean diﬀerent things in diﬀerent contexts – ﬂexibility and contextualization are integral components of the very meaning of the obligations themselves, via the operation of limitation clauses, derogation provisions and, in the case of the ECHR, the ‘margin of appreciation’ doctrine applied by the Strasbourg Court.32 To have the same obligations apply, then, does not

31 32

Banković, supra (note 1), para. 75. Under human rights treaties states are permitted to impose limitations on certain individual rights in order to protect the rights of others and the broader interests of the community or the state. Under the ECHR, for instance, states parties may impose limitations on the right to respect for private and family life, home and correspondence (Art. 8(2)), on the freedom to manifest one’s religion or beliefs (Art. 9(2)), on the right to freedom of expression (Art. 10(2)) and on the freedom of peaceful assembly and association (Art. 11(2)). Rights which are not qualiﬁed by limitation clauses under the ECHR are the right to life, the right to be free from torture and ill-treatment, the prohibition of slavery and forced labour, the right to liberty and security, the right to fair trial, the prohibition of retroactive criminal legislation, the right to

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necessarily result in identical requirements in terms of particular policies promoted in all cases, even if identical minimum standards operate. Moreover, the possibility of diﬀerential requirements is accentuated when human rights treaties are placed in their proper international law context. Their meaning is mediated by the interplay with other applicable law. Such law can include humanitarian law and occupation law where relevant as the lex specialis, the law of self-determination, and, when it happens, speciﬁc mandates given to

marry, the right to a remedy and the right to enjoy all the rights guaranteed in the Convention on a non-discriminatory basis. In addition to the possibility for limiting rights, human rights treaties also enable states to ‘derogate’ from their rights obligations in times of war or other public emergencies. Under the ECHR, the right to life under Art. 2, the right to be free from torture and ill-treatment under Art. 3, the prohibition of slavery and compulsory labour under Art. 4 and the prohibition of retroactive criminal legislation under Art. 7 can never be the object of derogation (see Art. 15 ECHR, supra (note 1)). Other rights in the ECHR are not covered by this exclusion. On derogations under the other major human rights instruments, see ICCPR, above note 1, Art. 4; ACHR, supra (note 1), Art. 27. On this area of the law, see, for example, Aksoy v. Turkey, App. No. 21987/93, European Court of Human Rights, Reports 1996–VI; Brannigan and McBride v. United Kingdom, Appl. Nos 14553/89 and 14554/89, European Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 258 (1993); Brogan, above note 27; Ireland v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 5310/71, European Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 1 (1978); Cyprus v. Turkey, Appl. Nos 6780/74 and 6950/75, European Commission of Human Rights (1975); European Human Rights Reports, vol. 4 (1976), p. 482; Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Netherlands v. Greece, Appl. Nos 3321/67; 3322/67; 3323/67; 3344/67, European Commission of Human Rights, Yearbook of the European Convention on Human Rights, vol. 12 (1969), p. 1; Lawless v. Ireland, European Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 3 (1961); Judicial Guarantees in States of Emergency (Arts 27(2), 25, and 8 of the American Convention on Human Rights), Advisory Opinion OC-9/87, Inter-American Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 9 (1987); Habeas Corpus in Emergency Situations (Arts 27(2) and 7(6) of the American Convention on Human Rights), Advisory Opinion OC-8/87, Inter-American Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 8 (1987); Landinelli Silva v. Uruguay, Communication No. 34/1978, Human Rights Committee, UN Doc. CCPR/C/12/D/34/1978 (1981); Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 29, States of Emergency (Article 4), UN doc. CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.11 (2001), para. 2; D. J. Harris, Michael O’Boyle, Ed Bates, Carla Buckley, Harris, O’Boyle and Warbrick: Law of European Convention on Human Rights, ch. 16 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2nd edn., 2009); Rosalyn Higgins, ‘Derogations under Human Rights Treaties;, 48 BYIL, 1976–1977, 281; Susan Marks, ‘Civil Liberties at the Margin: the UK Derogation and the European Court of Human Rights’, 15 Oxford Journal of Legal Studies, 1995, 69. On derogations in relation to extraterritorial situations, see the comment by the European Court of Human Rights in Banković, supra (note 1), para. 62. On the “margin of appreciation” approach adopted by the European Court of Human Rights, which can be viewed as having the eﬀect of introducing an additional possibility for rights to be limited, see, e.g., Handyside v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 5493/72, European Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 24 (1976); Dudgeon v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 7525/76, Series A, No. 45 (1981); Christine Goodwin v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 28957/95, European Court of Human Rights [GC], Reports 2002–VI. For criticism, see e.g. Marks, ibid.

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foreign states by the UN Security Council in Resolutions passed under Chapter VII of the UN Charter.33 Earlier, the principles of treaty interpretation were 33

On the relationship between human rights law and the law of armed conﬂict, see Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1996, 226, at para. 25; Wall Advisory Opinion, supra (note 1), paras. 105–106; DRC v. Uganda, supra (note 1), para. 216; General Comment No. 31, supra (note 1), para. 11; Coard v. United States, supra (note 1); Salas and Others v. United States of America, Case 10.573, Inter-American Commission of Human Rights, OEA/ser.L/V/II.85, doc.9rev. (1993), reprinted in 123 ILR 1. For commentary, see e.g. René Provost, International Human Rights and Humanitarian Law (2002); Daniel Warner (ed.), Human Rights and Humanitarian Law: The Quest for Universality (1997); Louise Doswald-Beck and Sylvain Vité, ‘International Humanitarian Law and Human Rights Law’, 293 International Review of the Red Cross, 1994, 94; Jochen Frowein, ‘The Relationship Between Human Rights Regimes and Regimes of Belligerent Occupation’, 28 Israel Yearbook on Human Rights, 1998, 1; Francoise Hampson, ‘Using International Human Rights Machinery to Enforce the International Law of Armed Conﬂicts’, 31 Revue de Droit Pénal Militaire et de Droit de la Guerre, 1992, 119; ‘50th Anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights: Human Rights and International Humanitarian Law’, 324 International Review of the Red Cross, 1998, 1; Nancie Prud’homme, ‘Lex Specialis: Oversimplifying a More Complex and Multifaceted Relationship?’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 356; ‘Gross “Human Proportions” ’, 18 EJIL, 2007, 1; William Schabas, ‘Lex Specialis? Belts and Suspenders? The Parallel Application of Human Rights Law, and the Law of Armed Conﬂict, and the Conundrum of Jus ad Bellum’, 40 Israel Law Review, 2007, 592. On self-determination in international law generally, see, e.g., Charter of the United Nations (‘UN Charter’), San Francisco, 26 June 1945, (1946–47) United Nations Yearbook 831, Arts 1(2) and 55; ICCPR, supra (note 1), Art. 1; International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), 16 Dec. 1966, U.N.T.S. 993, p. 3, Art. 1; GA Res. 1541 (XV), 15 Dec. 1960, Annex; GA Res. 1514 (XV), 14 Dec. 1960; Declaration on Principles of International Law Concerning Friendly Relations and Cooperation among States in Accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, GA Res. 2625 (XXV), 24 Oct. 1970; Legal Consequences for States of the Continued Presence of South Africa in Namibia (South West Africa) Notwithstanding Security Council Resolution 276 (1970), Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1971, 16; Western Sahara, Advisory Opinion, 1975 I.C.J. 12; Reference re Secession of Quebec, Supreme Court of Canada, 28 Aug. 1998, [1998] 2 RCS 217, ILM, vol. 37 (1998), p. 1340. The academic commentary is voluminous. See, e.g. the following: Wentworth Ofuatey-Kodjoe, The Principle of Self-Determination in International Law (New York: Nellen Publishing Co. 1977); Hurst Hannum, Autonomy, Sovereignty, and SelfDetermination: The Accommodation of Conﬂicting Rights (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press 1990); James Crawford (ed.), The Rights of Peoples (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992); Antonio Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples: A Legal Reappraisal (Cambridge: Cambridge UniversityPress, 1995); Karen Knop, Diversity and Self-Determination in International Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); James Crawford, The Creation of States in International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2nd edn., 2006), pp. 108–28; Antonio Cassese, ‘The Self-Determination of Peoples’, in: L. Henkin (ed.), The International Bill of Human Rights: The Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (Columbia University Press, 1981), p. 92; Christian Tomuschat (ed.), Modern Law of Self-Determination (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoﬀ 1993); Catriona Drew, Population Transfer: The Untold Story of the International Law of Self-Determination, unpublished doctoral thesis, LSE 2006 (on ﬁle at Senate House Library,

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invoked in the context of potential diﬀerences in human rights obligations of contracting parties to the same human rights treaties. One such principle relevant for present purposes is that treaty provisions are interpreted taking into account “any relevant rules of international law applicable in the relations between the parties”.34 This has been aﬃrmed and applied by the European Court of Human Rights in the context of interpreting the ECHR.35 In the AlAdsani case, the Court explained its signiﬁcance thus: The Convention . . . cannot be interpreted in a vacuum. The Court must be mindful of the Convention’s special character as a human rights treaty, and it must also take the relevant rules of international law into account . . . The Convention should so far as possible be interpreted in harmony with other rules of international law of which it forms part . . .36

34

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University of London); Anne Bayefsky (ed.), Self-Determination in International Law: Quebec and Lessons Learned (The Hague: Kluwer 2000). On the legal signiﬁcance of Security Council mandates, see, e.g., R (on the application of Al-Jedda) v. Secretary of State for Defence [2007] UKHL 58 and Behrami, above note 27. On the rrelationship between obligations under the UN Charter and human rights obligations more generally, see also Joined Cases C-402/05 P and C-415–05 P Kadi and Al-Barakaat International Foundation v. Council and Commission, European Court of Justice, judgment of 3 September 2008 (obtainable from http://curia. europa.eu/en/content/juris/index.htm). On the relationship between diﬀerent areas of international law more generally, see ‘Fragmentation of International Law: Diﬃculties Arising from the Diversiﬁcation and Expansion of International Law’, Report of the Study Group of the International Law Commission (ﬁnalized by Martti Koskenniemi), U.N. Doc. A/CN.4/L.682, Apr. 13, 2006; Rosalyn Higgins, ‘A Babel of Judicial Voices? Ruminations from the Bench’, keynote speech delivered at the Spring Meeting of the International Law Association, British Branch (4 Mar. 2006), reproduced in 55 I.C.L.Q. 791 (2006); David Kennedy, ‘One, Two, Three, Many Legal Orders: Legal Pluralism and the Cosmopolitan Dream’, paper delivered at the Spring Meeting of the International Law Association, British Branch (4 Mar. 2006) (available at http://www.law.harvard.edu/faculty/dkennedy/speeches/LegalOrders.pdf ). Vienna Convention, above note 27, Art. 31 § 3 (c). On this, including further sources, see the relevant parts of the commentary in Aust, supra (note 27), and Gardiner, supra (note 27). Golder, supra (note 23), paras. 29; James, supra (note 27), paras 58–66; Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1), para 43; Al-Adsani, supra (note 27), para. 55; Fogarty, supra (note 27), para. 35; McElhinney, supra (note 27), para. 36; Ocalan, supra (note 27), para. 163 and para. 4 (partly dissenting opinion of J. Garlicki); Bosphorus, supra (note 27), paras. 100, 150; Mamatkulov, supra (note 27), paras. 39, 111, 123, and paras 13, 21–24 (joint partly dissenting opinion of J. Caﬂisch et al.); Behrami, supra (note 27), para. 122; Saadi, supra (note 27), paras 26, 61–62; Kononov, supra (note 27), paras 5–6 (joint dissenting opinion of J. Fura-Sandstrom et al.); Demir, supra (note 27), para. 67; Andrejeva, supra (note 27), paras 17–19 (partly dissenting opinion of J. Ziemele). Al-Adsani, supra (note 27), para. 55. See also Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1), para. 43 (cited in this quotation in Al-Adsani, in the gap after the second sentence); Fogarty, supra (note 27), at para. 35; McElhinney, supra (note 27), para. 36; Ocalan, supra (note 35), para. 163; Bosphorus, supra (note 27), para. 150; Mamatkulov, supra (note 27), para. 111; Behrami, supra (note 27), para. 122; Saadi, supra (note 27), para. 62; Kononov, supra (note 27), para. 5 n. 2; Demir, supra (note 27), para. 67.

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At the Court of Appeal stage in Al-Skeini, Lord Justice Sedley considered the underlying legal question of what the obligations would mean were they to apply in a fashion more consonant with both the meaning of human rights law and potential eﬀect on this meaning of other areas of law. He stated that: No doubt it is absurd to expect occupying forces in the near-chaos of Iraq to enforce the right to marry vouchsafed by Art. 12 or the equality guarantees vouchsafed by Art. 14. But I do not think eﬀective control involves this. If eﬀective control in the jurisprudence of the [European Court of Human Rights] marches with international humanitarian law and the law of armed conﬂict, as it clearly seeks to do, it involves two key things: the de facto assumption of civil power by an occupying state and a concomitant obligation to do all that is possible to keep order and protect essential civil rights. It does not make the occupying power the guarantor of rights . . . [it places] an obligation on the occupier to do all it can. If this is right, it is not an answer to say that the UK, because it is unable to guarantee everything, is required to guarantee nothing.37

Bearing in mind the nature of human rights obligations, and the impact on them of other applicable law, a doctrine that such obligations somehow have an identical substantive eﬀect in diﬀerent contexts is diﬃcult to sustain. The same obligations may apply, and in their totality, but they may mean something rather diﬀerent in terms of what the state can and cannot do in any given situation. If, all things considered, on a particular issue human rights obligations require identical behaviour by the state whether it is acting territorially or extraterritorially, and this requirement is not altered by the general international law picture being diﬀerent as between the two locations, then indeed identical obligations mean identical substantive eﬀect. What is problematic is assuming, as the majority did in Al-Skeini, that such a scenario is always in play. B. Spatial Test for Extraterritorial Jurisdiction Turning to the second view on the meaning of human rights obligations on which the ﬁndings on the underlying issues of principle were partially based, here it was suggested that the trigger for extraterritorial applicability based on territorial control included as a requirement the capacity to exercise civil administration. As stated previously, the aﬃrmation of this idea in Al-Skeini followed the invocation of a dictum by the European Court of Human Rights in Banković, where the Court oﬀered the following description of when it had recognized extraterritorial jurisdiction in its previous case-law: . . . it has done so when the respondent State, through the eﬀective control of the relevant territory and its inhabitants abroad, as a consequence of military occupation or through the consent, invitation or acquiescence of the Government of that

37

Al-Skeini (CA), supra (note 1), paras. 196–97.

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As far as extraterritorial action as a consequence of occupation is concerned, the situation that was at issue in the northern Cyprus cases that constitute the main jurisprudence on the extraterritorial application of the ECHR based on territorial control, the above statement underlines a feature of the factual backdrop to those cases – the exercise of public powers – that was not actually emphasized in the Court’s earlier consideration of the exercise of jurisdiction in them. For the Court in Banković, the issue is control over territory that is not only “eﬀective”, but also involves the exercise of “some or all of the public powers normally to be exercised” by the local government. But, whereas indeed such powers were exercised by Turkey in Northern Cyprus, their exercise was not seen as a prerequisite to the exercise of jurisdiction by the Court in its decision in the cases: the only issue was the exercise of “eﬀective control”. For example, in the Loizidou case, the Court stated that: . . . the responsibility of a Contracting Party may . . . arise when as a consequence of military action – whether lawful or unlawful – it exercises eﬀective control of an area outside its national territory. The obligation to secure, in such an area, the rights and freedoms set out in the Convention derives from the fact of such control.39

Although, then, the statement from Banković touches on some of the factual circumstances in relation to which the Court had previously found the exercise of jurisdiction (cf. the phrase ‘it has done so’), it would be wrong to conclude that the capacity to exercise public authority was actually one of the salient facts, and thus part of the test for jurisdiction as territorial control, in those previous cases. Indeed, it is notable in this regard that in its application of the law to the facts of the case in Banković, the Court made no statement, either explicit or implicit, touching on the question of whether or not the relevant acts – the bombing – involved the exercise of powers normally to be exercised by the local government.40 Actually, the Court dismissed the contention that the bombing constituted jurisdiction on other grounds, namely that aerial bombardment did not constitute “eﬀective control” of territory.41 It was a mistake in Al-Skeini, then, to conclude that the trigger for extraterritorial jurisdiction based on territorial control includes as a necessary requirement the capacity to exercise civil administration. To be sure, the exercise of

38 39

40 41

Banković, supra (note 1), para. 71. Loizidou (Preliminary Objections), supra (note 1), para. 62, cited in Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1), para. 52. See also Cyprus v. Turkey, supra (note 1), para. 77. See Banković, supra (note 1), paras. 75–76. See Banković, supra (note 1), paras. 75–76.

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civil administration would appear to constitute territorial control for the purposes of this test; the point is that it need not be evident for the test to be met. Perhaps the majority were inﬂuenced by their other, equally mistaken determination that the application of human rights obligations has an identical eﬀect, in terms of the substantive policies required, extraterritorially as territorially. If human rights law somehow required a state has to govern occupied territory in exactly the same way as it governed its own territory, then indeed one might plausibly see the exercise of civil administration as an essential prerequisite for such governance. But, as has been explained, human rights law does not operate in this way.

7. Human Rights Imperialism Revisited Having considered the two views about the substantive meanings of human rights law that in part led to the positions taken on the two issues of principle, I will now return to a critical appraisal of these positions, bearing in mind what has been said about the views on the substantive meanings, together with further factors. A. Self-determination A crucial additional factor that needs to be accounted for is the international law of self-determination. As mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, both of the views on the underlying issues of principle can be understood in terms of self-determination. The concern about impeding the handover to the local population relates to the right of that population to govern itself. The concern about imposing culturally inappropriate norms relates to the right of the people to respect for their particular value system. What is striking about the expression of these two concerns in the Al-Skeini case is that they are articulated without any reference to legal foundation. The law – here the law of the European Convention on Human Rights – is invoked only as an impediment to them; the concerns themselves are not connected up to any legal framework. The issue of handing over administrative control to the Iraqi population is articulated only in terms of a policy of the coalition in Iraq. The issue of avoiding ‘human rights imperialism’ is articulated as a policy whose legitimacy does not require any authoritative back-up.42 Interestingly, a court

42

The concern about overriding local norms on human rights is at one stage represented as contradictory to the obligation in the law of occupation to respect, unless absolutely prevented, the law in occupied territory, but this is posited as an additional problem to that of ‘human rights imperialism’ and is itself not presented as relating to self-determination. See Al-Skeini (HL),

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invokes what are articulated as extra-legal policy concerns in order to override the application of the rule of law itself. One obvious starting point in appraising this position is to consider whether the policy concerns invoked are actually absent from international law, and thereby warrant an exclusively non-legal characterization. Actually, of course, the policy concerns map onto norms called “self-determination” which exist in customary international law – and so the common law of England and Wales – and the treaty law of most states (including the UK) via common Article 1 of the two global human rights Covenants.43 Self-determination is not, however, included in the ECHR, nor, therefore, is it listed in the schedule of rights in the Human Rights Act, the instrument whose applicability was at issue in Al-Skeini.44 Unlike with the ECHR, the UK has not legislated to bring the provisions of the global human rights Covenants into statutory law.45

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supra (note 1), para. 129 (Lord Brown) and, for discussion, Wilde, Case Note, R (Al-Skeini) v. Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust intervening), supra (note 1), and Wilde, Complementing Occupation Law, supra (note 1). On self-determination, see the relevant sources cited above note 33. On the general principle that customary international law forms part of the common law of England and Wales, see Barbuit’s Case, 25 Eng. Rep. 777, Cas t. Talbot 281 (Chanc. 1735); Triquet v. Bath, 97 Eng. Rep. 936, 3 Burr. 1478 (K.B. 1764); Heathﬁeld v. Chilton, 98 Eng. Rep. 51, 4 Burr. 2015 (1767); Dolder v. Lord Huntingﬁeld, 32 Eng. Rep. 1097, 11 Ves. Jun. 283 (1805); Viveash v. Becker, 105 Eng. Rep. 619, 3 M. & S. 284, 292, 298 (1814); Wolﬀ v. Oxholm, 32 Eng. Rep. 1097, 6 M. & S. 92, 100–106 (K.B. 1817); Novello v. Toogood, 107 Eng. Rep. 204, 1 B. & C. 554 (1823); De Wütz v. Hendricks, 130 Eng. Rep. 326, 2 Bing. 314, 315 (1824); Emperor of Austria v. Day, 45 Eng. Rep. 861, 30 LJ Ch. 690, 702 (1861) (reversed on appeal on another point); Trendtex Trading Company v. Central Bank of Nigeria, [1977] 2 W.L.R. 336, 1 QB 529 (CA). Cf. R. v. Secretary of State, ex parte Thakrar, [1974] 2 All E.R. 261 (CA); International Tin Council Appeals, [1988] 3 All E.R. 257 (CA); [1989] 3 W.L.R. 969; (HL); Al-Adsani v. Government of Kuwait, [1995] 103 ILR 420, 428; [1996] 107 ILR 536, 540–42, and the commentary in Ian Brownlie, Principles of Public International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 7th edn., 2008), pp. 41–44. For the rights covered in the Human Rights Act, and their basis in the ECHR, see HRA, supra (note 8), § 1 and sched. 1. On the general principle that treaty obligations are not part of the law of England and Wales unless this has been eﬀected through legislation, see The Parlement Belge Case, [1880] 5 PD 197; In re Californian Fig Syrup Co., [1888], L.R. 40 Ch. D. 620 (Stirling, J., obiter); Walker v. Baird, [1892] AC 491; Attorney-General for Canada v. Attorney-General for Ontario, [1937] AC 326, 347, per Lord Atkin; Theophile v. Solicitor-General, [1950] AC 186, 195–96; Republic of Italy v. Hambro’s Bank, [1950] 1 All E.R. 430; Cheney v. Conn, [1968] 1 W.L.R. 242; International Tin Council Appeals [1988], above note 43, at 291 per Kerr, LJ; at 335–6 per Nourse, LJ; at 349 per Ralph Gibson, LJ; [1989], above note 43. See also McNair, above note 27, pp. 81–97; 44 Transactions of the Grotius Society for the Year 1958–59 (London, Grotius Society), pp. 29–62; Jacobs and Roberts (eds.), The Eﬀect of Treaties in Domestic Law (1987); Aust, supra (note 27); Gardiner, supra (note 27).

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Although the court in Al-Skeini was only considering the ECHR, the UK is, of course, bound by the totality of its international law obligations, not just those obligations in the ECHR, and as with any state its legal position on any given matter is determined when account has been made of the operative international legal framework in its entirety. International law obligations have to be understood in their totality – in this sense there can indeed be no dividing and tailoring. Even as a matter of the artiﬁcial (as far as the true legal position is concerned) exercise of considering the ECHR in isolation, as mentioned earlier it is established doctrine in interpreting Convention obligations in relation to any given contracting state that they should be situated within the broader framework of law applicable to that state, and understood wherever possible to be in harmony with that broader framework. What is the signiﬁcance of the international law of self-determination to the extraterritorial activity of states? When states act in territory that is not their own, they are bound to respect the right of the local population of that territory, as articulated in common Article 1 of the two global human rights Covenants, to “. . . freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development.”46 Understanding that state’s other human rights obligations (e.g. in the ECHR) in the light of this general obligation requires a diﬀerent interpretation of these other obligations, as they apply to it in its capacity as a foreign presence, compared to their meaning at ‘home’, where it acts as the sovereign. How, then, should the policy concerns articulated by the court in Al-Skeini be understood when the broader normative framework has been brought into the frame? What becomes apparent is that they have a diﬀerent normative status from the exclusively extra-legal character they are given, and that this has a potentially diﬀerent signiﬁcance for the meaning of the human rights obligations under evaluation from that assumed in Al-Skeini. B. Human Rights Law and Enabling the Local Population to Govern Themselves Beginning with the policy concern of ensuring the handover of administrative control from the coalition to the Iraqi people, it will be recalled that this was considered to be at risk by the application of the ECHR because such application included as a component the exercise of civil administration. However, as has been explained, this is an incorrect account of the “territorial control” test for extraterritorial jurisdiction. It is not the case, then, that the extraterritorial application of ECHR on the basis of territorial control would somehow

46

ICCPR, supra (note 1), Art. 1; ICESCR, supra (note 33), Art. 1.

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oblige the foreign state to prolong, rather than scale down, its administrative presence. Not only is this the correct interpretation of the meaning of extraterritorial jurisdiction as a matter of the jurisprudence and other authoritative statements on the matter; the contrary interpretation, oﬀered by the majority in Al-Skeini, would contradict the broader international law framework concerning selfdetermination. It will be recalled that the only authoritative foundation oﬀered by the court for the legitimacy of this concern was that it was the policy of the coalition. In articulating the concern in this fashion, the court ignores, whether deliberately or not, one of the most important developments in international law and public policy in the twentieth century: the profound shift in the legitimacy of introducing and maintaining international trusteeship, including occupation of the kind practiced in Iraq, brought about by the post-Second World War push for self-determination, a movement which led to the establishment of this new idea as a legal norm.47 According to this new normative position, administration by outside actors, necessarily preventing self-administration, was considered ipso facto objectionable.48 Previously, many instances of trusteeship, including certain occupations, operated on the basis that they would remedy perceived incapacities for selfadministration, either at all, or in a manner that complied with certain policy objectives (at one time called the ‘standard of civilization’).49 Self-administration, either full independence or remaining under the overall imperial umbrella,

47

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On international trusteeship and how it relates to occupation, see the discussion and sources cited in Ralph Wilde, International Territorial Administration: How Trusteeship and the Civilizing Mission Never Went Away (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), ch. 8. On this absolutist rejection of foreign territorial administration, see the discussion in Wilde, International Territorial Administration, supra (note 47), ch. 8, section 8.5.1 and pp. 385–86. In the words of Robert Jackson “. . . for several centuries prior to the middle of the twentieth century, an activist doctrine of military intervention and foreign rule was a norm that was imposed by the West on most of the world. By 1960 that old doctrine had been completely repudiated by international society. That was not because trusteeship could not produce peace, order, and good governance in some places. It was because it was generally held to be wrong for people from some countries to appoint themselves and install themselves as rulers for people in other countries . . . Self-government was seen to be morally superior to foreign government, even if self-government was less eﬀective and less civil and foreign government was more benevolent. Political laissez-faire was adopted as the universal norm of international society”, Robert Jackson, The Global Covenant: Human Conduct in a World of States (Oxford: Oxford Uiversity Press, 2000), p. 314. In the words of William Bain, “the idea of trusteeship . . . was relegated to the dustbin of history along with the legitimacy of empire” because of a “normative shift whereby independence became an unqualiﬁed right and colonialism an absolute wrong”; William Bain, Between Anarchy and Society: Trusteeship and the Obligations of Power (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 4 and 134 respectively. See Wilde, International Territorial Administration supra (note 47), ch. 8 generally.

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would be granted, and so foreign rule/occupation withdrawn or drastically scaled down, when local capacities reached a certain level.50 By contrast, according to the new self-determination paradigm, freedom and independence were no longer to be granted if and when the stage of development had reached a certain level; they were an automatic entitlement. Under Article 3 of General Assembly Resolution 1514 of 1960, “[i]nadequacy of political, economic, social or educational preparedness should never serve as a pretext for delaying independence.”51 In Al-Skeini Lord Justice Brooke articulates the imperative to enable the Iraqis to govern themselves only as a coalition policy that would be undermined by the application of the ECHR. Actually, the policy is also an international legal obligation binding on the coalition which, as such, inﬂuences the meaning of the other international legal obligations concerning human rights also binding on coalition members. Bearing this in mind, to have the exercise of civil administration as a mandated consequence of the extraterritorial application of human rights law on the basis of territorial control not only lacks foundation in the jurisprudence on this issue as discussed earlier; it would also potentially contradict the law of self-determination. The norm of self-determination is regarded as enjoying jus cogens status; viz., it trumps the operation of any other rules of international law, including other rules of international human rights law, insofar as there is a contradiction between the two, unless the other rules also have jus cogens status.52 But the situation is not one of a clash between one human

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See Wilde, International Territorial Administration, supra (note 47), ch. 8 generally. GA Res. 1514 (XV), supra (note 33), para. 3. As Robert Jackson states, “Independence was a matter of political choice and not empirical condition.” Robert Jackson, Quasi-States: Sovereignty, International Relations and the Third World (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 95. In the words of William Bain, “. . . decolonization abolished the distinction upon which the idea of trusteeship depended. There were no more ‘child-like’ peoples that required guidance in becoming ‘adult’ peoples: everyone was entitled by right to the independence that came with adulthood. Thus it no longer made any sense to speak of a hierarchical world order in which a measure of development or a test of ﬁtness determined membership in the society of states”, Bain, supra (note 48), p. 135. On jus cogens and peremptory norms in international generally, see UN Charter, above note 33, Art. 103; Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, supra (note 27), Arts. 53 & 64; International Law Commission, Articles on Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts, and commentary, adopted 9 August 2001 (hereinafter ILC Articles on State Responsibility, and commentary), contained in Yearbook of the International Law Commission, 2001, Vol. II, Part Two, and James Crawford, The International Law Commission’s Articles on State Responsibility, Introduction, Text and Commentaries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), Art. 40 and commentary thereto; Alexander Orakhelashvili, Peremptory Norms in International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), and sources cited therein. Some of the general commentary listed above, note 33, includes discussion of self-determination

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rights obligation to displace local actors in the exercise of civil administration and another obligation to enable self-governance. Rather, considering the selfdetermination norm introduces an additional, compatible element to the normative framework covered by the applicability norm. Whereas the latter norm simply fails to oblige the displacement of local actors in self-administration, the former norm introduces a good reason for this to be absent from the operative legal framework. In other words, international law not only fails to oblige a foreign state to substitute itself for governance by local actors; it also prohibits such substitution. The problems associated with the idea that the exercise of civil administration by a foreign state in substitution for governance by local actors is somehow mandated by human rights law are perhaps further underlined if one considers the situation in northern Cyprus, the treatment of which forming the canon of ECHR case-law on the meaning of extraterritorial jurisdiction based on territorial control. The Turkish presence in that territory, and the proclamation of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC), were generally regarded internationally to be illegal.53 As reﬂected in the dicta from the Loizidou case extracted earlier, the Court determined that Turkey’s obligations operated with respect to its presence there simply because of the ‘fact’ of its control over the territory, and that such responsibility arose irrespective of whether the military action in consequence of which the control was established was ‘lawful or unlawful.’ This suggests a model of applicability that grafts the regulatory framework of human rights law onto a pre-existing situation, without prejudice to whether or not the situation – the administrative presence – is itself lawful. If, by contrast, a model of applicability operated whereby the eﬀect of the human rights norms would be to mandate the continuance of the foreign presence, this would move the applicable law beyond operating merely as a regulatory framework into the terrain of serving as a basis for legitimating the administrative presence itself. If this were correct, then the eﬀect of the Court’s decisions in the northern Cyprus cases would have been to somehow introduce a legal basis legitimizing Turkey’s presence there, and the chief consequence of it, the proclamation of the TRNC. It is surely beyond doubt that the Court did

53

and jus cogens. See also the relevant parts of Orakhelashvili, this note; ILC Articles on State Responsibility, and commentary, this note, Commentary to Art. 40, para. 5. See S.C. Res. 353, U.N. Doc. S/RES/353 (July 20, 1974); S.C. Res. 365, U.N. Doc. S/RES/ 365 (Dec. 13, 1974); S.C. Res. 541, U.N. Doc. S/RES/541 (Nov. 18, 1983); S.C. Res. 550, U.N. Doc. S/RES/550 (May 11, 1984); G.A. Res. 3212 (XXIX), 1 Nov. 1974. See also the cites from ECHR case law, infra (note 54).

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not intend such an eﬀect, bearing in mind the general international position as to the illegality of Turkey’s presence and the proclamation of the TRNC.54 A model of applicability that mandated the continuance of the administrative presence would lead to an absurd situation where lawful occupations are subject to the regulation of human rights law but illegal occupations – because they should be brought to an end – are not, simply by virtue of the diﬀerence in legality.55 Yet, of course, a diﬀerence in legality does not, in this manner, map onto the necessity for regulation. It would be perverse to suggest that lawful occupations require more legal regulation than illegal ones; if anything, a diﬀerence in the relative likelihood of human rights abuses operates in an opposite fashion. C. Human Rights Law and Cultural Diﬀerences So much, then, for the merits of the assertion in Al-Skeini that the application of human rights law based on territorial control would prevent the handover of authority to local actors. What of the other suggestion, that it would involve imposing culturally inappropriate standards, thereby constituting ‘human rights imperialism’? If, actually, human rights law properly understood can mean diﬀerent things in diﬀerent contexts, then it is necessary to consider whether these diﬀerent meanings can accommodate the need to account for diﬀerences as between the obligations of the foreign state and the pre-existing applicable law in the territory, and more broadly cultural diﬀerences on human rights issues as between the foreign state and the people of the occupied territory. Equally, if the correct

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For references in Strasbourg case-law to the legal invalidity of the proclamation of the TRNC and/or the right of the government of Cyprus to be the sole government of Cyprus and/or the non-recognition of the TRNC by states other than Turkey, see Cyprus v. Turkey (1975), supra (note 32), pp. 135–36; Cyprus v. Turkey, Appl. No. 8007/77, European Commission of Human Rights (1978), pp. 146, 148; Loizidou (Preliminary Objections), supra (note 1), paras 47, 56; Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1), paras. 19–23,. 42, 56; Cyprus v. Turkey (2001), supra (note 1), paras 14,, 15, 61, 90,. 236, 238. The Court has not itself expressly aﬃrmed directly that Turkey’s presence in Cyprus is illegal. In the Loizidou case it explained that it was not necessary for it to pronounce upon the legality of Turkey’s military intervention for its determination of responsibility under the ECHR, because, as previously stated, the test of ‘jurisdiction’ operated in the context of Turkey’s exercise of territorial control irrespective of whether or not the military action in consequence of which such control was exercised was lawful. See Loizidou (Merits), supra (note 1), para. 56. This model for applicability bears some relation to an idea suggested in the Banković decision on extraterritorial applicability, that the meaning of ‘jurisdiction’ in human rights treaties should reﬂect the meaning of the term ‘jurisdiction’ used in general international law. See Banković, supra (note 1), paras 59–61. For a discussion of this, see Wilde, Triggering State Obligations Extraterritorially, supra (note 1), 513–14 and sources cited therein.

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interpretation of the ECHR requires the general norm of self-determination to be taken into account, then the diﬀerent signiﬁcance of this norm in a situation of foreign occupation compared with situation of a government acting in its sovereign territory raises the question of whether the substantive eﬀect of ECHR obligations is consequently also rendered diﬀerent as between the two situations. On the particular issue raised by Lord Brown, that having the ECHR apply to the actions of contracting states taking place in other states not also bound by the Convention would risk a clash with the jurisprudence of other human rights bodies, the signiﬁcance of this as a problem is not explained, and yet is surely doubtful. As for clashes in jurisprudence, as already mentioned the reality is that all ECHR contracting states are also bound by other human rights treaties that cover much of the same ground as the ECHR and its protocols, even if these obligations may mean diﬀerent things. As in many other ﬁelds of international law, the international law of human rights is a law of ‘clashing’ obligations in the sense that multiple regimes, covering the same rights and the same subject-matter, are often in play. As for clashes in the jurisdiction of courts and other expert bodies monitoring States’ compliance with their human rights treaty obligations, even for extraterritorial action taking place in the territory of other Council of Europe states, such a possibility exists because some ECHR contracting states have accepted the right of individual communications to other bodies such as the UN Human Rights Committee, creating the possibility of overlapping jurisdictions.56 This is addressed to a certain extent by the various jurisdictional/ admissibility devices that seek to avoid multiple fora being seized of the same situation.57 Ultimately, however, where it occurs it is something which the state

56

57

On the right of individual petition to the Human Rights Committee, see the (First) Optional Protocol to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, 16 December 1966, 999 UNTS 171 [hereinafter ICCPR First Optional Protocol]. For a list of states which have accepted the competence of the Human Rights Committee to hear individual communications under the First Optional Protocol, see http://www2.ohchr.org/english/bodies/ratiﬁcation/5 .htm. A number of those States are also parties to the ECHR, namely Albania, Andorra, Armenia, Austria, Azerbaijan, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Belgium, Bulgaria, Croatia, Cyprus, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Georgia, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Ireland, Iceland, Italy, Latvia, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, Moldova, Montenegro, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Russian Federation, San Marino, Serbia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, Turkey, Ukraine. For the status of ratiﬁcation of the ECHR, see the website of the Council of Europe Treaty Oﬃce at http://conventions.coe.int/. See ICCPR First Optional Protocol, above note 56, Art. 5(2)(a): “The Committee shall not consider any communication from an individual unless it has ascertained that: (a) The same matter is not being examined under another procedure of international investigation or settlement . . .”; ECHR, supra (note 1), Art. 35(2)(b): “The Court shall not deal with any application

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concerned has accepted, and it is not the business of a court to seek to revisit and unilaterally alter the consequences of such acceptance, let alone to do so through the drastic measure of rendering inapplicable the substantive obligations which the state has accepted. For extraterritorial action conducted by the UK in territory not falling within another state also party to the ECHR, there is of course no greater risk of a clash with the jurisdiction of the UN Human Rights Committee when compared to action taking place within the territory of Council of Europe member states; the UK has not accepted the Human Rights Committee’s jurisdiction over individual communications at all, and if it did, such jurisdiction would operate in either situation.58

8. Conclusion The willingness of a court to face up to the general principles at stake, and to seek to address them in the view it takes as to the substantive rules being determined, is to be welcomed. What is regrettable about the Al-Skeini House of Lords decision is the misconceived fashion in which their Lordships appraised the underlying legal questions which had to be determined in order to correctly analyse the general principles. The majority misunderstood the proper meaning of human rights treaty obligations on the questions of whether they can result in diﬀerent substantive requirements in diﬀerent situations and whether the ‘spatial’ trigger for extraterritorial application requires a capacity to exercise civil administration. Moreover, they failed to give proper account to the interface between human rights law and other relevant obligations in international law, notably the international law of self-determination.59 These ﬂawed determinations led to conclusions on the two issues of principle which, because of the ﬂawed nature of the prior determinations, are themselves of questionable merit. Human rights obligations may compel, rather than impede, the handover of authority by an occupier to the local population. Equally, having a foreign state’s obligations applicable to its presence in the territory of a state not also bound by the same obligations may not amount to ‘human rights imperialism’. The obligations themselves and the eﬀect on them of other areas of international law, notably the right of self-determination, may require the state to be deferential to and accommodating of local cultural norms

58 59

submitted under Article 34 that . . . (b) is substantially the same as a matter that has already been examined by the Court or has already been submitted to another procedure of international investigation or settlement and contains no relevant new information.” See supra (note 56). Not discussed in the present piece, the majority did discuss the interface with one particular area of international law, the law of occupation. See supra (note 42).

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in a way that, were such norms to be at issue in its own territory, diﬀerent legal requirements would prevail. Greater understanding is needed of what, in the words of Lord Justice Sedley in the Court of Appeal stage of Al-Skeini quoted above, doing ‘all it can’ might mean in the light of this view of the applicable law, before one can draw conclusions on the issue of ‘human rights imperialism’. The House of Lords decision made a signiﬁcant contribution to the debate on the issues of principle discussed, but the problematic nature of its reasoning suggests that there is much more to be said on them.

Part IV International Law, Compliance and Dispute Settlement Droit international, mise en œuvre et règlement des diﬀérends

Chapter 17 Standards et normes techniques dans l’ordre juridique contemporain : quelques réﬂexions Laurence Boisson de Chazournes*

1. Notions La normativité internationale est foisonnante. Ses champs d’intervention ne cessent de s’étendre à des ﬁns de coopération, de coordination, d’harmonisation, sinon d’intégration. Ses aspects évoluent. Les degrés de juridicité de la règle ou de la norme de droit international varient et le critère de l’obligatoriété comme fondement de la règle de droit devient moins déterminant. La technicité émerge comme l’un des moteurs de la juridicité.1 Plus un instrument est en mesure de fournir des règles ou des lignes directrices adéquates dans un domaine spéciﬁque de l’activité internationale (commerce, santé, environnement, etc.) et plus lesdites règles ou lignes directrices acquièrent une certaine normativité. Il se forme peu à peu une « communauté internationale à activité normative ».2 Dans ce contexte, une catégorie d’instruments mérite une attention particulière. Il s’agit de ce que l’on dénomme communément les standards internationaux (ou normes techniques internationales). Le recours à ceux-ci produit des eﬀets pratiques conséquents, sinon juridiques. Vera Gowlland a souligné avec beaucoup de ﬁnesse leur rôle et les besoins sociaux auxquels ils répondent.3

* Professeur de droit international et organisation internationale, Faculté de droit, Université de Genève 1 Sur la technicité des normes internationales, voir E. Brosset, E. Truilhé-Marengo, ‘Normes techniques en droit international. Les mots et les choses . . .’, in: E. Brosset, E. Truilhé (dir.), Les enjeux de la normalisation technique internationale : Entre environnement, santé et commerce international (Paris, La Documentation française, 2006), pp. 22–29. 2 Voir Communautés européennes – Désignation commerciale des sardines, rapport de l’Organe d’appel, WT/DS231/AB/R, para. 222. La même expression est utilisée dans la Note explicative à l’Annexe 1.2 de l’Accord sur les obstacles techniques au commerce. 3 Voir notamment, V. Gowlland, Law Making in a Globalized World, Cursos Euromediterraneos Bancaja de Derecho International (CEBDI), vols. VIII/IX, (2004/2005), pp. 505–661.

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Ces quelques lignes tenteront de saisir certaines des fonctions que ces normes et standards peuvent remplir, appréhenderont des éléments de leur statut dans l’ordre juridique et souligneront leur entrelacement avec les normes de droit international. Le concept de standard est protéiforme. Communément, on considère que « le standard renvoie à une norme impliquant l’idée d’un « niveau » à atteindre ou d’un « modèle » auquel il faut se conformer et par rapport auquel l’évaluation d’une situation ou d’un comportement doit être opérée ».4 Le standard vise ainsi une mesure moyenne de conduite sociale attendue. Un ﬂou terminologique entoure la notion. Il suﬃt pour s’en convaincre de se reporter à l’Accord sur l’application des mesures sanitaires et phytosanitaires (SPS) de l’Organisation mondiale du Commerce (OMC) qui se réfère à une panoplie de termes pour désigner les standards internationaux, qu’il s’agisse de « normes », de « directives », ou de « recommandations ».5 D’autres critères de déﬁnition complètent ou se superposent à ceux évoqués. Il peut ainsi être admis que telle ou telle catégorie d’acteurs dispose d’un pouvoir d’édiction de standards. C’est le cas de la Commission du Codex Alimentarius créée conjointement par l’OMS et la FAO. L’un des aspects du mandat de cette Commission consiste à « promouvoir la coordination de tous les travaux en matière de normes alimentaires entrepris par des organisations internationales gouvernementales et non gouvernementales [et] établir un ordre de priorité et prendre l’initiative et la conduite du travail de préparation des projets de normes, par l’intermédiaire des organisations compétentes et avec leur aide ».6 Les Etats et les organisations internationales peuvent également avoir admis que la manière, la forme ou la procédure selon lesquelles une norme a été énoncée lui confère un statut de standard international. C’est le cas de l’Accord sur les obstacles techniques au commerce (OTC) qui dans son Annexe 1 donne la déﬁnition d’une norme (ou standard). Selon le paragraphe 2 de l’Annexe 1 est une norme tout « document approuvé par un organisme reconnu, qui fournit, pour des usages communs et répétés, des règles, des lignes directrices ou des caractéristiques pour des produits ou des procédés et des méthodes de production connexes, dont le respect n’est pas obligatoire. Il peut aussi traiter en partie ou en totalité de terminologie, de symboles, de prescriptions en matière

4

5

6

J. Salmon (dir.), Dictionnaire de droit international public (Bruxelles, Bruylant/AUF, 2001), p. 1049. Voir par exemple, article 3.2 de l’Accord sur l’application des mesures sanitaires et phytosanitaires (SPS). Voir Statuts de la Commission du Codex Alimentarius, Article 1, in Commission du Codex Alimentarius, Manuel de Procédure, 17ème édition, Rome, 2007, p. 3, disponible sur : http://www .codexalimentarius.net/web/procedural_manual_fr.jsp.

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d’emballage, de marquage ou d’étiquetage, pour un produit, un procédé ou une méthode de production donnés ». Nombre de standards sont contenus dans des instruments négociés et adoptés par des Etats, que ce soient des traités7 ou des résolutions d’organisations internationales.8 D’autres sont énoncés par des catégories d’instruments dont l’appréhension et la qualiﬁcation en droit ne sont pas aisées, voire malaisées. Leurs auteurs relèvent de la catégorie des entités non-étatiques, englobant des acteurs publics, privés, des partenariats public-privé. Des ensembles composites, réunissant Etats, organisations internationales et acteurs non-étatiques peuvent en être également les façonneurs. Il paraît important de prendre en compte ces diﬀérents auteurs aﬁn d’inscrire notre réﬂexion autour des processus permettant la participation d’un large éventail d’acteurs concernés par l’élaboration et la mise en œuvre des normes et standards internationaux. La tentation est souvent celle d’englober ces standards et normes sous le couvert de la notion de soft law. Les prescriptions issues de modes non classiques d’élaboration du droit international sont souvent visées par cette notion car elle présente la qualité d’être souple et malléable.9 La notion de soft law connaît en doctrine diverses acceptions, s’appuyant sur des critères de formation de

7

8

9

Pour un exemple de standard inclus dans un traité international, voir Annexe III ‘Evaluation des risques’ du Protocole de Cartagena sur la prévention des risques biotechnologiques relatif à la Convention sur la diversité biologique. Pour une discussion sur la nature de standard international de l’Annexe III, voir L. Boisson de Chazournes, M. M. Mbengue, ‘A propos du principe du soutien mutuel. Les relations entre le Protocole de Cartagena sur la prévention des risques biotechnologiques et les Accords de l’OMC’, 4 RGDIP, 2007, 605–638. Le terme ‘résolution’ englobe ici un éventail assez large d’instruments. Il fait référence par exemple aux règlements techniques adoptés par certaines organisations internationales, lesquels règlements contiennent des standards ou sont même qualiﬁables de standards en tant que tels. Voir, par exemple, Règlement sanitaire international (2005) de l’Organisation mondiale de la santé (OMS) adopté par l’Assemblée mondiale de la santé en vertu de l’article 21 de la Constitution de l’OMS. Sur la nature particulière de cet instrument, voir L. Boisson de Chazournes, ‘Le pouvoir réglementaire de l’Organisation mondiale de la santé à l’aune de la santé mondiale : Réﬂexions sur la nature et la portée du Règlement sanitaire international de 2005’, in: Droit du pouvoir, pouvoir du droit : mélanges oﬀerts à Jean Salmon (Bruylant, Bruxelles, 2007), pp. 1157–1181. G. Abi-Saab, ‘Éloge du « droit assourdi ». Quelques réﬂexions sur le rôle de la soft law en droit international contemporain’, in : Nouveaux itinéraires en droit, Mélanges en hommage à François Rigaux (Bruxelles, Bruylant, 1993), p. 60. Voir aussi R.-J. Dupuy, ‘Droit déclaratoire et droit programmatoire : de la coutume sauvage à la ‘soft law », in: S.F.D.I., L’élaboration du droit international (Paris, Pedone, 1975), pp. 132–148 et le rapport de M. Virally, ‘La distinction entre textes internationaux de portée juridique et textes internationaux dépourvus de portée juridique’, Rapport déﬁnitif, Annuaire de l’Institut de droit international, vol. 60, t. I, Session de Cambridge, 1983, pp. 329 et s.

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la norme ou relatifs à son contenu.10 La notion de soft law peut permettre de recouvrir certains standards et normes, pour d’autres elle ne le pourra pas, à moins de considérer que toute norme est susceptible de relever de la soft law et que tout acteur de la société internationale est habilité à générer de la soft law. Si certains standards internationaux en revêtent des traits, force est de constater que la soft law n’est pas mutatis mutandis un processus de standardisation ou de normalisation internationale. La soft law n’a pas pour caractéristique première d’être technique. Or, la technicité est une marque de fabrique des standards internationaux.11 Par ailleurs, la soft law en soi n’a pas de vocation utilitariste. Pour remplir une fonction utilitariste, les instruments de soft law ont généralement besoin d’être complétés par des instruments de droit positif. Les standards internationaux ont pour ambition première de ﬁxer une norme moyenne de conduite sociale. L’Organe d’appel de l’OMC a souligné avec force cette dimension utilitariste des standards internationaux dans le cadre du commerce international et en particulier de l’Accord OTC : « l’Accord OTC reconnaît le rôle important que jouent les normes internationales en matière de promotion de l’harmonisation et de facilitation des échanges. Par exemple, l’article 2.5 de l’Accord OTC établit une présomption réfragable selon laquelle les règlements techniques qui sont conformes aux normes internationales pertinentes ne créent pas d’obstacles non nécessaires au commerce (. . .) Le rôle important des normes internationales est également souligné dans le préambule de l’Accord OTC. Le troisième considérant du préambule reconnaît l’importance de la contribution que les normes internationales peuvent apporter en renforçant l’eﬃcacité de la production et en facilitant la conduite du commerce international. Le huitième considérant reconnaît le rôle que la normalisation internationale peut avoir dans le transfert de technologie vers les pays en développement ».12 Le prisme d’étude est axé sur les organisations internationales, ces dernières recourant très largement à la technique des normes et standards dans le cadre de leurs activités. Elles font recours à ces instruments sui generis essentiellement aﬁn de préciser les comportements en termes normatifs de leurs agents et des acteurs impliqués dans la conduite de leurs activités, que ce soient des Etats ou des entités non-étatiques. La formulation de ces standards tient souvent à

10

11

12

R. Ida, ‘Formation des normes internationales dans un monde en mutation. Critique de la notion de soft law’, in: Le droit international au service de la paix, de la justice et du développement, Mélanges Michel Virally (Paris, Pedone, 1991), pp. 333–340. Le Préambule du texte révisé de la Convention internationale sur la protection des végétaux met en exergue cet aspect. Il stipule que ‘les mesures phytosanitaires devraient être techniquement justiﬁées’. Le texte de la Convention est disponible sur : http://www.fao.org/Legal/ Treaties/treaty-f.htm Communautés européennes – Désignation commerciale des sardines, op. cit., para. 214–215.

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l’expérience acquise au sein des organisations. Les standards y sont aussi connus sous la dénomination de « bonnes pratiques ». Ils peuvent également tirer inspiration de standards et normes formulés par d’autres acteurs, tout en reﬂétant les particularismes de l’organisation qui les adopte. Pour appréhender la notion de standards, on évoquera les exigences qui conduisent à un recours à ceux-ci (2), leur rôle en tant que véhicules de socialisation (3), leur contribution à la mise en éclairage des responsabilités des organisations et acteurs qui y ont recours (4), leur rôle en tant qu’instruments de normalisation (5), et en dernier lieu, leur rôle de passerelles vers le droit de facture classique (6).

2. Standards et nouvelles exigences en matière de gouvernance internationale Dans un contexte de coopération tous azimuts, si la négociation des traités interétatiques reste fondamentale, de nouvelles formes de régulation prennent place du fait d’exigences particulières. Il est important de porter son regard sur ces exigences car elles expliquent la survenance de nouvelles formes de régulation. La structuration de l’ordre juridique international est en partie explicative du recours aux standards internationaux. Si les traités internationaux et la coutume internationale jouent un rôle fondamental, ils ne peuvent néanmoins couvrir la vaste sphère des activités internationales.13 Il en est de même des instruments de droit national, même si l’on prend en compte leurs possibles eﬀets extraterritoriaux. Dans les espaces non ou peu couverts par ces instruments, apparaît une ﬂoraison de documents répondant au nom de lignes directrices, de codes de conduite, de standards, de directives ou d’autres appellations qui jouent un rôle dans la conduite des activités internationales. Le besoin d’adaptation de la norme, la nécessité de permettre à des acteurs de statuts variés de pouvoir formuler des standards répondant à des objectifs communs et la technicisation de nombre de matières à réglementer comptent parmi les exigences à l’origine de la formulation de standards à l’échelle internationale. A. Flexibilité et souplesse On évoquera tout d’abord les exigences de ﬂexibilité et de souplesse dans l’encadrement juridique des activités et des situations. « La souplesse du droit

13

L. Boisson de Chazournes, ‘Treaty Law-Making and Non-Treaty Law Making: The Evolving Structure of the International Legal Order’, in: V. Röben, R. Wolfrum (dir.), Developments of International Law in Treaty Making (Heidelberg, Springer, 2005), pp. 463–479.

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post-moderne implique sa capacité à s’adapter à l’évolution du réel ».14 L’adaptation est clef et explique ces besoins de ﬂexibilité et souplesse. Ainsi par exemple, les codes de conduite dans le domaine de la protection sociale constituent des instruments qui peuvent s’adapter à des situations nouvelles. Les États peuvent d’ailleurs encourager ces initiatives privées. C’est particulièrement au nom de la souplesse, voire d’une certaine « adaptabilité normative », que l’activité régulatrice dans le secteur ﬁnancier s’est fortement diversiﬁée depuis les années 1990 et surtout depuis la crise asiatique à la ﬁn des années 1990. La régulation ﬁnancière est une réponse à la libéralisation ﬁnancière. L’innovation ﬁnancière exponentielle dans la dernière décennie du XXème siècle a entraîné avec elle l’émergence de nouveaux standards pour répondre au recours à de nouvelles technologies tel le commerce électronique, ou à la fabrication de nouveaux produits ﬁnanciers. B. Des partenariats à texture ouverte L’élaboration de standards peut être le fait d’alliances diverses qui reposent avant tout sur des considérations pragmatiques et liées à une évaluation en termes d’avantages comparatifs. On rencontre un ensemble hétérogène d’acteurs publics, privés et d’acteurs hybrides dans les divers processus d’élaboration des standards mis en place. Ces développements relatifs à la diversité des structures engagées dans le processus de production méritent quelques commentaires. La qualité de membre de ces structures est diverse : ce peut être des acteurs publics, semi-publics ou privés (associations professionnelles). La dénomination d’« organisation » ou d’« organe » est inadaptée à la logique de ces structures qui fonctionnent avec un minimum de cadre juridique et organisationnel. Il faudrait plutôt parler de « réseau ». Ces structures ne répondent pas à un ordre juridique formel dans lequel elles puiseraient la légitimité de leur existence et de celle de leurs standards. Une autre caractéristique a trait à la forte délégation du pouvoir de régulation par les gouvernements à des agences nationales (dans le domaine de la supervision bancaire, par exemple) qui elles-mêmes sont éléments de ces réseaux. Bien que non obligatoires, les standards qui sont forgés par ces groupements sont pour la plus part mis en œuvre, y compris par les autorités nationales d’un pays donné. Une pression politique ou économique peut être exercée à cette ﬁn. Ainsi, certaines organisations internationales peuvent encourager leurs membres à adopter ces standards. Tel est le cas de la Banque Mondiale et du Fonds monétaire international (FMI) qui exercent une incitation en ce sens

14

J. Chevallier, ‘Vers un droit post-moderne ? Les transformations de la régulation juridique’, 3 RDP, 1998, 679.

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dans le domaine de la régulation ﬁnancière. En outre, le Forum de Stabilité ﬁnancière, aujourd’hui dénommé Conseil de Stabilité Financière,15 a établi une liste sélective de standards nécessaires à un « système ﬁnancier eﬃcace et prévisible ». Partant, l’impact de ces standards transcende le cadre des entités qui les ont élaborés. C. Technicisation des matières et nouvelles formes de régulation Des déﬁs tels ceux posés par les développements technologiques et les nouveaux équilibres à instaurer, dans le domaine des relations entre commerce et environnement ou entre commerce et santé, par exemple, posent de nouvelles exigences en matière de production normative. Il s’agit de prendre en compte le caractère technique des normes, de même que la « ﬂexibilité » des processus d’adaptation du standard. La complexité des situations et des matières à régir explique que la régulation soit demandeuse et porteuse de technicité. La norme juridique est appelée à s’imprégner de plus de « savoir ».16 Dans un tel contexte, les standards internationaux participent d’une logique « processuelle » qui vise à modéliser, moduler et orienter le comportement des Etats et des autres acteurs de la scène internationale. Le contenu du standard évoluera au gré des connaissances, des besoins, des capacités et ne se ﬁge donc pas sur l’élaboration d’une obligation précise. Chemin faisant, le standard peut participer à la concrétisation de la règle de droit international. Il peut également combler le déﬁcit laissé par des normes formelles et traditionnelles. Le commerce des aliments nocifs, la manipulation génétique, la protection de la santé des végétaux, la prévention de la propagation transfrontalière des épidémies, sont autant de sujets que la règle de droit international semble peu encline à couvrir en leur entier, préférant passer le relais à une standardisation qui s’appuie sur d’autres modes de façonnement. L’on comprend ainsi la fonction jouée par les normes/standards ISO dans le domaine de la production et de la distribution industrielle mondiale, celle des standards du Codex Alimentarius relatifs à la qualité des aliments ou celle des standards de la Commission intérimaire des mesures phytosanitaires (CIMP) dans le domaine de la protection des végétaux. Tous ces standards viennent

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Voir Communiqué de presse, ‘Financial Stability Forum re-established as the Financial Stability Board’, 2 avril 2009, http://www.fsforum.org/press/pr_090402b.pdf. « [L]a spéciﬁcité de la norme juridique par rapport à d’autres dispositifs normatifs est d’autant moins évidente qu’elle tend de plus en plus à prendre appui sur eux. La relation entre normes techniques et normes juridiques avait, par exemple, été conçue en termes d’opposition dichotomique . . . tandis que la juridicisation des standards techniques est indispensable pour leur donner leur plein eﬀet, la technicisation de la norme juridique contribue à conforter son eﬃcacité . . . ». J. Chevallier, op. cit., p. 679.

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apporter leur contribution à des règles de droit peu élaborées pour réguler une matière donnée. La recherche de l’adhésion des acteurs à ces standards est conçue comme une manière de les convaincre d’adopter des comportements en phase avec les valeurs prônées. Ces comportements peuvent consister en des engagements à se comporter d’une manière conforme aux standards. Ils peuvent aussi donner lieu à des actions de mise en œuvre de ces standards dans les champs de compétence des acteurs concernés. Il y a en quelque sorte un « trickle-down eﬀect » de ces standards avec l’objectif de pénétrer de larges segments de l’activité humaine. Les exigences qui conduisent à l’adoption de normes et standards ayant été soulignées, il apparaît intéressant d’analyser certaines des fonctions des normes et standards dans l’ordre contemporain.

3. Normalisation et socialisation de la gouvernance internationale Par socialisation, on entend l’émergence, sinon la montée en puissance, de nouvelles valeurs à l’échelon international, consacrées notamment par la négociation d’instruments conventionnels, par la coutume ainsi que par l’adoption d’actes unilatéraux d’organisations internationales. Leur diﬀusion et leur respect doivent être assurés. Les standards et normes comptent parmi les véhicules utilisés à cette ﬁn. Le Pacte Mondial (Global Compact) est un exemple marquant à cet égard. Lancé en juillet 2000 par le Secrétaire Général des Nations Unies, Koﬁ Annan, le Pacte mondial demande aux entreprises «d’adopter, de soutenir et de voter» une série de principes ayant trait aux droits de l’homme, aux normes du travail, à la corruption et à l’environnement. Dans cette optique, le Pacte mondial réunit des entreprises, divers organismes des Nations Unies, l’Organisation internationale du travail, des ONG et autres aﬁn de constituer des partenariats et de bâtir une économie mondiale plus équitable et plus favorable à l’intégration de valeurs humaines, sociales et environnementales. Les dix principes du Pacte Mondial sont inspirés de documents qui font l’objet d’un consensus universel dans la communauté internationale: la Déclaration universelle des droits de l’homme (1948) ; la Déclaration de l’Organisation internationale du travail (OIT) sur les principes et les droits fondamentaux au travail (1998) ; la Déclaration de Rio sur l’environnement et le développement (1992). Certaines entreprises ont ainsi décidé d’adopter une série de principes.17 Tirant inspiration

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Voir par exemple: http://www.nestle.com/NR/rdonlyres/D9EC2A97–170F-45E3–895E 8AB2858E2739/0/CorporateF.pdf et http://www.total.com/static/en/medias/topic1607/CSR_ 2006_principles_commitments.pdf.

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des principes du Pacte mondial, des codes de conduite ont été élaborés par certaines sociétés multinationales.18 On peut également évoquer les Principes volontaires sur la sécurité et les droits de l’homme.19 Répondant à une demande des Etats-Unis, du RoyaumeUni, d’entreprises du secteur extractif et de l’énergie, et d’organisations nongouvernementales, ils ont pour but de guider les entreprises du secteur extractif et de l’énergie dans le maintien de la sûreté et de la sécurité de leurs opérations dans un contexte qui préserve le respect des droits de l’homme et des libertés fondamentales. Ces principes sont répartis en trois catégories: évaluation des risques, relations avec la sécurité publique et relations avec la sécurité privée. Ces principes ont ainsi été repris par un Memorandum of Understandings conclu entre cinq entreprises ayant leurs activités en Indonésie, la compagnie BP Migas, qui est l’entité chargée de réguler l’utilisation du gaz et du pétrole en Indonésie et les forces de polices locales. Le Ministère Colombien de la défense a intégrer l’obligation de se conformer à ces principes dans un accord conclu entre la compagnie Ecopetrol et les forces armées Colombiennes. Un groupe de travail (Information Working Group of the Voluntary Principles) est chargé de collecter les informations concernant l’application des principes. On peut aussi évoquer les Principes d’Equateur et l’Initiative des Industries Extractives. Ceux-ci sont liés à la place faite à la protection de l’environnement et aux questions socio-économiques dans les projets ﬁnancés par les institutions ﬁnancières internationales. Ils visent certains acteurs privés en particulier en leur demandant de s’engager à respecter des standards, qu’il s’agisse des banques privées ou des industries extractives dans le secteur minier. Les Principes d’Equateur ont été adoptés en 2003 par dix banques privées notamment l’ABN AMRO Bank et Rabobank (Pays-Bas), Barclays et Royal Bank (Royaume-Uni), Citigroup (Etats-Unis), le Crédit Lyonnais (France), le Crédit Suisse (Suisse), l’HVB Group et WestLB AG (Allemagne) et Westpac Banking Corporation (Australie).20 La Société ﬁnancière internationale (SFI),

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Voir le code de conduite du Groupe Total, disponible sur : http://www.total.com/static/en/ medias/topic1608/Total_code_conduct_en.pdf et le code de conduite du Groupe Nestlé: http://www.nestle.com/Resource.axd?Id=62369168–5E6A-4280–9107–3E549D166A33. Disponibles sur http://www.voluntaryprinciples.org. Agence France Presse, ‘10 Global Banks Endorse Socially Responsible Equator Principles’, 5 juin 2003, http://www.equator-principles.com/afp1.shtml. Les banques aujourd’hui signataires de ces principes sont environ soixante. Les banques qui adoptent les Principes d’Equateur doivent déclarer de conformer leurs politiques internes aux Principes et publier un rapport sur la mise en œuvre de ces Principes (voir le principe 10). Les principes sont disponibles sur : http://www.equatorprinciples.com/documents/ep_ translations/LesPrincipesdelEquateur.pdf.

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membre du Groupe de la Banque mondiale, était présente lors des négociations et a soutenu leur adoption. Ces principes reprennent les politiques opérationnelles de cette institution. Les mécanismes de contrôle de la SFI n’ont toutefois pas d’emprise directe sur le respect de ces principes. Selon le principe 1,21 lorsqu’un ﬁnancement est sollicité pour un projet, la banque signataire des principes d’Equateur doit classer le projet en fonction des critères établis par la SFI.22 Selon les cas, l’emprunteur devra procéder à une évaluation des conséquences sociales et environnementales d’un projet. L’Initiative de Transparence des Industries Extractives, repose sur l’adoption de mesures de transparence par les autorités étatiques.23 Les Etats signataires s’engagent à rendre publiques les informations relatives aux paiements eﬀectués par les entreprises impliquées dans le secteur minier. A ce jour, plus de vingt pays sont signataires de cette Initiative.24 L’objectif de ces mesures de transparence est d’améliorer la gestion publique de certains pays. Il est intéressant de mentionner que l’Initiative part du constat que les pays riches en ressources naturelles sont ceux qui sont les plus aﬀectés par des conﬂits. Les ressources minières peuvent être un élément déclencheur de conﬂits. L’Initiative repose sur l’idée que la transparence des dépenses publiques peut aider à prévenir et résoudre ce type de conﬂits.25 21

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Le principe 1 se lit comme suit : « Lorsqu’un ﬁnancement est sollicité pour un projet, l’EFPI, dans le cadre de son analyse et de ses vériﬁcations préalables classera le projet en fonction de l’importance de ses impacts et de ses risques potentiels conformément aux critères de la Société Financière Internationale (International Financial Corporation – IFC) en matière sociale et environnementale (Annexe I) « . Selon les Politiques et des Critères de Performance en matière de durabilité sociale et environnementale de la SFI: ‘‘18. Dans le cadre de sa revue des impacts sociaux et environnementaux attendus d’un projet, la SFI utilise un système de classiﬁcation sociale et environnementale aﬁn de : (i) reﬂéter l’ampleur des impacts compris comme résultant de l’Évaluation sociale et environnementale du client ; et de (ii) préciser les exigences institutionnelles de la SFI en termes de mise à la disposition du public d’informations spéciﬁques au projet avant de soumettre les projets à l’approbation de son Conseil d’administration conformément à la Section 12 de la Politique de divulgation. Ces catégories sont les suivantes : Projets de catégorie A : Projets présentant des impacts négatifs sociaux ou environnementaux potentiels signiﬁcatifs, hétérogènes, irréversibles ou sans précédent. Projets de catégorie B : Projets présentant des impacts négatifs sociaux ou environnementaux limités moins nombreux, généralement propres à un site, largement réversibles et faciles à traiter par des mesures d’atténuation. Projets de catégorie C : Projets présentant des impacts négatifs sociaux ou environnementaux minimes ou nuls, y compris certains projets de ﬁnancement par le biais d’intermédiaires (IF) présentant des risques minimes ou nuls. Projets de catégorie IF : Tous les projets IF sauf ceux classés dans la Catégorie C ». Disponible sur : http://eitransparency.org/. Par exemple : Cameroun, Congo, Azerbaïdjan, Kazakhstan, Kirghizistan, Irak et Nigeria. Le gouvernement anglais a joué un rôle important dans le processus d’élaboration de l’Initiative. L’idée a été lancée par Tony Blair à l’occasion du Sommet sur le développement

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Le Processus de Kimberley initié en mai 2000 par l’Afrique du Sud relève de cette même approche de socialisation. Les négociations ont abouti le 5 novembre 2002 avec l’adoption d’un système international de certiﬁcation pour les diamants bruts légalement extraits et commercialisés. Ce système est entré en vigueur le 1 janvier 2003. Depuis cette date, tous les lots de diamants bruts exportés doivent être accompagnés d’un certiﬁcat infalsiﬁable, attestant que des précautions ont été prises pour que le colis ne contienne pas de diamants de conﬂits. Les Etats qui n’appliquent pas ce système de certiﬁcation sont exclus du commerce des diamants bruts.26 La raison d’être du Processus de Kimberley est liée au commerce des diamants « de conﬂits ». Ces derniers sont des diamants bruts qui proviennent de régions contrôlées par des mouvements rebelles, notamment en Afrique. Leur vente a contribué à ﬁnancer l’achat d’armes et à alimenter des conﬂits civils. Pour empêcher que ces diamants accèdent aux marchés légaux, les principaux pays producteurs et commerçants de diamants bruts ont mis en place dans le cadre du « Processus de Kimberley », un système de réglementation du commerce international de diamants bruts.27 Le système de Kimberley repose sur une entente politique, le document fondateur prévoyant les grandes lignes du système de certiﬁcation et laissant aux Etats participants le choix des moyens de mise en œuvre, et notamment l’adoption de législations nationales.28 Le test de l’eﬃcacité n’est pas forcément satisfait et certains partenaires ont critiqué le manque d’adaptation du Processus de Kimberley à de nouveaux enjeux en matière de fraude et de contrebande.29 Il est intéressant de souligner la relation étroite qui prévaut entre le Processus de Kimberley et l’Organisation des Nations Unies, notamment l’Assemblée générale et le Conseil de sécurité. Le cas du Libéria met en relief cette relation. Depuis 2003, le Conseil de sécurité a reconnu le lien entre l’exploitation illégale des ressources naturelles, notamment de diamants et de bois, et le conﬂit en Afrique de l’Ouest, en particulier au Libéria.30 Agissant en vertu du chapitre VII de la Charte des Nations, le Conseil a alors décidé que « tous les États doivent

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durable de 2002 à Johannesburg. La réunion du G8 de Sea Island de 2004 a également appuyé cette initiative. La transparence n’entraîne pas toujours une meilleure responsabilisation et des critiques ont pu être formulées à l’encontre de cette initiative. Voir par exemple l’interview d’Arvind Ganesan de Human Rights Watch disponible sur : http://www.cchange .net/2009/05/20/mining-for-disclosure. Disponible sur : http://www.seco.admin.ch/themen/00513/00620/00642/00643/index .html?lang=fr. Idem. En novembre 2008, le Processus de Kimberley comptait 49 participants représentant 75 pays, l’Union européenne et ses États membres comptant comme un seul participant. Disponible sur : http://www.kimberleyprocess.com/home/index_fr.html. Voir par exemple : https://www.diamondintelligence.com/magazine/magazine.aspx?id=7895. Résolution 1521 de 2003, préambule.

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prendre les mesures nécessaires pour interdire l’importation directe ou indirecte sur leur territoire de tous les diamants bruts provenant du Libéria, qu’ils soient ou non d’origine libérienne ».31 En même temps, le Conseil a encouragé ce pays à participer au Processus de Kimberley.32 Avec l’adhésion du Libéria au Processus de Kimberley en 2007, le Conseil de sécurité a mis ﬁn aux mesures prévues en 2003.33 Toutefois, le Conseil continue d’exercer un « contrôle » à l’égard de l’exploitation illégale des diamants, un Comité du Conseil, établi par la résolution 1521 vériﬁant la bonne application par le Libéria du système de certiﬁcation du Processus de Kimberley.34 Le système des Nations Unies a en quelque sorte donné une vie juridique institutionnelle aux normes du Processus de Kimberley dans le cadre d’une situation particulière. Dans les domaines économique et ﬁnancier, de nombreux acteurs sont impliqués dans des activités de régulation. Le FMI a élaboré des standards dans le domaine des politiques ﬁnancières et monétaires, de la transparence de la politique ﬁscale ou encore de la communication de données ﬁnancières. La Banque Mondiale a été très active dans le domaine de l’insolvabilité, l’OCDE dans le domaine de la gouvernance d’entreprise, le Comité de Bâle35 dans le domaine des standards en matière de capitaux et dans l’établissement de principes pour un contrôle bancaire eﬀectif (1997) et la méthodologie de mise en œuvre de

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Résolution 1521 de 2003, para. 6. Une mesure identique a été prise pour les bois ronds et les bois d’œuvre. Les Etats doivent prendre toutes les mesures ‘‘pour empêcher l’importation sur leur territoire de tous les bois ronds et bois d’œuvre provenant du Libéria » (para. 10). Par la résolution 1689 de 2006 le Conseil a décidé de ne pas reconduire cette mesure sur les bois. Dans la résolution 1521 de 2003, le Conseil « Demande au Gouvernement national de transition du Libéria de mettre en place d’urgence un régime de certiﬁcats d’origine des diamants bruts libériens qui soit eﬃcace, transparent et vériﬁable sur le plan international en vue de sa participation au Processus de Kimberley, et de présenter au Comité une description détaillée du régime envisagé » (para. 7). Le Conseil a décidé « de lever les mesures relatives aux diamants imposées au paragraphe 6 de la résolution 1521 (2003) et reconduites au paragraphe 1 de la résolution 1731 (2006) », Résolution 1753 de 2007, para. 1. Résolution 1753 de 2007, para. 2 ; Résolution 1760 de 2007, para. 1 d) ; Résolution 1792 de 2007, para. 5 d) ; Résolution 1819 de 2008, para. 5 ; Résolution 1854 de 2008, para. 4 d). Le Comité de Bâle sur le contrôle bancaire a été créé par les gouverneurs des banques centrales des pays du Groupe des Dix à la ﬁn de 1974. Il regroupe des banques centrales et des organismes de réglementation et de surveillance bancaires des principaux pays industrialisés (Belgique, Canada, France, Allemagne, Italie, Japon, Luxembourg, Pays-Bas, Espagne, Suède, Suisse, Royaume-Uni et États-Unis) dont les représentants se rencontrent à la Banque des règlements internationaux (BRI) à Bâle pour discuter des enjeux liés à la surveillance prudentielle des activités bancaires. Le Comité de Bâle ne dispose en soi d’aucun pouvoir oﬃciel en matière de surveillance ou de juridiction face aux pays membres. Néanmoins, il établit des normes et des lignes directrices générales et formule des recommandations visant les pratiques ‘exemplaires’ destinées à être mises en œuvre par tous les états membres et les organismes bancaires internationaux.

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ce contrôle (1999). Le Comité sur les Systèmes de paiement et de règlement (CSPR), également créé par les banques centrales du G10, a développé des principes dans sa sphère d’action. L’Organisation internationale de valeurs (OICV) a créé en 1983 des principes de régulation des valeurs (1998). L’Association internationale des superviseurs d’assurances (IAIS), établie en 1994 en tant que forum de coopération entre régulateurs et superviseurs des assurances, a développé des principes en matière d’assurances. Certaines de ces institutions ont développé une coopération conjointe : l’OICV et le CSPR ont établi 18 recommandations (exigences minimales et meilleures pratiques) dans le domaine des systèmes de règlement des garanties (novembre 2001). Le Comité international des Standards Comptables et la Fédération internationale des Comptables (IFAC) se diﬀérencient des autres organes d’élaboration de standards en ce sens qu’ils sont exclusivement privés. Ils ont néanmoins participé à l’élaboration de standards largement reconnus dans leurs champs d’action que sont l’audit et la compatibilité. La Fédération internationale des praticiens spécialisés dans l’insolvabilité (INSOL) a également préparé des principes pour les « out-of-courts workouts ». Dans le contexte du renforcement de l’architecture du système monétaire et ﬁnancier international, le FMI a mis au point, en coopération avec les institutions appropriées, un Code de bonnes pratiques en matière de transparence des politiques monétaire et ﬁnancière. En collaboration avec la Banque des règlements internationaux et en consultation avec un groupe représentatif de banques centrales, d’organes ﬁnanciers et d’organisations internationales et régionales concernées ainsi que de plusieurs experts, le FMI a adopté un Code de bonnes pratiques pour la transparence des politiques monétaire et ﬁnancière (adopté par le Comité intérimaire le 26 septembre 1999). Celui-ci recense des pratiques de transparence pour les banques centrales dans la conduite de la politique monétaire et pour les banques centrales et d’autres organes ﬁnanciers dans la conduite de la politique ﬁnancière. Le Code se rapporte aux obligations de transparence des banques centrales et organes ﬁnanciers et non aux procédures de transparence applicables aux entreprises ou aux diverses institutions. Les eﬀets bénéﬁques de la transparence des politiques monétaire et ﬁnancière doivent être renforcés par des mesures appropriées pour promouvoir la transparence des marchés en général, des institutions soumises à la surveillance et des organismes autorégulateurs. La Déclaration ﬁnale adoptée à l’issue de la réunion du G 20 en avril 2009 ne paraît pas avoir remis en question cette approche. Elle aﬃrme le besoin de renforcer la transparence et la responsabilisation (« accountability ») du système ﬁnancier international, notamment par le respect des standards pertinents.36 Le test sera celui de l’eﬃcacité et de l’eﬀectivité de

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La déclaration aﬃrme en particulier que : « Our principles are strengthening transparency and accountability, enhancing sound regulation, promoting integrity in ﬁnancial markets and

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ces derniers à l’aune de la nécessité d’un meilleur fonctionnement du système ﬁnancier international.

4. Standards et responsabilisation des conduites au sein des institutions ﬁnancières internationales Les standards jouent aussi un rôle en matière de responsabilisation d’acteurs dont on attend qu’ils les respectent dans le cadre de leurs activités. Qui plus est, leur adoption a pu être accompagnée de mécanismes de contrôle allant dans le sens de la responsabilisation recherchée. Ces derniers visent à la fois à rendre plus visible, sinon transparent, le respect des standards, en même temps qu’ils peuvent donner lieu à diﬀérentes formes de mesures de correction et de sanction. Quelques exemples permettent de saisir la diversité des mécanismes mis en place à cet eﬀet. A. Les directives opérationnelles de la Banque mondiale et le Panel d’Inspection Les Directives opérationnelles de la Banque mondiale sont des documents, élaborés et adoptés par la Direction de la Banque, prescrivant au personnel de l’Organisation le comportement à suivre en matière de préparation et de mise en œuvre de projets ﬁnancés par cette dernière. Ils portent notamment sur des sujets à coloration sociale, telle la conduite d’études d’impact environnemental, sur le sort des populations autochtones ou encore sur la compensation à octroyer aux populations qui se trouveraient déplacées à l’occasion d’un projet. On exige également que les populations locales soient informées et consultées et qu’elles puissent faire valoir leur point de vue. Le respect des politiques et procédures opérationnelles compte parmi les gages de qualité des opérations ﬁnancées par la Banque. Les politiques opérationnelles sont des documents d’ordre interne à l’organisation et sont, dans leur grande majorité, obligatoires pour le personnel de la Banque, qui doit en suivre les prescriptions dans son dialogue avec les pays emprunteurs.37 Les politiques opérationnelles n’en produisent pas moins des

37

reinforcing international cooperation ». Declaration on Strengthening the Financial System, Londres, 2 avril 2009, http://www.g20.org/Documents/Fin_Deps_Fin_Reg_Annex_020409_ -_1615_ﬁnal.pdf. Sur la portée des politiques opérationnelles de la Banque mondiale, voir L. Boisson de Chazournes, ‘Policy Guidance and Compliance Issues: The World Bank Operational Standards’, in: D. Shelton, Commitment and Compliance: The Role of Non-Binding Norms in the International Legal System (Oxford/New York, Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 281–303 ; voir aussi, dans le même volume, l’article de D. A. Wirth, ‘Commentary: Compliance with Non-Binding Norms of Trade and Finance’, op. cit., pp. 330–344.

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eﬀets externes, car elles forgent à la fois le comportement de la Banque et celui de ses partenaires dans le cadre de leurs relations mutuelles au cours des phases de conception d’un projet, de son évaluation et de sa mise en œuvre. Elles sont en outre de plus en plus fréquemment utilisées comme critères d’évaluation des projets de la Banque par une société civile soucieuse de voir les acteurs internationaux lui rendre des comptes (revendication aussi connue sous le terme anglais « accountability » ), devenant de ce fait des paramètres de bonne conduite, rôle connu sous la dénomination anglaise de « benchmarks ». Ceci est d’autant plus important si on garde à l’esprit que la Banque mondiale agit comme facilitateur dans le cadre de projets réunissant des pouvoirs ﬁnanciers publics et privés. Ses politiques opérationnelles peuvent dès lors inﬂuencer les comportements d’autres créditeurs impliqués. La création du Panel d’inspection de la Banque mondiale en 1993 a permis de renforcer la portée et la mise en œuvre de ces politiques, puisque cellesci constituent en quelque sorte « le droit applicable » en matière de requêtes devant le Panel d’inspection. Les politiques et procédures déterminent la compétence matérielle du Panel, en ce qu’elles constituent l’une des conditions de la recevabilité des requêtes. Créé par les Administrateurs de la Banque mondiale au moment du cinquantième anniversaire de l’organisation, le Panel d’inspection de la Banque mondiale38 est une institution originale à plusieurs points de vue. La procédure du Panel d’inspection permet à des groupes de personnes aﬀectées (stakeholders) par un projet ﬁnancé par la Banque de saisir le Panel pour demander à l’Organisation d’évaluer, voire d’ajuster son propre comportement. En cas d’inspection, la Banque peut être amenée à mettre en œuvre un plan d’action pour remédier aux situations litigieuses. Cette procédure oﬀre à des représentants de la société civile une place au cœur du cénacle des décideurs internationaux, et permet de demander à ces derniers de rendre compte de leurs décisions.39 Cette procédure joue également un rôle de passerelle institutionnelle

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Le Panel d’inspection a été créé en septembre 1993, par le biais de résolutions identiques émanant du Conseil d’administration de la Banque internationale de reconstruction et de développement (BIRD no 93–10) et de l’Association internationale de développement (ADI no 93–6), qui fournissent le cadre de ses fonctions. Le Panel s’est par ailleurs doté de procédures opérationnelles pour pouvoir mettre en œuvre ces résolutions. Pour le texte de ces instruments (en français), voir L. Boisson de Chazournes, M. M. Mbengue, R. Desgagné, C. Romano, Protection internationale de l’environnement : recueil d’instruments juridiques (Paris, Pedone, 2005), pp. 753–757. Le Conseil des administrateurs a par ailleurs apporté des précisions au fonctionnement de la procédure en 1996, puis à nouveau en 1999 : pour le texte (anglais) de ces instruments, voir I. F. I. Shihata, The World Bank Inspection Panel : In Practice (2nd ed.) (Oxford/New York, Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 320–328. L. Boisson de Chazournes, ‘Le Panel d’inspection de la Banque Mondiale : à propos de la complexiﬁcation de l’espace public international’, 1 RGDIP, 2001, 145–162.

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entre l’instance exécutive de la Banque mondiale et les ultimes bénéﬁciaires des projets qu’elle ﬁnance, permettant une mise en relation du Conseil d’administration et des particuliers par le biais du Panel d’inspection. Les standards de référence sont les politiques opérationnelles de la Banque mondiale. On saisit de ce fait leur rôle pour évaluer et contrôler le comportement de l’institution ﬁnancière au travers d’une procédure spéciﬁque destinée à en assurer le respect. B. La lutte contre la corruption et la procédure d’administration des sanctions En 2006, la Banque mondiale a engagé une série de réformes qui ont débouché sur l’établissement de directives à l’intention de ses emprunteurs pour la prévention et la lutte contre la fraude et la corruption dans les projets qu’elle ﬁnance.40 Les Directives pour la lutte contre la corruption adoptées en 2006 utilisent des déﬁnitions élargies des « actes de corruption », « manœuvres frauduleuses », « pratiques coercitives » et « pratiques collusoires ». Ces directives seront incluses dans une série de documents, comme les politiques sur la passation des marchés et celles sur la sélection et l’emploi de consultants qui s’appliquent aux projets d’investissement ﬁnancés par la Banque. À l’instar des autres, les nouvelles Directives pour la lutte contre la corruption seront incorporées par voie de référence dans les accords juridiques établis pour chaque projet. Elles énoncent les actions fondamentales que les emprunteurs et autres bénéﬁciaires des fonds de prêt sont tenus de mener aﬁn de prévenir les actes de fraude et de corruption et de lutter contre lesdits actes dans le cadre des projets ﬁnancés par la Banque. Les Directives prennent également en compte les actes de fraude et de corruption commis en dehors des activités de passation des marchés. Cela implique la prise en compte des actes de fraude et de corruption commis sans la participation d’agents publics. Les intermédiaires ﬁnanciers et les ONG sont des intervenants privés qui travaillent avec d’autres intervenants privés durant l’exécution d’un projet. Ils peuvent aussi commettre des actes de fraude et de corruption alors qu’ils aident les unités d’exécution des projets à préparer, exécuter et superviser les projets. Les Administrateurs de la Banque ont approuvé cet ensemble de réformes concernant le Régime des sanctions de la Banque en août 2006. Une procédure de contrôle a également été instaurée. Si le Service de déontologie institutionnelle (INT) de la Banque mondiale établit l’existence de preuves d’infractions passibles de sanctions par une entreprise ou par un particulier, il soumet le dossier à un Responsable de l’évaluation et de la suspension (EO) qui repré-

40

Les directives sont disponibles sur : www.worldbank.org/wbi/governance/fra.

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sente le premier niveau de la procédure d’administration des sanctions. L’EO détermine si les éléments de preuve présentés par l’INT sont suﬃsants pour conclure qu’une infraction passible de sanctions a été commise ; il peut par la suite adresser une « Notiﬁcation de procédure de sanctions » qui indique la sanction recommandée et détermine si une suspension à titre temporaire doit entrer en vigueur en attendant l’aboutissement de la procédure de sanctions. Si l’entreprise ou le particulier conteste les allégations de l’INT et/ou la sanction recommandée par l’EO, l’aﬀaire est renvoyée au Conseil des sanctions de la Banque mondiale (ci-après le Conseil) qui représente le deuxième niveau de la procédure d’administration des sanctions. Le Conseil, qui se compose de trois membres des services de la Banque mondiale et de quatre personnes venues de l’extérieur de l’institution, examine les preuves avancées contre l’entreprise ou le particulier, de même que la réponse de l’entreprise ou du particulier, avant d’arrêter sa décision ﬁnale. La Banque mondiale peut alors recourir à des sanctions que sont une lettre publique de réprimande, une exclusion, une non-exclusion conditionnelle, une exclusion avec levée conditionnelle ou une réparation. On le saisit, des standards spéciﬁques ont été élaborés et une procédure particulière mise en place au sein d’une organisation internationale pour en assurer le respect. La sanction de leur non-respect tient aux avantages de la participation aux activités de l’organisation. C. Normes et standards sur le blanchiment d’argent et activités d’évaluation des institutions ﬁnanciers De nombreux acteurs sont impliqués dans la lutte contre le blanchiment d’argent. Il faut tout d’abord évoquer le Groupe d’action ﬁnancière sur le blanchiment des capitaux (GAFI). Il s’agit d’un organisme créé par décision du G7 en 1989 qui promeut des mécanismes de lutte anti-blanchiment d’argent dont l’application se fait au travers des ses Etats membres. Le plus important travail du GAFI a été l’adoption de Recommandations. Celles-ci couvrent des mesures de justice pénale et relatives au système ﬁnancier ou encore à la coopération internationale. Le GAFI dispose de mécanismes de surveillance accrus (évaluations propres des Etats, visites d’experts aﬁn d’aiguiller ou contraindre, par un système de « peer pressure », si nécessaire, les États qui ne se conformeraient pas aux Recommandations). Typiquement, la liste des Etats non coopératifs révèle la nature quasi-contraignante d’un tel système. Le GAFI « encourage » également l’adoption et la mise en œuvre des mécanismes de lutte anti-blanchiment d’argent dans le monde entier. Les mécanismes de promotion de mise en œuvre se font par paliers, de la simple visite aux pays concernés jusqu’à la suggestion aux membres de ne pas avoir de contacts ou de limiter les relations économiques avec des Etats non-membres qui ne se conformeraient pas au régime des Recommandations.

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Le FMI contribue lui aussi aux eﬀorts déployés au plan international dans la lutte contre le blanchiment des capitaux et le ﬁnancement du terrorisme. En mars 2004, le Conseil d’administration de l’organisation a décidé que les évaluations des dispositifs en matière de blanchiment d’argent lié au ﬁnancement du terrorisme et les travaux d’assistance technique connexes feraient désormais partie intégrante du travail du FMI. Dans le même temps, le Conseil d’administration a décidé d’élargir la portée de ces activités pour couvrir la totalité du champ des recommandations du GAFI. Le FMI exerce des fonctions d’évaluation et de contrôle dans la lutte contre le blanchiment des capitaux et le ﬁnancement du terrorisme. Les évaluations des forces et des faiblesses du secteur ﬁnancier réalisées dans le cadre du programme d’évaluation du secteur ﬁnancier (PESF) ou du programme des places ﬁnancières oﬀshore comprennent une évaluation du mécanisme concernant le blanchiment d’argent de la juridiction concernée. Ces évaluations menées avec la Banque mondiale, le GAFI ou les organismes régionaux du type GAFI, visent à mesurer le respect des « 40+9 recommandations » du GAFI selon une méthodologie commune.41

5. L’OMC et la normalisation internationale Certains accords de l’Organisation Mondiale du Commerce (OMC) font référence à des standards développés dans des fora extérieurs à l’OMC. Ces standards internationaux sont le fait de diﬀérents acteurs, que ce soit des Etats, des organisations internationales, des ONG ou encore des associations professionnelles. Le particularisme du mécanisme de référence à des standards au sein de l’OMC est qu’il repose sur un double système d’identiﬁcation. Les Etats parties aux accords concernés ont décidé qu’il pourra être fait recours à des standards. Ils ont en même temps conditionné le recours à ceux-ci par le biais de diverses techniques (identiﬁcation nominative, domaines concernés, approbation préalable). La normalisation est de ce fait enchâssée dans un régime juridique particulier.42 Non contraignants à leur origine, les standards peuvent acquérir un statut formel du fait de la référence qui y est faite au sein de certains accords de l’OMC. Il est intéressant à cet eﬀet de noter qu’au sein de cette organisation, les Accords sur les mesures sanitaires et phytosanitaires (SPS) et sur les obstacles

41 42

Voir : http://www.imf.org/external/np/exr/facts/fre/bankingf.htm. Voir G. Marceau, J.-P. Trachtman, ‘Responding to National Concerns’, in: D. Bethlehem, D. McRae, R. Neufeld, I. Van Damme (eds.), Oxford Handbook of International Trade Law (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 209–236.

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techniques au commerce (OTC) se réfèrent l’un explicitement et l’autre implicitement aux standards développés par la Commission du Codex Alimentarius, l’Oﬃce international des épizooties (maintenant dénommé Organisation mondiale de la santé animale), l’Organisation internationale pour la normalisation (ISO) et aux standards développés dans le cadre de la Convention internationale pour la protection des végétaux. L’Accord sur les mesures sanitaires et phytosanitaires (SPS) et l’Accord sur les obstacles techniques au commerce (OTC) se réfèrent explicitement ou implicitement à ces ensembles de standards internationaux, comme base présumée de la conformité des mesures des Etats de l’OMC. L’article 3.2 de l’Accord SPS prévoit, par exemple, que « les mesures sanitaires ou phytosanitaires qui sont conformes aux normes, directives ou recommandations internationales seront réputées être nécessaires à la protection de la vie et de la santé des personnes et des animaux ou à la préservation des végétaux, et présumées être compatibles avec les dispositions pertinentes de l’Accord SPS et du GATT de 1994 ». Partant, un Etat membre de l’OMC qui adopte une mesure sanitaire ou phytosanitaire conforme à un ou des standards reconnus par l’Accord SPS, ne sera en principe pas soumis à l’obligation de prouver ou de justiﬁer scientiﬁquement ladite mesure. A contrario, un Etat qui recourt à des normes plus protectrices que les standards internationaux visés, devra prouver scientiﬁquement le bien fondé de sa mesure. Les enjeux sont multiples. Il s’agit à la fois de laisser aux Etats la possibilité de se référer à des normes qu’ils estiment importantes de suivre dans la conduite de leurs politiques. Il s’agit aussi de normaliser les comportements, aﬁn d’éliminer les entraves aux principes de libre-échange. La question de l’adoption d’un standard et des conditions de son adoption pour évaluer sa valeur juridique a été soulevée à l’OMC dans l’aﬀaire Communautés européennes – Désignation commerciale des sardines.43 Dans cette aﬀaire, la Communauté Européenne avait allégué le fait que pour qu’un standard puisse être couvert par l’Accord sur les obstacles techniques au commerce (OTC), il devait au préalable avoir été adopté par voie de consensus. Le groupe spécial et l’Organe d’appel ont rejeté cette interprétation relative à ladite pertinence d’un standard, considérant que « [l]a déﬁnition d’une ‘norme’ [standard en anglais] ﬁgurant à l’Annexe 1.2 de l’Accord OTC n’exige pas qu’il y ait eu approbation par consensus s’agissant de normes adoptées par un ‘organisme reconnu’ de la communauté internationale à activité normative . . . ».44 En d’autres termes, les organes de règlement des diﬀérends de l’OMC ont considéré que la déﬁnition d’une norme ﬁgurant à l’Annexe 1.2 de l’Accord OTC ne requiert point une

43

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Communautés européennes – Désignation commerciale des sardines, Rapport de l’Organe d’appel, 26 septembre 2002, doc. WT/DS231/AB/R, disponible sur www.wto.org. Ibid., para. 219–227.

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approbation par consensus et que partant une norme internationale pourrait s’appliquer dans le cadre de l’OMC même si elle n’a pas été adoptée par voie de consensus. Ce raisonnement bien que progressiste, présente certains risques. Dans le contexte actuel où un statut important est accordé aux standards internationaux, il est crucial de prendre en considération les conséquences juridiques qui résultent de l’objection des Etats vis-à-vis d’une norme internationale. Cela est important pour objectiver ce qui est ou ce qui n’est pas une « norme internationale pertinente » au sens des Accords de l’Organisation mondiale du commerce (OMC) et plus spéciﬁquement de l’Accord sur les obstacles techniques au commerce (OTC). La question se pose de savoir si les organes de règlement des diﬀérends de l’OMC peuvent appliquer mutatis mutandis un raisonnement analogue à celui formulé dans l’aﬀaire Sardines à des standards donnant formellement la possibilité d’objecter (technique plus généralement connue sous le nom d’opting out)45 ou reposant sur un système d’adhésion volontaire. Autrement-dit, un Etat pourrait-il se voir opposer une norme internationale au sein de l’OMC alors qu’il n’a pas approuvé cette norme lors de son adoption ou qu’il n’y a pas encore volontairement adhéré ? De la réponse à ce questionnement dépend le développement progressif voire « durable » des standards internationaux. Dans l’hypothèse où une plus grande déférence est accordée dans le futur au processus d’adoption/approbation des normes internationales, la compétence des organisations internationales en matière d’élaboration et d’adoption de normes internationales pourra se développer et se consolider sans être confrontée à la résistance des Etats. Dans l’hypothèse contraire, un bloc de résistance risque d’apparaître au grand jour et d’obstruer sinon de faire échec au développement de la standardisation internationale dans certains domaines sensibles tel le commerce international. Pour l’heure, l’approche de l’aﬀaire Communautés Européennes – Désignation commerciale des sardines ne semble pas avoir fait des émules. D’autres approches ont été préconisées par les organes de règlement des diﬀérends de l’OMC. Par exemple, dans l’aﬀaire Communautés européennes – Mesures aﬀectant l’approbation et la commercialisation de produits biotechnologiques (communément dénommée « CE – Produits biotechnologiques »), le Groupe spécial a opté pour une approche consistant à consulter certaines organisations de standardisation internationale intervenant dans le champ des biotechnologies comme le Codex Alimentarius, le Secrétariat de la Convention internationale pour la protection

45

Voir M. M. Mbengue, ‘Technique de l’ « opting out » : acceptation par les Etats des normes techniques internationales’, in : E. Brosset, E. Truilhé (dir.), Les enjeux de la normalisation technique internationale : Entre environnement, santé et commerce international, op. cit., pp. 121–152.

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des végétaux (CIPV), l’Organisation mondiale de la santé animale (OIE) et le Secrétariat de la Convention sur la diversité biologique (CBD) aﬁn que ces organisations lui indiquent les documents oﬃciels, normes et lignes directrices pertinents pour déterminer le sens ordinaire de certains termes utilisés dans les déﬁnitions ﬁgurant à l’Annexe A de l’Accord SPS.46 Cette approche a le mérite d’être horizontale. La démarche des organes de règlement des diﬀérends dans l’aﬀaire Sardines susmentionnée est plutôt de nature verticale dans la mesure où tant le Groupe spécial que l’Organe d’appel ont décidé de la valeur normative et de l’applicabilité au diﬀérend d’une norme Codex sans véritablement consulter la Commission du Codex Alimentarius sur les tenants et les aboutissants de la procédure d’adoption de ladite norme Codex. L’horizontalité de l’approche retenue par le Groupe spécial dans l’aﬀaire CE – Produits biotechnologiques se manifeste essentiellement dans la dynamique de consultation qui a animé le Groupe spécial dans l’identiﬁcation des « normes internationales pertinentes » applicables aux ﬁns du règlement du diﬀérend sur les produits biotechnologiques. Cette dynamique est à même de permettre aux Etats d’exercer un certain contrôle et d’avoir un droit de regard plus important sur les normes internationales auxquelles pourraient se référer les organes de règlement des diﬀérends de l’OMC dans l’interprétation et l’application des Accords de l’OMC. En eﬀet, comme l’a expressément rappelé le Groupe spécial : « S’agissant de la décision de demander des renseignements à des organisations internationales, il convient de noter que les parties ont été consultées au sujet aussi bien des organisations internationales auxquelles des renseignements seraient demandés que de la liste des termes sur lesquels des renseignements seraient demandés. Compte tenu de l’avis des parties, le Groupe spécial a décidé qu’il demanderait des renseignements aux secrétariats de la CBD, du Codex, de la FAO, de la CIPV, de l’OIE, du PNUE et de l’OMS. En décembre 2004, le Groupe spécial a pris contact avec ces organisations et les a invitées à indiquer les références types appropriées (dictionnaires scientiﬁques ou techniques, documents adoptés ou distribués par l’organisation internationale pertinente, etc.) qui l’aideraient à s’assurer du sens de certains termes et concepts. Il a été ménagé aux parties la possibilité de présenter des observations par écrit sur les données communiquées au Groupe spécial par les organisations internationales ».47 Le Groupe spécial dans les aﬀaires Etats-Unis – Maintien de la suspension des obligations dans l’aﬀaire CE – Hormones48 et Canada – Maintien de la suspension 46

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Communautés Européennes – Mesures aﬀectant l’approbation et la commercialisation de produits biotechnologiques, Rapport du Groupe spécial, WT/DS291/R, WT/DS292/R, WT/DS293/R, 29 septembre 2006, para. 7.96. Communautés Européennes – Mesures aﬀectant l’approbation et la commercialisation de produits biotechnologiques, op. cit., para. 7.31. (italiques ajoutés) Etats-Unis – Maintien de la suspension des obligations dans l’aﬀaire CE – Hormones, Rapport du Groupe spécial, 31 mars 2008, WT/DS320/R, para. 1.8.

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des obligations dans l’aﬀaire CE – Hormones,49 a adopté une approche proche de celle du Groupe spécial établi dans l’aﬀaire CE – Produits biotechnologiques. Après avoir consulté les parties au diﬀérend, le Groupe spécial a sollicité l’avis de la Commission du Codex Alimentarius (Codex), du Comité mixte FAO/ OMS d’experts des additifs alimentaires (JECFA) et du Centre international de recherche sur le cancer (CIRC) sur des questions scientiﬁques et techniques. Le Groupe spécial a aussi rencontré quatre représentants du Codex, du JECFA et du CIRC en présence des parties au diﬀérend. Cette forme de collaboration entre les organes de règlement des diﬀérends de l’OMC et les organisations de normalisation internationale, paraît garantir une lecture appropriée de la portée et du contenu des standards élaborés au sein des fora de normalisation internationale. Elle permet également une lecture plus harmonieuse et plus cohérente des multiples standards internationaux formulés par diﬀérentes institutions dans un champ donné, et d’ainsi leur faire jouer le mieux possible leur rôle d’instruments de normalisation. Un déﬁ nouveau se proﬁle à l’horizon des standards internationaux ayant un impact sur le commerce international : c’est celui de la cohérence entre standards internationaux élaborés par la « communauté internationale à activité normative » et standards privés. Les risques d’entrechoquement en matière de standards relatifs au commerce international se font de plus en plus visibles avec le développement exponentiel de standards privés venant concurrencer les organisations de normalisation internationale dans leurs champs traditionnels d’activités. Le Comité international de l’Organisation mondiale de la santé animale (OIE) a adopté en mai 2008 lors de sa 76ème Session générale, une résolution qui traduit tout le malaise qui résulte de l’accroissement des standards privés dans le commerce international.50 La résolution rappelle tout d’abord que

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Canada – Maintien de la suspension des obligations dans l’aﬀaire CE – Hormones, Rapport du Groupe spécial, 31 mars 2008, WT/DS321/R, para. 1.8. Voir, Comité international de l’OIE, Résolution XXXII, ‘Implications des normes privées dans le commerce international des animaux et des produits d’origine animale’, 76ème Session Générale, 25–30 mai 2008. Le Comité décide dans la résolution : « 1. De conﬁrmer les normes publiées par l’OIE dans le domaine de la santé animale, y compris les zoonoses, comme les garanties sanitaires oﬃcielles mondiales pour la prévention des risques lies au commerce international des animaux et des produits d’origine animale, tout en permettant d’éviter des restrictions sanitaires injustiﬁées qui font obstacle aux échanges, ainsi que pour la promotion de la prévention et du contrôle des maladies animales dans le monde. 2. De conﬁrmer les normes publiées par l’OIE dans le domaine du bien-être animal comme la norme de référence mondiale pour les Membres de l’OIE, 3. De demander au Directeur général de collaborer avec les organisations internationales publiques et privées compétentes en vue de prendre en compte les préoccupations des Membres et de s’assurer que les normes privées, lorsqu’elles sont utilisées, sont cohérentes avec celles publiées par l’OIE et ne sont pas en contradiction avec celles-ci, 4. De demander au Directeur général d’aider les Membres à prendre toutes les mesures applicables pour garantir que les normes privées relatives à la santé et au bien-être des animaux, lorsqu’elles

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« l’Organisation mondiale du commerce, en vertu de l’Accord sur l’application des mesures sanitaires et phytosanitaires, reconnaît oﬃciellement l’OIE en tant qu’organisation de référence responsable de l’établissement des normes internationales relatives aux maladies animales, y compris les zoonoses » et que « les 172 Membres actuels de l’OIE et la communauté internationale en général reconnaissent l’OIE comme l’organisation responsable de l’établissement des normes pour la surveillance des maladies animales, la santé et le bien-être des animaux, dans le but de fournir une base scientiﬁque pour la sécurité du commerce international des animaux et des produits d’origine animale et l’amélioration de la santé et du bien-être des animaux dans le monde ». La question de la légitimité des standards privés est donc posée. Le principe de leur conformité à d’autres standards techniques – notamment ceux élaborés par la « communauté internationale à activité normative » – est revendiqué. On est confronté à la question générale de l’habilitation de certains organismes à édicter des standards et des critères à cet eﬀet. Il apparaît que des règles secondaires au sens de la terminologie de Hart seront appelées à être développées.51 Ces règles, telles celles de primauté, de cohérence et de non-contradiction, devraient permettre d’éviter un « standards shopping »52 dans le champ du commerce international et garantir la prévisibilité en matière de normes internationales.53

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sont utilisées, sont cohérentes avec celles publiées par l’OIE et ne sont pas en contradiction avec celles-ci ». Au sens de « secondary rules of recognition », H. L. A. Hart, The Concept of Law (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1996), p. 101. Voir sur la question du risque de « standards shopping », V. Richard, ‘Normes techniques internationales : articulations, collisions et perspectives’, in : E. Brosset, E. Truilhé (dir.), Les enjeux de la normalisation technique internationale : Entre environnement, santé et commerce international, op. cit., pp. 265–282. D’intenses discussions ont lieu sur les standards privés au sein du Comité SPS de l’OMC. Certains membres de l’OMC, tels que le Chili et l’UE, estiment que les normes privées pouvaient générer des échanges parce que les exportateurs respectant les normes pourraient vendre plus facilement leurs produits. Cependant, d’autres Etats membres (par exemple Saint-Vincent et les Grenadines, les Bahamas, l’Égypte, Cuba et le Brésil) soutiennent que la prolifération des normes qui sont ﬁxées sans qu’il y ait eu consultation pose un problème aux petites économies, et que les normes privées entrent souvent en conﬂit avec celles qui sont ﬁxées par les gouvernements et les organisations internationales. Enﬁn, d’autres pays comme l’Argentine font valoir que, dans la pratique, ces normes privées volontaires pourraient devenir obligatoires: si un fournisseur ne s’y conformait pas, il serait exclu du marché. Voir, Secrétariat de l’OMC, doc. G/SPS/GEN/746, 24 janvier 2007. Ce document examine des exemples de normes privées (systèmes propres à des entreprises, systèmes collectifs nationaux et systèmes collectifs internationaux) et les problèmes commerciaux qu’elles posent, ainsi que la manière dont elles s’articulent avec l’Accord SPS de l’OMC. Les questions que le Comité SPS pourrait examiner sont également abordées en conclusion de ce document. Parmi ces questions ﬁgurent : la relation entre les organismes de normalisation privés et internationaux; ce que les gouvernements pourraient faire pour respecter leur obligation d’assurer que les organismes

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6. Les standards en tant que passerelles vers le droit positif Les standards et le droit positif peuvent cohabiter à ﬁn de complémentarité dans l’objectif poursuivi. Diﬀérentes interactions peuvent être discernées. Ainsi, dans le domaine de la biomédecine, les standards permettent une maturation de la norme, préparant « le passage toujours diﬃcile de l’éthique au droit. »54 Cette réﬂexion renvoie à la question plus générale de la légitimité du processus de décision international et celle du statut des ONG et de leur participation dans l’élaboration des normes aux côtés des Etats. Il convient alors de dépasser les approches traditionnelles qui peinent à rendre compte de la diversiﬁcation croissante des modes d’expression et de production juridique au plan international.55 Sur le plan national comme international, ces standards qui ont longtemps fonctionné comme des substituts au droit positif, entretiennent aujourd’hui avec celui-ci des rapports complexes et ambigus. Cela est vrai lorsque ces instruments reprennent des règles contenues dans des conventions internationales. Cette reprise de normes existantes ne doit pas être sous estimée dans la mesure où cela permet une plus grande dissémination et une « internalisation » de ces règles dans les ordres juridiques nationaux. Il s’agit de l’émergence lente mais réelle d’un ordre public international en matière de bioéthique qui, malgré ses contours encore ﬂous, résulte de l’ensemble des instruments applicables en ce domaine. Sur un autre niveau, des déclarations d’ONG ont pu être reprises par des organisations internationales. Il y a là un véritable eﬀet de sédimentation. On peut citer, à titre d’exemple, la Déclaration d’Helsinki de 1964 élaborée par l’Association médicale mondiale et relative aux expérimentations médicales sur l’homme, ou encore la Déclaration de Manille de 1981 adoptée par le Conseil des organisations internationales des sciences médicales et relative aux recherches biomédicales. Cette dernière a été reprise dans une résolution de l’OMS.56 On doit tout particulièrement mettre l’accent sur l’eﬀet incitatif, « entraînant » des travaux réalisés par les ONG et associations professionnelles. Les bonnes pratiques et usages développés par celles-ci peuvent se voir reconnaître le statut de principes en droit international au terme d’un processus de maturation. L’exemple du principe du consentement éclairé est particulièrement intéressant

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privés se conforment à l’Accord SPS; la relation avec d’autres domaines de l’OMC tels que les obstacles techniques au commerce. S. Maljean-Dubois, ‘Bioéthique et droit international’, AFDI, 2000, 86. N. Lenoir, B. Mathieu, Les normes internationales de la bioéthique (Que sais-je ?, PUF, 1998), pp. 4–5. L. Boisson de Chazournes, S. Maljean-Dubois, ‘Normes ‘parajuridiques’, système concurrent ou complémentaire ?’, in: B. Feuillet-Le Mintier (dir.), Normativité et biomédecine (Etudes juridiques, Economica, 2003), p. 220.

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à ce propos. Il peut s’agir aussi d’un eﬀet permissif quand les instruments adoptés par les ONG sont directement appliqués par les organismes professionnels concernés dans le cadre de leurs activités. Dans le domaine de la bioéthique, la complémentarité entre standards et droit positif joue à la faveur du développement de ce dernier. Toutefois, au-delà de ce constat, il peut se poser un problème en termes de cohérence. Peut-on pallier les insuﬃsances du droit international de la bioéthique en se fondant uniquement sur des instruments auxquels on dénie la qualité de droit positif? Les standards sont utiles mais ne peuvent se suﬃre à eux-mêmes. Les standards participent à la clariﬁcation du débat et apportent des réponses. Mais la volonté étatique doit absolument regagner du terrain en ce domaine. A l’échelon régional européen, la négociation et la conclusion d’accords réglementant les questions de bioéthique n’ont pas donné de résultats décisifs du fait du problème d’un manque de ratiﬁcations. A l’échelon mondial, les travaux à venir, sans doute au sein de l’UNESCO, doivent constituer une base importante pour inscrire la discussion dans un cadre universel. L’introduction de règles contraignantes donnerait des assises plus étayées aux normes et standards.

Conclusion La régulation, et notamment le recours à des standards internationaux, constituent une illustration de l’évolution de la technique normative à des ﬁns d’adaptation du droit à de nouveaux enjeux de la société internationale. En eﬀet, les canaux traditionnels de production de la règle de droit international obéissent à des logiques qui s’accommodent parfois peu avec les besoins des divers acteurs sur la scène internationale. Dans l’ordre international, le standard donne une mesure moyenne de conduite sociale, susceptible de s’adapter aux particularités de chaque hypothèse déterminée. La règle de droit donne une solution stable à une hypothèse déterminée. Stabilité quant aux faits prévus, et stabilité quant à la solution applicable à ces faits, tels sont les traits caractéristiques de la règle. Le standard présente des aspects de souplesse et d’adaptabilité. Ceux-ci apparaissent adéquats dans les domaines où le besoin d’adaptation et d’évolution l’emporte sur le besoin de sécurité juridique entendue au sens du droit positif.57 Les normes et standards que nous avons analysés ne sont pas constitutifs de stratégies d’évitement d’engagements de portée contraignante, ni ne sont des échappatoires commodes à l’obligatoriété de la norme de facture classique. Ils

57

Voir L. Boisson de Chazournes, ‘Normes, standards et règles en droit international’, in : E. Brosset, E. Truilhé (dir.), Les enjeux de la normalisation technique internationale : Entre environnement, santé et commerce international, op cit., p. 44.

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prennent appui sur celle-ci, en remplissent les interstices ou comblent les vides dans un ordre juridique encore très horizontal. Ils ne constituent pas pour autant une panacée et le besoin peut être ressenti de les transcrire dans des normes de droit positif, de dimension nationale et internationale. Alliant incitation, démarche processuelle et recherche de stratégies plus inclusives, ils peuvent ne pas remplir les fonctions et besoins recherchés. Les mécanismes de contrôle et de sanction qui les accompagnent jouent le rôle d’avertisseur et de correcteur. Ces derniers peuvent néanmoins ne pas suﬃre et demander à être complétés par d’autres mécanismes. Ils n’excluent bien évidemment pas le recours à des normes et mécanismes de contrôle de facture classique, de nature juridictionnelle par exemple. Leurs interventions respectives relèvent de stratégies diﬀérentes qui ne sont pas exclusives les unes des autres. En outre, la viabilité de ce phénomène « régulatoire » est liée à un déﬁ majeur qui est celui de sa légitimité. Le processus décisionnel qu’il soit la résultante de l’action des gouvernements, des organisations internationales ou régionales, des associations intergouvernementales d’oﬃciels et d’experts, d’agences privées de régulation, d’entreprises multinationales ou d’autres acteurs doit traduire cette exigence. Un eﬀort doit être fait pour brosser les critères de légitimité. L’un de ceux-ci tient à la manière dont le standard a été élaboré. Le problème de la légitimité et des eﬀets juridiques des standards ne réside pas seulement dans la question de savoir si les États ou les autres acteurs concernés y ont adhéré ou non, ou ont voulu être liés ou non par lesdits standards. Il consiste aussi dans le fait de savoir comment le standard a été élaboré, c’est-à-dire qui a participé au processus d’élaboration et qui en a été exclu, et quelle expertise a été prise en compte. Les principes de non-exclusion, de transparence, de participation publique, d’accès à l’information peuvent être des indicateurs d’une régulation plus légitime.58 L’établissement de fora publics de discussion sur les normes techniques, dans lesquels tous les intérêts concernés seraient représentés, est également une voie à envisager. Les voix multiples pourraient être entendues et prises en compte aﬁn de trouver une solution commune ou un consensus qui satisfasse la plupart des acteurs concernés à défaut de chaque personne. Des communautés épistémiques existent déjà (telles les associations scientiﬁques ou celles de banquiers); elles pourraient s’ouvrir à d’autres participants. Les réﬂexions sur ladite légitimité des standards internationaux se doivent d’accompagner le mouvement en expansion de recours à de nouvelles formes de régulation internationale.

58

Pour une systématisation juridique du jeu de ces principes au travers du concept de ‘Global Administrative Law’, voir B. Kingsbury, ‘The Concept of ‘ Law ‘ in Global Administrative Law’, 1 EJIL, 2009, 23–57 et B. Kingsbury, N. Krisch, R. B. Stewart, ‘The Emergence of Global Administrative Law’, 68 Law and Contemporary Problems, 2005, 15–61.

Chapter 18 Towards an International Law of Responsibility: Early Doctrine James Crawford, Thomas Grant, Francesco Messineo

1. Introduction Any system of law must address the responsibility of its subjects for breaches of their obligations. For a long time, however, responsibility was ignored or touched on only incidentally in international law doctrine. Writers concerned themselves with substantive ﬁelds such as the law of the sea, the laws of war, diplomatic relations or the law concerning treatment of foreigners. Their main interest was in identifying speciﬁc rules and practices associated with each ﬁeld and, sometimes, in identifying the mechanisms by which States might seek to vindicate their rights, especially through reprisals and war. When they treated responsibility at all, writers treated it as an incident of the substantive law, lacking any systematic order or basis. Responsibility would emerge as a discrete topic for study in the late 19th century. The earlier history shows that a considerable change in legal conception was necessary, before this development could take place. Vitoria, Suarez, Bodin and other early writers did not identify responsibility as a legal category. They tended to approach the question from a theological point of view: the sovereign by deﬁnition answered to no temporal authority; it (or he) answered only to God.1 Pierino Belli and Alberico Gentili gave some consideration to the issue of the responsibility of citizens for the wrongs of the sovereign (and vice versa).2 Both however lacked any secure concept of representation of the citizen by the sovereign and as such could treat issues of responsibility only in a contingent, ad hoc way. Much the same is true of

1 2

Jean Bodin, Six livres de la République (1576), Bk. I, ch. VIII, English translation, 25 ﬀ. Pierino Belli of Alba, De Re Militari et Bello Tractactus (1563), part X, ch. II, Carnegie translation, 296–298; Alberico Gentili, De Legationibus (1594), Bk. II, ch. VI, Carnegie translation, 72–76, and De Jure Belli (1612), Bk. III, ch. XXIII–XXIV, Carnegie translation, 421–429.

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Grotius, that paradigm intermediary between old and new. It is only with Zouche and Pufendorf that tentative ideas of international obligations and their breach (especially breach of treaty) came to be considered, although still unsystematically.3 Indeed, it is not before the second half of the nineteenth century that a recognizably modern conception of responsibility appeared,4 and even later that a monograph was wholly devoted to the topic of responsibility of States in international law.5

2. Intuitions of Responsibility in the Early Writers A. Italian Precursors of Grotius: Belli and Gentili Bodin is of no particular interest to the evolution of responsibility, given that he proceeded along the lines of earlier writers such as Vitoria and Suarez. A secular approach was needed before responsibility could be considered as a legal topic.6 The relevant pre-Grotian authors were Pierino Belli and Gentili.7 Neither identiﬁed international responsibility as a legal category, but both addressed the question of the bond between the prince and his people with regard to obligations towards other princes: why are citizens to be held responsible for the wrongs of their princes?

3

4 5

6

7

See e.g. Richard Zouche, Iuris et judicii fecialis (1650), part I, sections V and X, Carnegie translation, 27 and 53, and part II, sect. V, 106–111; Samuel von Pufendorf, Elementorum jurisprudentiae universalis (1672), Bk. I, def. XII and def. XXI, Carnegie translation, 71–112 and 199 ﬀ., and Bk. II, axiom I, § 9, 215–216. See also, later on, Cornelius van Bynkershoek, Questionum juris publici (1737), Bk. II, ch. X, Carnegie translation, 190–195, and more explicitly Christian Wolﬀ, Jus gentium methodo scientiﬁca pertractatum (1764), ch. III, §§ 315–318, Carnegie translation, 161 ﬀ. See e.g. August Wilhelm Heﬀter, Le Droit International Public de L’Europe (1857). Clyde Eagleton, The Responsibility of States in International Law, (New York, New York University Press, 1928). See e.g. Bodin, supra note 1, Bk. I, ch. VIII, 35: “. . . the prince is bound as much by the law of nations, but no more, than by any of his own enactments. If the law of nations is iniquitous in any respect, he can disallow it within his own kingdom, and forbid his subjects to observe it, as was done in France in regard to slavery. He can do the same in relation to any other of its provisions, so long as he does nothing against the law of God. If justice is the end of the law, the law the work of the prince, and the prince the image of God, it follows of necessity that the law of the prince should be modelled on the law of God.” See e.g. Belli, supra note 2, Part X, ch. II, 296–298; Bodin, supra note 1, Bk. I, ch. VIII, 25 ﬀ.; Gentili, De Legationibus, supra note 2, Bk. II, ch. VI, 72–76, and De Jure Belli, supra note 2, Bk. III, ch. XXIII–XXIV, 421–429.

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Pierino Belli of Alba (1502–1575) is considered by some to be a precursor of Gentili and Grotius, by others to be the scrappy author of a botched collection of ancient authorities mixed with personal anecdotes. The latter view owes much to Gentili, who deprecated Belli’s work, even as he apparently made unacknowledged use of it.8 Belli’s role has recently been re-evaluated, in light of his observations concerning cruelty and the absolute prohibition against torturing prisoners of war.9 Belli did not address international responsibility as a separate legal category, nor did he have any consistent theory of the State. However, he did consider the question whether “a sovereign of a free state may make peace and, by its terms, remit payment for losses inﬂicted upon its own citizens and subjects”:10 Baldus cites Hostiensis as saying that this is not permissible, unless the populace and those who have suﬀered the loss give their consent, and Panormitanus, too, seems to agree; but, although this is generally true, there is exception if the sovereign takes such action for reasons that concern the public weal, e.g. in the present case, when he so acts in order to secure the blessing of peace. Decio warns that the above must not be forgotten, citing many passages in its conﬁrmation, and declaring that it is the commonly accepted view, from which no one dissents. But Joannes Lupus states that if peace cannot be made on other terms, the populace must acquiesce in the action of a ruler who remits losses; for, although he thereby acts much to the disadvantage of his subjects, on the other hand he beneﬁts them largely in securing peace for them.11

Thus the received view was that the ruler needed the consent of the population before he entered a peace treaty waiving payment of war damage. This implies that the ruler was still only exercising a form of individual power dependent on agency: responsibility relations were in principle individual, not communal. But this was qualiﬁed by something like an agency of necessity – the necessity to make peace and thereby beneﬁt the people. Belli took his argument a step further, in order to consider responsibility of the sovereign for losses suﬀered by the enemy. If the sovereign can be responsible towards his subjects when he wages an unjust war or carries on an unjust resistance to a just war, [m]uch less, therefore, will he be free from responsibility for losses inﬂicted by his soldiers upon the opposing party, whatever may be said in the compact and terms of the peace.

8 9

10 11

See Arrigo Cavaglieri, ‘Introduction’, in Belli, vol. II, Carnegie translation, 11a–28a. See Rinaldo Comba and Gian Savino Pene Vidari (eds.), Un giurista tra principi e sovrani: Pietrino Belli a 500 anni dalla nascita (Alba, Cuneo: Fondazione Ferrero, 2004). Belli, supra note 2, Part X, ch. II, 296. Ibid.

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Chapter 18 And here applies a remark of Barbazza, who cites Petrus de Ancharano, to the eﬀect that even though states by compact have agreed that reparation be not made for the plundering on either side, the plunderers will nevertheless not be safe on the score of conscience; in fact, as he says, the owner of the stolen property may sue for it, the pact notwithstanding.12

Belli went on to suggest recourse to the ecclesiastical tribunal as the mechanism to recover losses against one’s sovereign. The religious and legal arguments are conﬂated; and one should be wary of an English translation of 1936 rendering the Latin ciuitates unequivocally as “States”.13 But again this passage shows the complex relationship between the sovereign and its population. Belli sought to clarify this with an example: [At times, war] is made [between an independent and free sovereign and its] subject – e.g. if the King of France were at war with the Duke of Bourbon, [he] would not be able in the peace pact to excuse the Duke and his followers for losses which had been inﬂicted upon the subjects of the King – unless the King were willing to reimburse them out of his own treasury.14

Another form of responsibility applies in time of war: [S]tates which in time of war occupy strongholds [taken from others than the enemy] that they afterward refuse to restore except on payment of money, do wrong in extorting this price; and they may be sued for the money, notwithstanding the terms of the peace that has ensued.15

Nor can one look to Alberico Gentili (1552–1608) for an autonomous concept of responsibility. In his work on fetial law, Gentili devotes a chapter to the question of countermeasures in the speciﬁc case of “one who has injured the ambassador of another”.16 He holds that “the right of embassy does not hold for the envoy of a sovereign who has violated that right”: To withhold rights from one who has violated them is believed to be not a violation but a rendering of justice. Francis I, the French king, when he heard that his ambassador was being detained by the Emperor Charles, retaliated by detaining the ambassador of the Emperor.17

This rule was to be applied restrictively, i.e. only when the ambassadors had been injured, because “[u]nder other circumstances no violence should be done

12 13

14 15 16 17

Ibid., 297. Ibid., compare vol. I (Carnegie edition, 130b, line 11) with vol. II (Carnegie translation, 297, line 16). Ibid., 298. Ibid. Gentili, De Legationibus, Bk. II, ch. VI, 72 ﬀ.. Ibid., 73.

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to ambassadors, not even if other laws of nations have been violated, for none is to be compared with this in majesty and prestige”.18 In response to the question “what reason is there for punishing the guilty in the person of the innocent?”,19 Gentili replies: But how can he be called innocent who is the personal representative of one who is notoriously guilty? If this were possible, it would never be permissible to take action against the subjects of a sovereign on account of an oﬀense committed by the sovereign, and there would be no war.20

This remark underlines the problem of the relationship between the individual and his sovereign, common to Pierino Belli and in general to all early attempts to detach that relationship from theological considerations. Gentili recognized that it was problematic to hold subjects responsible for their sovereign’s acts (which Vitoria and perhaps Bodin did not), but none of the early writers had a solution, perhaps because this would have required a radical re-thinking of just war theory. In De Jure Belli, Gentili deals at one point with the relation between the conduct of the sovereign and the conduct of the population. He asks whether the actions of the subjects would constitute a breach of the peace treaty if they were contrary to the obligations undertaken by the prince: [T]he question arises, whether not only the people as a whole but also individuals should be regarded as included in a treaty, when no mention is made speciﬁcally of individuals. Decio decided that if the Venetians promised not to do something, the promise was understood to mean that the people as a whole would not do it; for an arrangement which looks to a large number as a whole does not have regard to individuals. Therefore individuals do not break a peace, as was decided by Baldus. ‘Private individuals do not harm the whole body politic.’ . . . That is, unless it was expressly stipulated in the treaty, that not even private individuals should oﬀend; for in that case, the peace would certainly be broken.21

In the last chapter (XXIV) of book III, Gentili addressed the concept of violation of a treaty: A treaty is not violated if one departs from its provisions for a legitimate reason, as Ulpian and Pomponius say of a partnership of individuals . . . If one of the conditions on which a partnership was based is not observed by one of the partners, or if it is not permitted to enjoy the beneﬁts for which the partnership was formed, there is good reason for dissolving the partnership . . . It is to be understood, however, that this one thing must be a matter of prime importance . . .; and reason also

18 19 20 21

Ibid., 74. Ibid., 73. Ibid., 73–74. Gentili, De Jure Belli, supra note 2, Bk. III, ch. XXIII, 421.

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Chapter 18 tells us (whatever some may also maintain about trivial causes) that an important contract should not be annulled because of an insigniﬁcant matter. Trivial things are always happening, simply because they are trivial, and therefore all contracts would be most unstable, if it were lawful to withdraw from them on account of some trivial and unimportant matter. The justice of the law of nations does not allow this. But is war to be made because of a trivial reason? The law in that case is buried under the syllables and ﬁne distinctions of the pettifoggers.22

Gentili gives reasons why certain actions might not constitute a breach of treaty, or are to be excused: Certainly necessity and superior force will excuse an ally from being considered a breaker of treaties . . . Furthermore, the peace will not be said to be broken if the failure to observe a given condition does not result in oﬀence; for example, if it was promised that something should be done within a given number of days, and it was not done.23

B. Grotius: Civil Law Obligations with no Equivalent in the Law of Nations Not even Hugo Grotius (1583–1645) identiﬁes international responsibility as a legal category, despite his more systematic approach. He deals with responsibility for war but in the context of individual leaders and their punishment.24 In a chapter “On the Sharing of Punishments” he discusses inter alia “the distinction between that which is inﬂicted directly and that which comes as a consequence.”25 In keeping with his rudimentary approach to the State, he makes no clear distinction between individual and State responsibility.26 The interchangeability of individual and State can be seen in Chapter XVII of Book II entitled “On Damage Caused Through Injury, and the Obligation Arising Therefrom.” The chapter largely concerns obligations under the law of nature or under the civil laws. As to the former Grotius refers to what is due by the law of nature in consequence of a wrong. By a wrong we here mean every fault, whether of commission or of omission, which is in conﬂict with what men ought to do, either from their common interest or by reason of a special quality. From such a fault, if damage has been caused, by the law of nature an obligation arises, namely, that the damage should be made good.27

22 23 24 25

26

27

Ibid., ch. XXIV, 427. Ibid., 428–429. Hugo Grotius, De Jure Belli Ac Pacis, Bk. III, ch. XI, §§ v–vii, Carnegie translation, 729–33. Grotius, ibid., Bk. II ch. XXI, 537; also 523–6: “A community, or its rulers, may be held responsible for the crime of a subject if they know of it and do not prevent it when they could and should prevent it”. See Yasuaki Onuma, ‘Just Causes of War’, in: Onuma (ed.), A Normative approach to war: peace, war, and justice in Hugo Grotius (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 88–90. Grotius, supra note 24, Bk. II, ch. XVII, §i,, 430.

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There follows a rather miscellaneous discussion of property, rights and compensation within civil society. Only two paragraphs deal with issues of the law of nations, and in each Grotius’s point is to distinguish such issues from those governed by the law of nature or the civil law. Thus whereas one who “has caused a contract or promise to be made by means of deceit or violence, or an unjust fear, is bound to free absolutely the person thus dealt with,”28 the same is not true for public wars: [B]y the consent of nations the rule has been introduced that all wars declared and waged by the authority of the sovereigns on both sides should be considered lawful as regards their external eﬀects, of which we shall speak below; and so also it follows that the fear of such a war is considered as just up to the point that what has been obtained by it cannot be demanded back. In this sense the distinction of Cicero can be admitted, between public enemies, on the one side, with whom by the agreement of nations we have, as he says, many rights in common, and on the other side pirates and robbers. For if pirates and robbers have extorted anything by fear its return can be demanded, unless an oath prevents; but such a demand cannot be made on public enemies. The opinion of Polybius, therefore, that the Carthaginians had a just cause for the Second Punic War, because the Romans by threatening war had forced from them the island of Sardinia, and also money, when they were occupied with the revolt of their mercenaries, has a certain appearance of natural justice; it is, however, at variance with the law of nations, as will be explained elsewhere.29

The point emerges as well when considering the obligations of sovereigns to make reparation for damage done by their soldiers. Such obligations, done without the superior’s individual fault, are compensable only under the Civil Law: Kings, again, are not liable if their soldiers or sailors have injured friends contrary to orders; and this rule has been approved by witness of France and England. The liability of one for the acts of his servants without fault of his own does not belong to the law of nations, according to which this question has to be settled, but to municipal law; and that not a universal rule, but one introduced as against sailors and some other persons for particular reasons. A decision was rendered to that eﬀect by the judges of the supreme court against certain Pomeranians; and this decision was in accordance with a precedent established two centuries earlier in a similar case.30

By contrast Grotius’s work on civil (Roman-Dutch) law contains a general account of obligation: obligations can either arise from “the duty of benevolence”, “the duty of keeping faith” or “the duty of making amends from

28 29 30

Ibid., Bk. II, ch. XVII, § xvii, 435. Ibid., Bk. II, ch. XVII, § xix, 435–436. Ibid., Bk. II, ch. XVII, § xx.2, 437.

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wrongdoing”.31 This is further explained, and the kinds of obligation arising from delict and generally from an unlawful act are considered.32 One reason why none of the early writers identiﬁed responsibility as a legal category, or dealt with it other than incidentally, was the virtual absence of procedures and institutions at the international level that might have required clear distinctions to be drawn between the State and its nationals, or that might have focussed on excuses for non-performance or on the content of the obligation of reparation. Such institutions as there were – short of war itself – tended to create more diﬃculties than they resolved and were prone to abuse. The system of letters of marque,33 not to mention measures against ambassadors, typiﬁed the institutions of the time and the problems they created. Another reason for the absence of a clearly conceived idea of responsibility was the rudimentary treatment of the law of obligations in Roman law. Ibbetson notes that by the time of Justinian there had developed a fairly elaborate classiﬁcation of rights as in rem or in personam; within the latter category, contract, delict, quasi-contract and quasi-delict were distinguished.34 Nonetheless, according to Zweigert and Kötz: Roman lawyers . . . never arrived at the general principle that everyone is responsible for the harm he is to blame for causing. This principle had to wait until the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries for its promulgation by the great natural lawyers, especially Grotius and Domat. Thereafter it made its way into many of the codes of Europe.35

But insofar as Grotius set out such general principles, this was in his work on the civil law; they are hardly to be found in his work on the law of nations.

31

32 33

34

35

Grotius, Inleiding tot de Hollandsche Rechts-geleertheyd (1631), Bk. III, ch. I, § 3, English translation, 293. Ibid., ch. XXXII, 459 ﬀ. Letters of marque and reprisal were rejected over the course of the 19th century. The European States, by the Declaration of Paris, 30 March 1856, 15 NRG (1st ser) 791, had agreed that letters of marque are unlawful. The United States declared in the Civil War (1861–5) and Spanish-American War (1898) that it would not issue letters of marque. See ES Maclay A History of American Privateers (New York: Appleton & Co, 1899), p. xxiii; W Winthrop, ‘The United States and the Declaration of Paris’, 3 Yale LJ, 1894, p. 116. David J. Ibbetson, A Historical Introduction to the Law of Obligations (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 1–10, esp. pp. 6–10. Konrad Zweigert and Hein Kötz, Introduction to Comparative Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 597. See also Christian von Bar, The Common European Law of Torts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), vol. I, pp. 1–5.

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3. Developments in the Post-Grotian Literature In the period after Grotius, the notion of international obligations arising from the breach of treaties and other wrongs gradually found its way into legal thinking, but the process was slow, hesitant and uneven. Zouche conceptualized wrongs among States either at peace or at war, and identiﬁed certain questions of the imputability of actions to the sovereign and of excuses for breach of treaties and other wrongs.36 Pufendorf did not separate international law from other natural law governing relationships between citizens: he provided in his Elementa an account of the law of obligations and of the rules governing “bad actions” (violations of such obligations) and “demerit,” and made use of examples drawn from relations between princes. But his framework is not the law of nations as such. It is the universal natural law which governs both nations and individuals.37 On the other hand, Rachel38 and Textor39 did not give any account of a general law of the obligation of States. A more practical approach was taken by van Bynkershoek, who criticized the Machiavellian approach to the law of treaties, and identiﬁed pacta sunt servanda as a special type of non-legal but morally and practically binding rule which princes must observe.40 He also considered justiﬁcations for non-performance but concluded with some disenchanted remarks on the actual treaty practice of sovereigns.41 Finally, it is with Wolﬀ that the concept of reparation to a sovereign for a wrong done by another (or by one of its citizens) is expressed, albeit still without clarity or system.42 A. Zouche: Breaches of Treaties Richard Zouche (1590–1661) sought to expose the basic elements of jus inter gentes of his time. He described “wrongs” among States as being either “between

36

37

38

39

40 41 42

See e.g. Zouche, supra note 3, part I, sections V and X, 27, 53, and part II, sect. V, 106– 111. Pufendorf, supra note 3, Bk. I, def. XII and def. XXI, 71–112, 199 ﬀ., and Bk. II, axiom I, § 9, 215–216. Samuel Rachel (1628–1691) emphasised the importance of treaties among nations, but he did not give the question of responsibility for breach any separate consideration: De Jure Naturae et Gentium Dissertationes (1676). Johann Wolfgang Textor (1638–1701) dedicated a chapter of his Synopsis to treaties and breach of treaty, but he did not identify either responsibility or reparation as distinct legal concepts: Synopsis juris gentium (1680), chh. XXIV–XXV, Carnegie translation, 258 ﬀ. Bynkershoek (van), supra note 3, Bk. II, ch. X, 190–195. Ibid., 193–194. Wolﬀ, supra note 3, ch. III, §§ 315–318, 161 ﬀ.

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those at Peace” or “between Belligerents”. Zouche described the former as follows: There is a wrong between those at peace when an injury is inﬂicted on persons, or when property is seized or carried oﬀ, or when duties arising by law, or under a convention or treaty, are not performed.43

On the other hand: [t]here is a wrong between belligerents (1) when war is unjustly begun; (2) when the right of military congress or embassy is violated; (3) when military conventions and treaties are not observed; (4) when a victor exceeds moderation in following up his victory.44

He went on to address certain practical questions. Section V of Part II deals with “questions of wrong between those at peace”,45 considering imputability and excuse. Questions of imputability included “whether injuries inﬂicted by subjects aﬀect a prince or people?”; “whether a wrong is to be imputed to a prince who receives one who does wrong elsewhere?”; “whether successors are liable for the wrong of a community?”46 Questions of excuse included “whether the property of others may ever be taken against the will of the owners?”; “whether the promises in a treaty may ever be broken?”47 Among the latter, the issue of breach of treaty is particularly relevant: If one party to a treaty has broken it, the other may abandon it; because each clause of a treaty has the force of a condition. Thus Thucydides says: ‘The blame of destroying a treaty lies not with those who, on being deserted, resort to others, but with those who do not aﬀord the help which they have promised’. Moreover, necessity or superior forces will excuse one who is bound by a treaty, and he is not to be regarded as a treaty-breaker.48

So at least some of the relevant modern conceptual categories (e.g., breach, imputation, excuse) are visible in Zouche’s work.

43 44 45 46 47 48

Zouche, supra note 3, part I, sect. V, 27. Ibid., sect. X, 53. Ibid., part II, sect. V, 106 ﬀ. Ibid., 106–107. Ibid., 110–111. Ibid., 111, where he quotes Grotius, De Jure Belli Ac Pacis, Bk. II, ch. XV, § 15; Gentili, De Jure Belli, Bk. III, ch. XXIV; Ayala, De Jure et Oﬃciis Bellicis et Disciplina Militari Libri Tres, Bk. I, ch. VI, § 17.

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B. Pufendorf: A Perfect System of Natural Law Of greater historical signiﬁcance is Samuel von Pufendorf (1623–1694). His Elementa, “the ﬁrst useful text-book of natural law”,49 is a systemised account of universal legal concepts which are exposed deductively, through deﬁnition, axiom and observation. International law is not treated separately in the Elementa but is entangled with other concepts, especially natural law, which Pufendorf understood to be the basis of the law of nations. This left no room for positive international law, the existence of which Pufendorf did not accept.50 Pufendorf ’s account of the law of obligations and of the rules governing “bad actions” and “demerit” constitute one of the ﬁrst conceptualizations of responsibility in international law. In Deﬁnition XII, while addressing the concept of obligation (“Obligation is an operative moral quality by which some one is bound to furnish, allow, or endure something”),51 Pufendorf considers the interplay between individuals and society: (1) Certain obligations arise from convention or from some pact; certain others from a transgression. (2) Among pacts some are terminated directly and ultimately in the individual person, as it were, of the party to the pact; and certain others tend indirectly or directly to the society and its aﬀairs, and exercise their ultimate eﬃcacy therein. (3) In a transgression there is either guilt extending to the person of the delinquent, or else obligation to make restitution for the injury done, which comes upon the good of the delinquent.52

But not every pact binds both the individual and the community as a whole. Thus, for example, a marriage pact . . . will not bind other persons at all. From this it follows that if a prince has promised marriage to some woman, no one in the whole state beside himself will be bound to take her to wife.53

Indeed, in principle “guilt” is only attached to the person, unless there is some form of participation in the misdeed: In transgression guilt does not pass to other persons included in the society, unless they have themselves agreed to it by an eﬃcacious consent, by rendering aid, or by some other means . . . So a prince or a magistrate, if he has not neglected to announce a moral prohibition, contracts no guilt from the fact that a transgression has been committed by an old subject or a new-comer, or by one who, after committing a crime in one state, ﬂees to another . . . Nor, indeed, do subjects

49 50 51 52 53

H. Wehberg, ‘Introduction’, in Pufendorf, supra note 3, vol. II, Carnegie translation, xiv. Ibid. Pufendorf, supra note 3, Bk. I, def. XII, 71. Ibid., Bk. I, def. XII, § 28, 103–104. Ibid., 104.

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Nonetheless, the special relationship between “subjects and their rulers” means that the former are responsible for some of the obligations arising from treaties. The existence of responsibility depends on the purpose of the pacts considered: (III) Obligations arising from a pact made by the prince or the directors of a society as such, or obligations arising from a transgression of the same, bind the whole society and the individual members, each for his proper share, to the extent of making restitution for the damage done. The basis for this assertion is to be sought in the pact between subjects and their rulers. For those who commit to some person authority and the care of the public safety, as well as full power to make disposition of the same, by that very act obligate themselves to contribute, each his own share, to what he has enjoined upon them as necessary or advantageous for the public safety . . . From this it is clear that subjects are bound to pay any and all debts contracted by princes for the public good. But as far as concerns the private indebtedness of the same . . . on the basis of the law of nature it seems that subjects are not directly and immediately bound to pay such indebtedness, and that creditors have the right to bring an action only against the private property of princes.55

Pufendorf also addressed the debts of the State owed to non-citizens56 and the binding force of treaties signed by the previous sovereign.57 Applying the natural law of obligations, he said that debts owed to non-citizens are an undifferentiated collective responsibility; he rejected automatic succession of treaties except for obligations “inherent” in the property of the prince. Deﬁnition XXI provides that “[d]emerit is an estimative moral quality resulting to a man from a bad action through which he is under obligation to make amends for the injury done to a second person thereby”.58 Pufendorf goes on to consider obligations arising not from a pact, but from an injury. He identiﬁes the general principle that every man whatsoever is bound to make amends to the other party for damage done him in any way at all by his own fault, and, if that damage has proceeded from malice, he is bound to give bond not to oﬀend in the future.59

54 55 56 57 58 59

Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid.,

104–105. 105. § 29, 106–108. § 31, 110–112. Bk. I, def. XXI, 199. § 1, 199.

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In the ﬁrst Axiom of Book II, Pufendorf analyzed the concept of imputability of actions to persons, a concept which also applies to commonwealths of citizens under a prince: 9. Now it is to be observed that the deeds of some can be imputed to others, then, and then only, if there exist a certain mutual community among them in regard of the same. [This happens either because they carried out a certain deed jointly or concurrently], or else if they constitute one body, so united to one another by a pact, that whatever the whole body as such wishes, each and all also of the same body are understood to wish, because, in the case of those things which concern the whole body, they have each made their own will to depend entirely upon the will of the body, or of those who rule it. For, as is shown elsewhere at greater length, those who unite to form a society having the likeness of a single moral person, each and all obligate themselves to be willing to hold valid whatever or council upon which authority to transact the public business of the society has been conferred, has done regarding the aﬀairs of the society, and so, to recognize its acts as their own. And these are no more mere legal ﬁctions than that all men united in a society can be obligated by orders of a single person . . . Thus, when a prince or a commonwealth makes war upon a second prince or commonwealth, the separate individuals living under the commonwealth are all regarded as enemies.60

De Jure Naturae et Gentium Libri Octo (3rd edition, 1688), monumental though it is, does not add much to what Pufendorf said in the Elementa from the point of view of an international law of obligations. True, the intellectual framework is clearer: the few arguably positive rules of the law of nations, on ambassadors, the courtesies of war, etc, are not “of such importance that they should form a special ﬁeld of law, since they can very easily ﬁnd place in the system of natural law.”61 Furthermore, treaties, in Pufendorf’s scheme, should be considered more like civil law contracts between individuals than public law: It seems to us quite incongruous for some to refer to the law of nations special agreements of two or more peoples, usually deﬁned by leagues and agreements of peace. For although the natural law about the keeping of faith orders that such agreements be maintained, they still do not properly fall under the term of laws.62

That treaties do not constitute law, that there is no positive international law distinct from natural law, does not mean that sovereigns or States live in anarchy. On the contrary, in Pufendorf’s view, natural law pervades all aspects of the life and of the law of peoples.

60 61

62

Ibid., Bk. II, axiom I, § 9, 215–216. Pufendorf, De Jure Naturae et Gentium Libri Octo, Bk. II, ch. III, § 23, Carnegie translation, 229. Ibid.

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C. Van Bynkershoek: The Honour of the Sovereign and Pacta Sunt Servanda In his Questionum juris publici, Cornelius van Bynkershoek (1673–1743) dealt with the observance of treaties in a separate chapter of book II.63 He opened categorically by saying that “[c]ivil law guards the contracts of individuals, considerations of honour, those of princes.”64 Such honour, or good faith, is normcreating: If you destroy good faith, you destroy all treaties; you even destroy international law, which has its origin in tacitly accepted and presupposed agreements founded upon reason and usage.65

Accordingly pacta sunt servanda is a rule recognized “even by those who have learned nothing but treachery”.66 However, there are cases in which a breach of a treaty may be permitted. For Bynkershoek this is a “very diﬃcult question”: Seneca makes the general statement about the human race: ‘Hardly anywhere is good faith found when its observance is inexpedient.’ The master of iniquity in his Principe teaches that treachery is lawful for princes, saying that any and every method of securing the safety of the state is honourable provided only it makes a pretence at being honourable.67

While Machiavelli’s doctrine is disavowed by most, the common adherence to an implicit rebus sic stantibus doctrine is no less treacherous: By [this] argument no promise binds unless the results are advantageous, and if war is proﬁtable you will reject the peace you have made. In this way a man who buys goods will repudiate the purchase if the price of them should go down, since he would change his mind with the change of price. Thus the result would be that a pledge which is binding according to all law would have no value whatsoever either in public or private aﬀairs.68

On the other hand the norm-creating factor of good faith does not produce legal rules, but moral ones: Between the several independent nations there is no legal compulsion since the laws do not apply to international aﬀairs, and the sole source of compulsion lies in the law. But the dictates of good faith and expediency require that international agreements should be observed, and to these must be attributed as much force as to the strongest pledge. In fact no pledge has more force than one that rests wholly

63 64 65 66 67 68

Bynkershoek, supra note 3, Bk. II, ch. X, 190–195. Ibid., 190. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 191.

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upon greatness of soul. This ﬁrst of all personal qualities is a particular adornment in a prince, and if it be absent, his state must fall into confusion.69

Good faith has an existential force: Even expediency obliges the several princes to keep their word, even though there are no laws between them, for you cannot conceive of empires without sovereigns, nor of sovereigns without compacts, nor of compacts without good faith. One must promise because one approves of the terms, and one must observe the terms because one has promised.

Against this background, Bynkershoek goes on to consider some reasons for possible non-performance of treaty obligations, including impossibility – “a prince is not bound beyond his capacity to perform the act promised”.70 But war and loss of honour are the only sanctions for those who do not comply, and princes are very often in breach of their obligations: Such is the degradation of the human race, that ‘there is hardly one who scruples to break his word and violate his pledge provided he ﬁnds it expedient to do so’ . . . ‘It is a crime for a man in private station to violate his bond, while in princes and rulers it is a requirement of prudence to break treaties’. Horresco referens, but I could give a thousand instances in proof that this is wholly true . . . I recall a case in point: in 1595 the States-General admonished Elisabeth, the Queen of England, that she should observe the terms of the treaty made in 1585 if she wished to consider her own good name. The woman made the most absurd answer, saying that ‘the contracts of princes rested only upon a pledge, and they were not binding if they resulted in detriment to the state,’ and other things of the same kind.71

In the face of such practice Bynkershoek was resigned: I shall only add, that, in general, nations are usually so constituted that while you cannot charge them with ﬂagrant treachery, you will not readily ﬁnd in them striking examples of magnanimity.72

D. Wolﬀ and Vattel: Elements of a Law on Responsibility In his Ius Gentium Christian Wolﬀ (1679–1754) addressed the whole of international law of his time. While he set out no separate account of responsibility distinct from speciﬁc substantive obligations, he nevertheless touched on some aspects of responsibility. For example, when dealing with “Ownership by

69 70 71 72

Ibid. Ibid., 193. Ibid., 194. Ibid., 195.

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Nations”,73 Wolﬀ dealt with the attribution of the conduct of private citizens to the State: Since, if a citizen of one nation injures the citizen of another nation of his own intent or does him harm in any way, that cannot be imputed to the nation; the one nation cannot be said to have injured the other nation or done it wrong. The acts of a private citizen are not the acts of the nation to which he is subject, since they are not done as by a subject or so far as he is a subject. Therefore they have no relation to the state of which the doer of the deed is a member. The situation is diﬀerent if he acts by order of the ruler of the state, whom he obeys as a superior.74

It is also diﬀerent if the sovereign ratiﬁes or approves of the misdeed: this becomes an injury not only to the citizen of the other State, but to the other State itself.75 Wolﬀ considered the duty of reparation a general duty: Since the ruler of a state ought not to allow any of his subjects to cause a loss or do a wrong to a citizen or subject of another state, and since he who has caused a loss is bound to repair it and he who has injured another is rightly punished and those who do things which are not to be allowed in a state must be restrained by penalties, if any one of his subjects causes a loss to the subject of a foreign state or does him a wrong, the ruler of the state in the former case ought to compel him to repair the loss caused, and in the latter case ought not to punish him.76

But with regard to treaties, Wolﬀ draws the conclusion that [s]ince a perfect right is acquired from treaties, he who violates a treaty violates a perfect right of the other party. Therefore, since the violation of a perfect right is a wrong, he who violates a treaty does a wrong to the other party. This is to be noted, that it may be understood what right belongs to a party to a treaty against the violator of a treaty. It is plain without my saying it, that a treaty is violated if anything is done which is contrary to it, or if anything is not done which is to be done by virtue of it.77

This approaches the modern concept of the secondary obligation arising from breach: from a violation, a “right belongs to a party . . . against the violator.” The violator thus acquires a new obligation – i.e., to make reparation to the party violated. Emerich de Vattel (1714–1767), drawing on Wolﬀ, articulated certain aspects of an international law of responsibility – though still in a disconnected way. First, he asserted a general obligation not to injure other States:

73 74 75 76 77

Wolﬀ, supra note 3, ch. III, 140 ﬀ. Ibid., ch. III, § 315, 161. Ibid., ch. III, § 316, 161. Ibid., ch. III, § 318, 162. Ibid., ch. III, § 378, 195.

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If every man is bound by his very nature to labor for the advancement of others, with much greater reason is he forbidden to diminish the blessings they already enjoy. The same duties are imposed upon Nations . . . Hence none of them should do any act tending to deprive the others of their advantages, or to retard their progress, that is to say, to injure them. And since the perfection of a Nation consists in its being in a position to attain the end of civil society, and since its circumstances are perfect when it is not wanting in the things needed for that end . . ., no State has the right to prevent another from attaining the end of civil society, or to render it incapable of doing so. Upon this general principle it is unlawful for Nations to do any act tending to create trouble in another State, to stir up discord, to corrupt its citizens, to alienate its allies, to stain its renown, or to deprive it of its natural advantages.78

Secondly, as Wolﬀ put it, “to violate a treaty is to violate the perfect right of the other contracting party, and is thus an injury to him.”79 Furthermore, acts against a citizen may also be deemed to be injuries to their State: Whoever ill-treats a citizen indirectly injures the State, which must protect that citizen. The sovereign of the injured citizen must avenge the deed and, if possible, force the aggressor to give full satisfaction or punish him, since otherwise the citizen will not obtain the chief end of civil society, which is protection.80

But the question is one of imputability: while “it can not be asserted in general that one has been injured by a Nation because one has been injured by one of its citizens,”81 there are some cases in which States are held responsible for the actions of their citizens. Here, Vattel took a view which is broader than that under modern law; when another State or one of its citizens is injured, not only States may be held responsible for actions they approve of or ratify, but they also have a general duty to punish the oﬀender or relinquish him (aut dedere aut judicare): A sovereign who refuses to repair the evil done by one of his subjects, or to punish the criminal, or, ﬁnally, to deliver him up, makes himself in a way an accessory to the deed, and becomes responsible for it.82

More generally, however, the obligation not to injure another State or its citizens is not absolute. There are cases when a State should not be held responsible for its misdeeds:

78

79

80 81 82

Emerich de Vattel, Le Droit des Gens ou Principes de la Loi Naturelle (1758), Bk. II, ch. I, § 18, Carnegie translation, vol. III, 119. Ibid., Bk. II, ch. XII, § 164, 163; compare with Wolﬀ, supra note 3, ch. III, § 378, 195, quoted above. Vattel, Bk. II, ch. VI, § 71, 136. Ibid., § 73, 136. Ibid., § 77, 137. See also, with respect to private property, Bk. II, ch. VII, § 81, 138: “The property of individuals, taken as a whole, is to be regarded as the property of the Nation with regard to other Nations”.

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Moreover, a State has both the “perfect right” to prevent harm to itself and to complete reparation in case harm occurred: The safest plan is to prevent evil, where that is possible. A Nation has the right to resist the injury another seeks to inﬂict upon it, and to use force and every other just means of resistance against the aggressor. It may even anticipate the other’s design, being careful, however, not to act upon vague and doubtful suspicions, lest it should run the risk of becoming itself the aggressor. When the injury has been done the same right of self-protection authorizes the injured party to seek full redress and to use force to obtain it, if necessary.84

Vattel discussed a range of lawful and useful means of enforcing the right to reparation which should be considered before going to war, in particular retaliation, retorsion and reprisals.85

4. State Responsibility in Later Doctrine and Practice A. Nineteenth Century Writers: From Wheaton to Hefter Many of these elements are subsumed in later international law texts, though with variations and reﬁnements. But like Vattel’s, the major treatises of the ﬁrst half of the 19th century do not contain any separate treatment of responsibility. Wheaton’s Elements of International Law (1836), the best of these in English, did examine certain problems in a manner consistent with modern understandings of responsibility, but it did so in connection with speciﬁc areas of law – in particular the law of prize. Wheaton had professional experience of that subject. As United States representative in Copenhagen, he had negotiated the Treaty of Indemnity by which Denmark made reparation for the capture and condemna-

83 84

85

Ibid. Ibid., Bk. II, ch. IV, §§ 50–51, 131. See also Bk. II, ch. V, § 66, 135: “This right is a perfect one; that is, it carries with it the right to use force to make it eﬀective”. Ibid., Bk. II, ch. XVIII, §§ 338–354, 227–32.

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tion of certain American vessels at Kiel during the Napoleonic Wars.86 In the ﬁrst edition of Elements Wheaton discussed the case in some detail. American vessels had been convoyed with British vessels in the Baltic, a practice a Danish edict of 1810 declared to be a justiﬁcation for capture. Wheaton emphasised that the lawfulness of conduct in the light of internal law, such as the Danish edict, did not cure it of unlawfulness under international law.87 The distinction between breach of a substantive rule and responsibility for its breach can also be seen in Wheaton’s consideration of an earlier prize case. The case had arisen in the High Court of Admiralty in 1675 after a French privateer had come into English territorial waters in possession of a Hamburg merchant vessel. As a neutral State, England was obliged to make restitution of vessels coming within its jurisdiction after having been seized by a belligerent. The parties contested whether the privateer and its prize really had been in English waters, i.e., whether there had been a violation of the substantive rule. Sir Leoline Jenkins found that the vessels had been “in his Majesty’s chambers” and that restitution was required. Wheaton recognized the distinction between the primary rule and the principle of reparation: Whatever doubts there may be as to the extent of the territorial jurisdiction thus asserted as entitled to the neutral immunity, there can be none as to the sense entertained by this eminent civilian as to the right and the duty of the neutral sovereign to make restitution where his territory is violated.88

It was not until the 1850s that a writer would begin to use recognizably modern language of responsibility in a systematic way. It has been said that while Heﬀter “collected and organized” relevant material, he did not “contribut[e] much to the analysis of the subject” as a distinct ﬁeld.89 Certainly Heﬀter did not present a comprehensive system of State responsibility. But his Le Droit International Public de L’Europe (1857) is notable for its section on “Faits illicites,” which not only used terminology which was to become familiar in the context of State responsibility but also foreshadowed some central debates. For example he asked whether certain acts could incur criminal responsibility of the State under international law: his answer was negative but he recognized the importance of the problem. He went on to assert that

86

87

88

89

Claims Convention (USA-Denmark), Copenhagen, 28 March 1830, 80 CTS 463. This became a model for other US indemnity treaties: see Richard Henry Dana, ‘Editor’s Preface’, in: Henry Wheaton, Elements of International Law (8th ed., 1866), viii. Wheaton, Elements of International Law: with a sketch of the history of the science (1836), vol. II, § 29, 260–78. Ibid., §§ 9, 141–3; the paragraph concerns the restitution by the neutral state of property captured within its jurisdiction or otherwise in violation of its neutrality. Eagleton, supra note 5, 19.

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Chapter 18 [le droit international] regarde comme fait illicites ou comme lésions les atteintes portées sans motifs légitimes aux droits fondamentaux des personnes par lui sauvegardées, notamment à leur liberté, à leur honneur et à leur propriété. Toute lésion semblable oblige l’auteur à la réparer: car les lois de la justice prescrivent que l’équilibre social soit rétabli chaque fois qu’il a été dérange par une iniquité quelconque.90

Heﬀter also discussed obligations owed to “the international community as a whole”. He included among these a putative obligation not to attempt world domination (“. . . une tentative sérieuse d’établir un empire universel sur les ruines des États particuliers . . .”), but also the inviolability of diplomats and obligations to suppress piracy and the slave trade.91 The rights of foreigners were extensively treated in Le Droit International Public de L’Europe, but they did not, so to speak, constitute the ﬁeld of responsibility. B. The Early 20th Century: Triepel and Anzilotti From a doctrinal point of view, the treatment of State responsibility as a discrete topic is usually credited to Triepel and Anzilotti. In Triepel’s case, the responsibility of a federal State for the acts of its subordinate territorial units was an inﬂuential consideration.92 The position of the federal State under international law was the subject of his major work, Völkerrecht und Landesrecht (1899);93 Triepel also wrote about German federalism in detail elsewhere.94 Völkerrecht und Landesrecht presented elements of the modern organization of the topic of responsibility, addressing imputation to the State of the conduct of various entities, including individuals,95 State organs,96 self-administering public bodies (i.e., public law organizations not part of the State apparatus)97 and the component units of a federal State.98 Triepel’s focus on imputation was a marked advance. For a federal State, questions of imputation of the acts of the constituent units to the State invite formulations of principle, independent of the character of

90 91 92

93

94 95 96 97 98

Heﬀter, § 101 (“Faits illicites”), 203–4. Ibid., § 104 (“Violations du droit international réprimées partout”), 207–8. See e.g. E. M. Borchard, The Diplomatic Protection of Citizens Abroad (1916), 177, n. 1; Eagleton, supra note 5, 20; Karl Strupp, Éléments du Droit International Public (2nd ed., 1930), vol. I, 25; Roberto Ago, ‘Le délit international’, 68 Recueil des Cours, II, 1939, 419. Heinrich Triepel, Völkerrecht und Landesrecht (1899), 359 ﬀ., 366 ﬀ. Triepel’s examination of the application of international law in federal States, including the United States, was identiﬁed by his contemporaries as a distinctive contribution, e.g., Carl Bilﬁnger, ‘In Memoriam: Heinrich Triepel 1868–1946’, 13 ZaöRV, 51, 1950, 1, 6. Triepel, Unitarismus und föderalismus im Deutschen Reiche (Tübingen: Mohr, 1907). Triepel, Völkerrecht und Landesrecht, 324–48. Ibid., 348–55. Ibid., 355–9. Ibid., 359–71.

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the conduct in question: these units are general governments with ﬁscal and police powers. A constituent unit may engage in conduct with implications at the international level; to hold that the central government was not responsible for its conduct would have produced a marked inequality between federal and unitary States. Elsewhere Triepel was concerned with the distinction between national law and international law. For example, he stressed that certain rules, though signiﬁcant for the position of the State as an international legal person (völkerrecht bedeutsam), are not themselves rules of international law.99 He was interested in the distinction between national and international rules but also with the implications one might have for the other. Thus federalism encouraged thinking about responsibility in a more systematic way. Anzilotti, writing in the same period, also saw responsibility as a distinct ﬁeld. Responsibility for injuries to foreigners was Anzilotti’s main concern, but within those limits he identiﬁed the principal elements of a modern law of State responsibility. Like Triepel, Anzilotti stressed the importance of the rules of attribution: La notion de la responsabilité internationale implique l’idée d’un rapport unissant à un État la violation du droit international. En d’autres termes, il faut qu’un acte illicite puisse être rapporté à un État, qu’on puisse le considérer comme son acte à lui, le lui imputer.100

The existence of an unlawful act Anzilotti treated as prior to attribution. But both elements were required. The prevailing idea that attribution of an act to the State is in all or most cases self-evident, plain from the facts, Anzilotti recognized as erroneous. Anzilotti instead presented attribution as a process of law with its own rules: C’est une caractéristique de l’imputation juridique que d’être un pur eﬀet de la règle; une volonté, un acte, sont imputables à un sujet donné seulement parce que la règle l’établit ainsi. L’imputation juridique se distingue nettement par là du rapport de causalité; un fait est juridiquement propre à un sujet, non parce qu’il a été produit ou voulu par ce dernier, dans le sens que ces mots auraient en physiologie ou en psychologie, mais parce que la règle le lui attribue.101

Anzilotti also addressed rules of exception – especially concerning state of necessity – under which otherwise wrongful acts attributed to a State might not

99

100

101

An example was the law of imperial succession in the Austro-Hungarian Empire – a rule with international implications but in itself strictly municipal: Triepel, 273. Dionisio Anzilotti, ‘La responsabilité internationale des États à raison des dommages souﬀerts par des étrangers’, 13 RGDIP, 1906, 285, 285–6 (emphasis in original). Anzilotti, Corso di diritto internazionale, (3rd. ed., 1928), vol. I, 228, as translated by Ago, supra note 92, 450, n. 1.

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attract responsibility;102 and he outlined the consequences of responsibility, in particular, the obligation to make reparation.103 C. Borchard, Eagleton and the Legacy of the Great War Thus Anzilotti and Triepel had come to see State responsibility as a distinct topic, not just an incident of speciﬁc substantive areas of law. But it was during the period from 1914–1930 that Anzilotti’s and Triepel’s appreciation was generalized and more intensive research directed toward State responsibility. Two of the most signiﬁcant systematisers were Americans, Borchard and Eagleton. Borchard’s 1916 work, The Diplomatic Protection of Citizens Abroad, was the outgrowth of his 1914 PhD thesis of the same title. It included ﬁve chapters on State responsibility. The organization seems to have owed something to Triepel, though the impetus was Borchard’s concern with diplomatic protection, as compared with Triepel who sought to relate the internal law of a federal system to the international obligations of the State. Borchard began by addressing State responsibility in general outline,104 and then examined the topic with reference to each of four categories of conduct that might give rise to responsibility: acts of individuals,105 acts in wartime,106 breaches of contract107 and denial of justice.108 He was alert to the problem of a one-sided portrayal of responsibility: a law of State responsibility deriving its main incidents from investment protection could all too easily be presented as a law for the investor without regard for other interests. Borchard denied that the State is “a guarantor of the safety of aliens. It is simply bound to provide administrative and judicial machinery which would normally protect the alien in his rights.”109 Eagleton added to the development of the topic with his treatise, The Responsibility of States in International Law (1928), the ﬁrst monographic study under that rubric in English.110 He characterized the topic at the same time as central to international law and as only newly-formed: States, like individuals, have ever been concerned with their rights rather than their duties. It is nevertheless surprising that so little attention has been given to

102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110

Anzilotti, supra note 100, 303–7. Ibid., 308–9. Borchard, supra note 92, 177–212. Ibid., 213–45. Ibid., 246–80. Ibid., 281–329. Ibid., 330–43. Ibid., 179. Italian writers had of course gone before: Anzilotti’s ﬁrst book on the subject was his Teoria generale della responsabilità dello stato nel diritto internazionale, (Florence: F. Lumachi, 1902). See also Mario Marinoni, La responsabilità degli stati per gli atti dei loro rappresentanti secondo il diritto internazionale (Rome: Athenaeum, 1913).

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the subject of the responsibility of states in international law. Only in this century have eﬀorts been made to give it a detached treatment.111

Eagleton was clear that State responsibility was not to be explained by straightforward analogy to municipal law concepts of the liability of individuals. Rather it was a distinct topic of international law, centrally concerned with attribution: The duties, as well as the rights, attendant upon territorial jurisdiction, are stated by international law. As a matter of practical operation, then, the responsibility of the state is to be ascertained from the duties of control within its territorial limits and over its agents laid down for it by positive international law. But while the responsibility of a state is . . . based upon the control which it exercises within its borders, it does not follow that the state may be held responsible for any injury occurring therein. The law of nations does not make the state a guarantor of life and property. It is answerable, under international law, only for those injuries which can be fastened upon the state itself.112

The structure of his treatise reﬂects this focus. Chapter II deﬁnes diﬀerent classes of responsible persons. Chapter III addresses attribution to the State through its agents; Chapter IV, the acts of individuals, Chapter VI, mobs and insurgents. Chapter V discusses the local remedies rule, relating this in particular to diplomatic protection. Chapter VIII deals with reparation. Only Chapter VII, on contractual claims, including denial of justice, strays into what would later be termed the “primary” or substantive rules of responsibility. Despite the absence of distinct discussion of invocation, countermeasures or circumstances precluding wrongfulness, Eagleton’s work involves a recognizable plan of the topic. In doing so it drew on the jurisprudence of the late 19th and early 20th century claims tribunals, whose decisions both created a practical need for a developed law of State responsibility and furnished materials for its distillation. At a deeper level the law of responsibility was a reaction against theories of auto-limitation and the emphasis on unfettered notions of State sovereignty. The treatise writers of the 1920s saw State responsibility as against a notion of sovereign supremacy which was the eﬀective negation of external responsibility – the nation-State ultimately responsible only to itself. Rather the emphasis was on State equality as involving subjection to law and respect for the rights of other States. According to Eagleton: This exclusive territorial control, which is a legal possession of the state, logically results in the acceptance by that state of responsibility for illegal acts occurring within the range of its control. If one nation allows to another a monopoly of jurisdiction within the boundaries of the latter, and thereby excludes itself from the possibility of protecting its own rights therein, this can only be upon the

111 112

Eagleton, supra note 5, vii. Ibid., 8.

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Chapter 18 assumption that the latter state makes itself responsible for all internationally illegal acts committed within its control against the former state . . . The exclusive territorial jurisdiction of the state, which is a concomitant of its independence, is the chief source of its responsibility.113

The matter was here presented as an implicit bargain: the State’s “exclusive territorial control” entailed that the State give something back – namely, responsibility “for all internationally illegal acts committed within its control”. In his 1939 Hague lectures, Ago saw the whole ﬁeld of State responsibility as a system of imputation, derived from the claim of the State to hold a special if not exclusive position as legal actor at the international level: “un fait illicite peut être imputé même à un subjet-personne juridique . . .”114 But if State responsibility was the result of a bargain between States, it was an unspoken bargain, a jural construction: there is little evidence of undertakings between States seen as giving rise to any general relation of responsibility. Moreover the question remains why writers came to consider State responsibility as a discrete topic when they did. Eagleton had spent the last years of World War I in Britain; he saw ﬁrst hand the impact of the war on one of the societies severely aﬀected by it. Continental writers felt its impact even more strongly. The logic of responsibility as described by Eagleton, Ago and their contemporaries was not just an internal one – States trading exclusive jurisdiction for a tacit promise to accept responsibility for breaches. It may be seen as a response to the ruinous world of the Great War, and a recall of the practice of responsibility as applied in the last decades of the 19th century, from the Alabama arbitration115 to the Venezuela claims116 and the two Hague Peace Conferences.117 113

114 115

116

117

Eagleton, supra note 5, 7, citing to similar eﬀect William Edward Hall, International Law (1880), § 11; Charles Cheney Hyde, International Law Chieﬂy as Interpreted and Applied by the United States (1945), vol. I, § 266. Ago, supra note 92, 462. Alabama Arbitration (Great Britain v. United States of America) (1872) Moore, 1 Int. Arb. 495. See e.g. Preferential Treatment of Claims of Blockading Powers against Venezuela (Germany, Great Britain and Italy v. Venezuela) (1904), available at the Permanent Court of Arbitration website, http://www.pca-cpa.org/upload/ﬁles/Pref.%20Tr.%20Engl.%20award.pdf (accessed 16 April 2008). More generally, on the history of the European powers’ blockade and bombardment of Venezuelan ports and subsequent claims, see Brian S McBeth, Gunboats, Corruption, and Claims: Foreign Intervention in Venezuela, 1899–1908 (Wesport and London: Greenwood Press, 2001). The International Peace Conference, The Hague, May 18–July 29, 1899 and The Second International Peace Conference, The Hague, June 15–October 18, 1907. For the proceedings and the texts of the Conventions adopted, see James Brown Scott (ed.), The Proceedings of the Hague Peace Conferences (1920–21).

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Although already immanent in the discipline, the term “responsibility” was given wider circulation by the post-war settlement.118 The Treaty of Versailles of 28 June 1919 ﬁxed on Germany “responsibility . . . for causing all the loss and damage to which the Allied and Associated Governments and their nationals have been subjected as a consequence of the war.”119 Article 231 was a political act of the victors; its legal status was questioned, and not only by German revisionists. No one could doubt the vast “loss and damage” arising from the War, but it was a further step to say that the injuries and costs ﬂowed from Germany’s breaches of international obligations, still less that they all did. War had been a feature of European politics for centuries and large ﬁnancial exactions by the victor after a successful war were not unprecedented: thus Germany had exacted 5 billion gold francs from France in 1871.120 The First Hague Peace Conference proposed a regime to prevent spoliation by occupying armies but contained no bar on indemnities after war.121 There were calls from various quarters for a moratorium on war indemnity at the end of World War I,122 but Article 231 was a war indemnity disguised in legal language, one which caused endless trouble in the 1920s until it was eﬀectively abandoned in 1932.123 At the same time it placed issues of responsibility for the major events of international war and peace irrevocably within the domain of the “legal”; and virtually no textbook after 1919 lacked a separate chapter on the subject. It was against

118

119

120

121 122

123

In 1919 the word “responsibility” was not, of course, new. As a legal term it can be traced to the late 18th century. The ﬁrst use of the word “responsibility” in French dates from around 1783 – attributed to the French Finance Minister Necker. Hamilton and Madison used it later in the same decade in the Federalist Papers, referring for example to the “due responsibility in the government to the people” and its relation to the frequency of elections: see Jacques Henriot, ‘Note sur la date et le sens de l’apparition du mot “responsabilité”’, 22 Archives de Philosophie du Droit, 1977, 59, 60–1. The term derived from the verb répondre, to answer to, and it only acquired a distinct legal connotation – the requirement to answer for a breach of an obligation – in the 19th century. The Versailles Treaty of 1919 nevertheless was a conspicuous use of the word in a context of general political interest. Treaty of Versailles, 28 June 1919, 225 CTS 189, 286. Article 231 read as follows: “The Allied and Associated Governments aﬃrm and Germany accepts the responsibility of Germany and her allies for causing all the loss and damage to which the Allied and Associated Governments and their nationals have been subjected as a consequence of the war imposed upon them by the aggression of Germany and her allies.” Art. 2, Treaty of Versailles, 26 February 1871, 143 CTS 38, 40. This was conﬁrmed, and the schedule for payment elaborated, in art. 7 of the Treaty of Frankfurt, 10 May 1871, 143 CTS 164, 166. Arts. 49–51, Second Hague Convention, 29 July 1899, 187 CTS 429, 441. E.g., the Social Democratic Party in Germany, which adopted the phrase “no annexations, no indemnities”: Frederic Logan Paxson et al. (eds.), War Cyclopedia (1918), p. 196. See Bruce Kent, The Spoils of War (1989) for a detailed account of the diplomatic history.

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this background of doctrine and practice that the 1930 League Codiﬁcation Conference began the task of oﬃcial codiﬁcation, a process which would take the rest of the century.124

124

See Shabtai Rosenne (ed.), League of Nations. Committee of Experts for the Progressive Codiﬁcation of International Law (1972), vol. I, pp. ci–cii; James Crawford and Thomas Grant, ‘Responsibility of States for Injuries to Foreigners’, in: John P. Grant and J. Craig Barker (eds.), The Harvard Research in International Law: Contemporary Analysis and Appraisal (Buﬀalo, NY: W. S. Hein, 2007), ch. 3, p. 77.

Chapter 19 Advisory Opinions and the Secretary-General with Special Reference to the 2004 Advisory Opinion on the Wall John Dugard*

I am pleased to have been invited to write for this Liber Amicorum for a good friend and distinguished international lawyer. I have chosen to write on advisory opinions of the International Court of Justice and the Secretary-General of the United Nations, with special reference to the issue of Palestine, as these topics reﬂect Vera’s interest in the proper functioning of the United Nations and justice for the Palestinians. This contribution will consider the Advisory Opinion of the International Court of Justice on Legal Consequences of the Construction of the Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory,1 the response of the United Nations to the Opinion, with special reference to the response of the Secretary-General, and the attitude of former Secretary-Generals to advisory opinions. When I embarked on the study I naively believed that the SecretaryGeneral was obliged to do his best to secure compliance with an advisory opinion. Further study has, however, proved me to be wrong. Consequently, the present contribution raises more questions than answers.

1. The Advisory Opinion on the Wall The Palestinian issue has long been before the United Nations and the international community. In 2000, a Palestinian uprising against Israeli occupation began, known as the Second Intifada. Initially, Israel responded with force, often disproportionate, to the uprising but in 2003 it embarked on an additional strategy, allegedly to prevent suicide bombers from crossing from Palestine into Israel, the construction of a “wall,” “fence,” or “barrier” to separate * I wish to acknowledge the assistance of Matthew Smith, Noah Browne and David Riesenberg of the Duke Law School in the preparation of this article. 1 2004 ICJ Reports 136.

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Israel from Palestine. Had Israel chosen to build such a structure, which I shall call a wall,2 along the Green Line – the de facto border between Israel and Palestine – for security purposes there could have been no objections. Critics might have questioned the likely eﬀectiveness of such a wall as a security measure but no one could have questioned Israel’s right to build a wall on its own territory. But instead, Israel decided to build the wall largely within Palestinian territory in such a way that it seized 13 percent of the West Bank and incorporated over 80 percent of the half million Israeli settlers in Palestinian territory into Israel itself. While Israel argued that topographical and security considerations justiﬁed the construction of the wall within Palestinian territory, critics – including the present writer who visited the wall in 2003 as Special Rapporteur on the Human Rights Situation in the Occupied Palestinian Territory to the Commission on Human Rights3 – maintained that security was simply a pretext for de facto annexation of Palestinian territory. On 8 December 2003, the General Assembly, at its Tenth Emergency Special Session, adopted Resolution ES-10/14 in which it requested the International Court of Justice (‘ICJ’ or ‘Court’) to render an advisory opinion on the following question: What are the legal consequences arising from the construction of the wall being built by Israel, the occupying Power, in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, including in and around East Jerusalem, as described in the report of the Secretary-General, considering the rules and principles of international law, including the fourth Geneva Convention of 1949, and relevant Security Council and General Assembly resolutions?

Fifty States and international organizations made written submissions to the Court. While many States urged the Court to ﬁnd the construction of the wall to be illegal, Israel, the United States, the European Union (and many of its member States) requested the Court to refrain from giving an opinion. The United Nations also made a written submission which reported on the factual situation in the Palestinian territory. Before the Court, only ﬁfteen States and international organizations made oral submissions. Israel, the United States and the European Union elected not to present oral argument. Surpris-

2

3

The language used to describe the ediﬁce that Israel in presently building largely in Palestinian Territory is described by diﬀerent names, which tend to reﬂect the outlook of the institution in question. For the General Assembly and the International Court of Justice it is a “wall,” because part of the ediﬁce takes the form of a concrete wall; for the Israeli government it is a “fence” because part of the ediﬁce is a metal, electriﬁed fence; for the UN Secretariat, in search of a more neutral but less descriptive term, it is a “barrier”. See Report on the Question of the Violation of Human Rights in the Occupied Arab Territories, including Palestine, E/CN.4/2004/6, of 8 September 2003.

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ingly, in the light of its appearance in similar proceedings in other advisory opinions – a matter that will be discussed later – the United Nations made no appearance before its own judicial organ on this occasion. Israel, in refusing to appear before the Court, failed to follow the precedent set by South Africa, which appeared in advisory proceedings before the Court involving South West Africa/Namibia in 1971. On 9 July 2004, the ICJ handed down its advisory opinion on the Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory4 in which it held by fourteen votes to one5 that it should comply with the request for an opinion; that the construction of the wall by Israel and its associated regime are contrary to international law; that Israel is under an obligation to cease further construction of the wall, dismantle what it had built, and to make reparation for the damage caused by the construction of the wall.6 By thirteen votes to two,7 the Court held that, “[a]ll States are under an obligation not to recognize the illegal situation resulting from the construction of the wall and not to render aid or assistance in maintaining the situation created by such construction;” and that all States party to the Fourth Geneva Convention have an obligation “to ensure compliance by Israel with international humanitarian law as embodied in that Convention.”8 Finally, the Court held, by fourteen votes to one, that “[t]he United Nations, and especially the General Assembly and the Security Council, should consider what further action is required to bring an end to the illegal situation resulting from the construction of the wall and the associated regime, taking due account of the present Advisory Opinion.”9 In the course of its Opinion, the Court pronounced on a number of legal questions hitherto challenged by Israel. In particular it found (unanimously) that Israel is under a legal obligation to comply with the Fourth Geneva Convention in the Occupied Palestinian Territory;10 that Israeli settlements in the Palestinian territory are illegal as they violate Article 49(6) of the Fourth Geneva Convention;11 and that Israel is bound by international human rights conventions in the Palestinian territory.12 The near unanimity of the Court on its principal ﬁndings, and its unanimity on key issues aﬀecting Israel’s occupation regime,

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Supra note 1. The sole dissentient was Judge Buergenthal of the United States. Supra note 1, pp. 201–202. Judge Kooijmans of the Netherlands joined Judge Buergenthal in dissenting on this issue. Supra note 1, at 202. Ibid., p. 202. Ibid., pp. 173–177, paras. 90–101. Ibid., pp. 183–184, para. 120. Ibid., pp. 177–181, paras. 102–113.

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is in sharp contrast to previous opinions which have been characterized by judicial dissent.13 The Court’s opinion has been criticized on a number of grounds.14 First, it has been argued that it should have exercised its discretion under Article 65 of its Statute and declined to give an opinion. In rejecting this request the Court was, however, on ﬁrm grounds as it has “never, in the exercise of this discretionary power declined to respond to a request for an advisory opinion”15 in its entire history.16 Secondly, it has been argued that the Court was wrong in ﬁnding that the international human rights conventions apply in the Palestinian territory, but in so deciding the Court was simply following decisions of the respective human rights monitoring bodies that these conventions apply extraterritorially.17 Thirdly, strong criticism has been directed at its strange ﬁnding that Article 51 of the Charter is not applicable to Israel’s actions in the Palestinian territory.18 However, this unfortunate ﬁnding was unnecessary to its decision that the construction of the wall could not be justiﬁed as an exercise in self-defence under Article 51 as, even if Article 51 was relevant, the construction of a wall resulting in the collective punishment of thousands of Palestinians living in the vicinity of the wall was a disproportionate measure.19 Judge Kooijmans was correct when he stated: The route chosen for the construction of the Wall and the ensuing disturbing consequences for the inhabitants of the Occupied Palestinian Territory are manifestly disproportionate to interests which Israel seeks to protect, as seems to be recognized also in recent decisions of the Israeli Court.20

13

14

15 16

17 18 19 20

See, in particular, the advisory opinion on the Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons, ICJ Reports 1996, p. 226, in which the Court was evenly divided on the key issue (p. 265, para. 105). In the Legal Consequences for States of the Continued Presence of South Africa in Namibia (South West Africa) notwithstanding Security Council Resolution 276 (1970), ICJ Reports 1971, p. 16, two judges dissented on one issue and four on another. In the advisory opinion on Certain Expenses of the United Nations, ICJ Reports 1962, p. 151, the Court’s decision was reached by 9 to 5. See, in particular, the criticisms in ‘Agora: ICJ Advisory Opinion on Construction of the Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory’, 99 AJIL, 2005, pp. 1–141. 2004 ICJ Reports 156, para. 44. The Permanent Court of International Justice on one occasion declined to give an opinion: Status of Eastern Carelia, Advisory Opinion, 1923, PCIJ, Series B, No. 5. Supra note 15, pp. 179–181, paras. 109–113. Ibid., p. 194, para. 139. Ibid., p. 193, paras. 136–137. Ibid., p. 229 para. 34. See also the separate opinions of Judges Higgins (ibid., p. 216, para. 35) and Owada (ibid., p. 269, para. 24.).

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The principal objection to the Court’s Opinion is that it fails to adequately consider the security considerations that gave rise to the construction of the wall.21 There are several answers to this criticism. First, the Court did have considerable information at its disposal, including a comprehensive report from the Secretary-General, the reports of several UN special rapporteurs and agencies and the written statements of several States on the factual situation.22 Secondly, the construction of a wall in another’s territory is prima facie illegal and the burden of proof was on Israel to prove that security considerations warranted this drastic step – but Israel refused to appear before the Court or to submit a full written statement to the Court on the subject.23 Thirdly, although the Israeli government initially insisted that the wall was a temporary structure motivated entirely by considerations of security,24 and indeed persuaded its own Supreme Court25 that this was so, it later acknowledged that the primary reason for constructing the wall within Palestinian territory was to incorporate the bulk of Israeli settlements into Israel. Today, as Israel and the Palestinian Authority attempt to ﬁnd a negotiated settlement, it is clear that Israel seeks to retain the land seized by the construction of the wall in order to incorporate 80 percent of its settler population into Israel and not to use the wall as a temporary security measure only. Had the International Court of Justice known this in 2004, it is likely that it would not have hesitated – as it did26 – to ﬁnd that the wall constituted a de facto annexation.

2. The Response of the United Nations to the Advisory Opinion On 20 July 2004, the General Assembly adopted Resolution ES-10/15 by 150 votes to six27 with ten abstentions (the Russian Federation and member States of the European Union voted in favor of the resolution). This resolution “acknowledged” the advisory opinion on the wall, “demanded” that Israel “comply with its obligations as mentioned in the advisory opinion,” called upon member States “to comply with their legal obligations as mentioned in the advisory opinion” and “requested” the Secretary-General “to establish a register of damages caused to all natural or legal persons” by the construction of the

21

22 23 24 25 26 27

See the dissenting opinion of Judge Buergenthal, ibid., p. 240, and the articles referred to supra note 14. ICJ Reports 2004, p. 136, pp. 160–162, paras. 55–58. Ibid., p. 161, para. 55. Ibid., p. 182, para. 116. Mara’abe v. Prime Minister of Israel, (Alfei Menashe Case) 45 ILM 202. ICJ Reports 2004, p. 136, p. 184, para. 121. Australia, Micronesia, Israel, Marshall Islands, Palau, United States.

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wall. Since then, the General Assembly has reaﬃrmed Resolution ES-10/15 and the Human Rights Council28 has also passed resolutions approving the advisory opinion. The Security Council has, however, failed to make any attempt to implement or even acknowledge the Opinion. Indeed it has studiously refrained from mentioning it. Instead, the Security Council has persisted in invoking the Road Map of 30 April 2003,29 which is largely out-of-date and has, in any event, been subjected to 14 far-reaching reservations by Israel. Although the Road Map is, in its own language, “performance-based and goal-driven,” and takes no account of the normative aspect, it is, as far as the Security Council is concerned, the only game in town. The Quartet, comprising the United Nations, the European Union, the Russian Federation and the United States, has, like the Security Council, failed to acknowledge the advisory opinion or to invoke its ﬁndings as a guide to peace in the Middle East. This may seem strange, given the fact that three members of the Quartet – the United Nations, the European Union and the Russian Federation – have given support to the Opinion in General Assembly Resolution ES-10/15. The explanation for this anomaly lies in the hostile attitude of the United States to the advisory opinion and to the undeniable fact that the United States is in the driving seat of the Quartet. It is perhaps surprising that the General Assembly has not challenged the Security Council and Quartet on their failure to be guided by the advisory opinion. This matter was, however, raised by the President of the General Assembly, Father Miguel D’Escoto Brockmann, in the 32nd Plenary meeting of the 10th Emergency Special Session on the Occupied Palestinian Territory on 15 January 2009 when he asked if it was not incumbent upon the United Nations to rethink its role in the Quartet as a result of its failure to accept the advisory opinion and be guided by its “normative framework for securing and maintaining international peace.”

3. The Response of the Secretary-General to the Opinion The Secretary-General has chosen to follow the approach of the Security Council and the Quartet to the advisory opinion. He has carefully refrained from invoking it as a guide to the United Nations in its quest for peace in the Middle East. This is well illustrated by the statement made by Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon at the Annapolis Conference in 2007 in which he pledged allegiance to the Road Map but made no mention of the advisory opinion. Similarly, when he makes a statement on behalf of the Quartet (such statements are

28 29

See, for example, Resolution 2/4 of 27 November 2006. See http://www.state.gov/r/pa/prs/ps/2003/20062.htm.

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made every three months) the Secretary-General refuses even to mention the Opinion. The lack of enthusiasm for anything relating to the advisory opinion is further shown by the Secretary-General’s handling of the Register of Damages mandated by General Assembly Resolution ES-10/15 (2004). Although the Secretary-General was required “to establish a register of damages caused to all natural or legal persons” by the construction of the wall as a consequence of the advisory opinion in 2004, neither Koﬁ Annan nor Ban Ki-Moon treated this direction with any sense of urgency. A board to manage the register was established only in 2007 and the processing of claims did not start until 2008. The Secretary-General’s stance on the advisory opinion is not diﬃcult to understand. The United States has in eﬀect prohibited both the Security Council and the Quartet from showing any approval of the advisory opinion. It seems inevitable that the Secretary-General has been subject to the same pressure. But there is another reason. On 10 August 2004, Mr. Ralph Zacklin of the Oﬃce of the UN Legal Adviser gave an opinion to Mr. Kiernan Prendergast, under Secretary-General for Political Aﬀairs, which declares: . . . it is our advice that in responding to requests from all sides of the political spectrum to take a stand or an action on the Advisory Opinion, the SecretaryGeneral should ﬁrst state that the Secretariat is not a direct addressee of any of the legal consequences determined by the Court to arise from the construction of the Wall. He should then add that while the Advisory Opinion itself is not binding, the Secretariat is nonetheless bound to comply with the resolutions of the Security Council or the General Assembly adopted in implementation of their respective obligations arising from the legal consequences of the construction of the Wall. Whether the Secretary General should pronounce himself on the merits of the Opinion, or reiterate the Court’s determination on the legality of the Wall and call upon Israel to dismantle the Wall is a political judgment. Legally, it is not called for. (emphasis added).

This legal opinion is hardly an encouragement to the Secretary-General to do something about the advisory opinion. On the contrary, its subliminal message to the Secretary-General is “do nothing.” This advice has been followed.

4. The Status of the Advisory Opinion The Opinion on Legal Consequences of the Construction of the Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory is advisory, it is not legally binding upon States.30 However, both Israel and member States of the United Nations are bound

30

In the advisory opinion on Peace Treaties the International Court stated “[t]he Court’s reply is only of an advisory character: as such, it has no binding force” (1950 ICJ Reports 71).

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by the legal obligations imposed by treaties, such as the Geneva Conventions and the international human rights covenants, and customary international law, that the International Court invokes for its ﬁnding that the construction of the wall is illegal and should be dismantled by Israel and that States are required not to recognize the illegal situation arising from the construction of the wall. While not bound by the Opinion itself, Israel and States are nonetheless bound by the obligations upon which it relies. The Opinion has simply elucidated and conﬁrmed their obligations. It is therefore not entirely correct to describe the Opinion as merely “advisory” as far as States are concerned. The purpose of the present contribution is not to examine the legal obligations of Israel and States arising from the construction of the wall. Instead, its goal is to explore the question whether the advisory opinion on Legal Consequences of the Construction of the Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory has legal consequences for the United Nations in general, and for the SecretaryGeneral in particular. Is it correct that “legally, it is not called for” the Secretary-General to reiterate the Court’s determination on the legality of the Wall and call upon Israel to dismantle the Wall – as Ralph Zacklin has advised? Or is there some legal obligation upon the Secretary-General as “the chief administrative oﬃcer of the Organization,”31 to use his best endeavours to ensure compliance with the Opinion? Much has been written about the legal consequences for States resulting from advisory opinions. Here the debate centres on the diﬀerence between judgments in contentious proceedings and advisory opinions arising from the fact that the former only are designated as binding by Article 59 of the Court’s Statute and enforceable by Article 94 of the Charter. Rosenne maintains that the “practical diﬀerence” between the two is “not signiﬁcant” as both depend on the auctoritas of the same court.32 Pomerance expresses a similar view when she states “In a State’s decision to comply or not to comply with a Court’s pronouncement, it appears that the ‘advisory’ or ‘binding’ nature of the pronouncement is not the crucial factor. What is crucial is the State’s willingness to acquiesce in an adverse judicial ruling – of whatever sort.”33

31 32

33

Article 97. Shabtai Rosenne, The Law and Practice of the International Court, 1920–2005, Vol. 3 (Procedure), (Martinus Nijhoﬀ Publishers, 4th edn., 2006), p. 1702. See too K. Keith The Extent of the Advisory Jurisdiction of the International Court of Justice (Leyden: A. W. Sijthoﬀ, 1971), pp. 221–222. Michla Pomerance, The Advisory Function of the International Court in the League and UN Eras (Baltimore, London: John Hopkins University Press, 1973), p. 371. See further, E. Hambro ‘The Authority of the Advisory Opinions of the International Court of Justice’, 3 International and Comparative Law Quarterly, 1954; and R. Ago ‘Binding Advisory Opinions of the International Court of Justice’ 85 AJIL, 1991, 439.

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If there is little “practical diﬀerence” for States between the consequences of judgments in contentious proceedings and advisory opinions, there should be no diﬀerence at all as far as the consequences for the United Nations of an advisory opinion are concerned. After all, the International Court of Justice is the judicial arm of the United Nations and it would seem that the organization must be bound by an advisory opinion requested by one of its own organs and approved by that organ. This is what led Sir Hersh Lauterpacht, in the 1956 South West Africa Committee34 advisory opinion, to declare that the 1950 advisory opinion on the International Status of South West Africa of 1950,35 which had been requested by the General Assembly and accepted by that body, was the “law recognized by the United Nations”36 – even though it was diﬃcult to characterize its legal consequences for South Africa. This view is challenged by Leo Gross: The Advisory Opinion was given to the requesting organ and not to South Africa. How is one then to understand that by a sort of mutation the Opinion has become ‘the law recognized by the United Nations’? Does the Assembly under the Charter on international law have the legislative power to transform the regime ‘established’ by the Court in an Advisory Opinion which admittedly is not legally binding – neither on the Assembly nor or on the State concerned – into ‘the law recognized by the United Nations?’37

This criticism is not convincing. Advisory opinions, which state “the law at large, erga omnes so to speak,”38 may not bind States but they must surely impose a legal obligation upon the United Nations to consider them in good faith and to be guided by them. At the very least there must be some obligation not to ignore an opinion (as the Security Council and Quartet have done in the case of the Wall opinion) or to act in contradiction to the tenets of the opinion (as the Security Council and Quartet have come perilously close to doing in the case of the Wall opinion). If an advisory opinion becomes the law that guides the United Nations, then a fortiori it is the law that must guide the SecretaryGeneral. As Rosenne says, “[a]n advisory opinion may state a rule with which the Secretary-General, as the chief administrative oﬃcer of the United Nations, is obliged to comply.”39

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35 36 37

38 39

Admissibility of Hearings of Petitioners by the Committee on South West Africa, ICJ Reports 1956, p. 23, pp. 46–7. ICJ Reports 1950, p. 128. Op. cit. (n. 34) at 46–7. ‘The International Court of Justice and the United Nations’, 121 RCADI, (1967–11), 314, p. 418. Rosenne supra note 32, p. 1702. Ibid., p. 1702.

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It is diﬃcult to understand why Mr. Zacklin’s opinion of 10 August 2004, cited above, makes no attempt to examine the law or legal consequences of an advisory opinion for the United Nations, its secretariat or the Secretary-General. There is no mention, let alone consideration, of the views of Rosenne or Lauterpacht on this subject. Why was such an ill-considered, and unreasoned, opinion written on such an important matter? In the result the Zacklin opinion is unconvincing. The better view is that the Court’s opinion on the Wall does impose an obligation on the Secretary-General and the Secretariat to do their utmost to end the construction of the wall, to secure the dismantling of the wall, to secure reparation for damage caused by the wall and to encourage States not to recognize the illegal situation resulting from the construction of the wall. Obviously, action to these ends will in most instances be initiated by the General Assembly and Security Council – as recognized by the Court in its dispositif.40 But there are surely measures that may be taken by the SecretaryGeneral and the Secretariat to implement the Opinion. Such measures include, in addition to the establishment of a Register of Damages, which is premised on the Opinion, instructions to UN agencies in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (OPT) to act in accordance with the Opinion by refraining from any act that might constitute recognition of Israel’s authority within the “seam zone” between the Green Line and the wall (which instructions have clearly been given); the initiation of action by the Secretary-General to ensure compliance with the Opinion in terms of Article 99 of the UN Charter; and the promotion of the Opinion within the deliberations of the Quartet. It is the failure of the Secretary-General to promote the Opinion in the Quartet that is most obvious and most disconcerting. The legal basis for the Quartet is uncertain; it is essentially an informal arrangement agreed upon by the Security Council, with no resolution to support it. The advisory opinion on the Wall, on the other hand, provides a normative framework for peace in the region from the judicial organ of the United Nations acting within its competence. Surely, the Secretary-General’s allegiance should be to the Opinion and not an informal arrangement of the Security Council?

5. The Conduct of the Secretary-General in Respect of other Advisory Opinions There is no consistency in the approach of the Secretary-General towards advisory opinions. An examination of the advisory opinions most similar to that of

40

Supra note 1.

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413

the Wall – the Reparation for Injuries (1949),41 the International Status of South West Africa (1950),42 the Expenses Case (1962),43 Namibia (1971)44 and Western Sahara (1975)45 – shows a diﬀerence in both the willingness to appear before the Court and a commitment to implementing the opinion of the Court. In some cases, the Secretary-General has instructed legal counsel to present oral argument before the Court in advisory proceedings, and this has been done with skill and enthusiasm. In other cases there has been no appearance, and simply a submission of relevant documents that might be helpful to the Court. In Reparation for Injuries, Ivan Kerno, Assistant Secretary-General for Legal Aﬀairs, and Abraham Feller, General Counsel, presented comprehensive legal arguments, which were heavily relied on by the Court. This precedent was repeated in the International Status of South West Africa proceedings, in which Kerno appeared, assisted by Marc Schreiber and Blaine Sloan. In 1971, the Legal Counsel, Constantin Stavropoulos, presented a powerful argument before the Court in the Namibia proceedings, which led one commentator to describe his role as that of “quasi applicant.”46 On the other hand, there was no appearance before the Court for the Secretary-General in the Expenses Case or Western Sahara, although the Secretary-General did submit a dossier of documents to the Court. The same approach was followed in the Wall. It is not clear why some advisory proceedings are considered worthy of appearance but not others. Does the Secretary-General wish to send a message of support for the opinion when he instructs counsel to appear on his behalf? Conversely, is non-appearance to be interpreted as indiﬀerence on the part of the SecretaryGeneral? Or opposition, as the failure of legal counsel to appear in the Wall has been construed in some quarters. The response of successive Secretary-Generals to advisory opinions is likewise erratic. Trygve Lie initiated the request for the Reparation for Injuries Opinion and ensured that, following the Opinion, claims were successfully brought against Israel. Lie seems to have been motivated both by a determination to protect UN staﬀ and by the distress caused by the assassination of a friend,47 Count Bernadette, by Jewish terrorists/freedom ﬁghters, which gave rise to the

41 42 43 44 45 46 47

ICJ Reports 1949, p. 174. ICJ Reports 1950, p. 128. ICJ Reports 1962, p. 151. ICJ Reports 1971, p. 16. ICJ Reports 1975, p. 12. Pomerance, supra note 33, p. 51. In his memoirs, In the Cause of Peace, Seven Years with the United Nations (New York: Macmillan, 1954) Lie writes, p. 191: “I knew the count and his family personally, and this was enough to give a special edge to my sorrow”.

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Opinion. The Secretary-General had only a small role to play in the implementation of the International Status of South West Africa as, when it accepted the Opinion,48 the General Assembly established a Committee on South West Africa to give eﬀect to the Opinion. The Secretary-General was more active in the attempts to implement the 1971 Namibia Opinion, which was probably to be expected as the Opinion was requested by the Security Council, and approved by both Council49 and Assembly.50 However, in pursuance of an instruction to the Secretary-General (Kurt Waldheim) to negotiate with parties to the Namibia dispute,51 the Secretary-General was criticized by the UN Council for Namibia52 for allowing his representative, Alfred Escher, to consider solutions at variance with the Opinion, which would have given recognition to the exercise of self-determination on a regional basis in accordance with the proposals of the South Africa government. The response of Secretary-General U Thant to the Expenses Opinion was predictably positive, as it was essential for the funding of the United Nations. U Thant, did, however, indicate strong personal support for the Opinion, when he told the Fifth Committee, which considered the Opinion prior to the decision of the General Assembly to accept the Opinion,53 that At the very outset, I must express my hope that the Fifth Committee, in its advice to the Assembly, will follow the time-honored tradition whereby each principal organ of the United Nations respects and upholds the views, resolutions and decisions of other principal organs in their respective ﬁelds of competence. Not to do so in the present case would be not only a departure from the tradition relating to all the past precedents concerning advisory opinions of the Court, but also a blow at the authority and standing of both the Court and the Assembly in a matter vital to the future of the United Nations.54

Actual implementation of the Opinion was left to a working group established by the General Assembly.55 Successive Secretary-Generals took little interest in the Western Sahara Opinion in their attempts to resolve the dispute over the territory. Perez de Cuellar, who confronted the Western Sahara dispute in the period 1985 to 1991, advo-

48 49 50 51 52 53 54

55

Resolution 449 (V). Resolution 301 (1971). Resolution 2871 (1971). Resolution 309 (1972). S/10921, Annex 11, p. 7. Resolution 1854 (XVII). A. W. Cordier & W. Foote (eds.), Public Papers of the Secretaries-General of the United Nations, Vol. 6 (U Thant) (New York: Columbia University Press, 1969), p. 269; GAOR, XVII Session, Annexes, Agenda Item 64, UN Doc. A/C5/1952. Supra note 53.

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cated a solution contrary to the ruling of the Court on the right of the people of the territory to self-determination when he gave his support to the integration of Western Sahara into Morocco. His memoirs, which fail even to mention the advisory opinion in the chapter on Western Sahara reveal that he was “never convinced that independence promised the best future for the inhabitants of Western Sahara” and he preferred a solution involving “an autonomous region in the Moroccan state.”56 The ﬁndings of the Court in its dispositif do not provide an explanation for the inconsistent conduct of the Secretary-General. Reparations for Injuries authorized the United Nations to claim reparations for injuries to its oﬃcials; International Status of South West Africa did not authorize the United Nations to do anything but obliged South Africa to submit reports and petitions to the United Nations as successor to the League of Nations; Expenses found that expenditures authorized by the General Assembly for peacekeeping operations were expenses of the United Nations; Namibia held that the continued presence of South Africa in Namibia was illegal and that States were under an obligation to recognize this illegality; and Western Sahara decided that Western Sahara had not been terra nullius at the time of its colonization and that there were no legal ties between Western Sahara and Morocco and Mauritania. Only one of the Opinions examined calls upon the United Nations to take action, and that is the Wall which ﬁnds that “[t]he United Nations, and especially the General Assembly and Security Council, should consider what further action is required to bring an end to the illegal situation resulting from the construction of the Wall and associated regime, taking due account of the present Advisory Opinion.”57 Although the ﬁnding makes no express reference to the Secretary-General, the call upon the United Nations to consider further action relating to the illegal construction of the Wall “taking due account” of the advisory opinion seems to embrace the Secretary-General.

6. Conclusion In his approach to the Wall Opinion, Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon may take some comfort from the fact that his predecessors have been inconsistent in their

56

57

Javier Perez de Cuellar, Pilgrimage for Peace, (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997), p. 352. Marrack Golding, who worked with the Secretary-General in the United Nations, declared “I came increasingly to feel that [Perez de Cuellar] had an undeclared agenda with the Moroccans . . . Perhaps he hoped that, before the end of his mandate, he could mediate a political deal based on enhanced autonomy for Western Sahara within the Kingdom of Morocco”, Peacemonger (London: J. Murray 2002), pp. 211–212. ICJ Reports 2004, p. 136, p. 202.

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eﬀorts to implement advisory opinions. Moreover, he has the Zacklin opinion to back him. There is, however, a diﬀerence between the opinions examined and the Wall. In the Wall, the Court spoke with a clear voice – almost unanimously on the main ﬁndings, and unanimously on key issues. It called on the United Nations in general (that is, including the Secretary-General), and the Security Council and General Assembly in particular, to consider taking further action to implement the Opinion. The General Assembly gave its approval to the Opinion and instructed the Secretary-General to set up a Register of Damages for claims arising from the construction of the wall. As the establishment of the Register of Damages is a consequence of the Court’s ﬁnding that the wall is illegal, it follows that, as far as the General Assembly is concerned, the Secretary-General is obliged to accept the Wall Opinion as the premise for such action. This he has done by setting up the Register of Damages. In the light of the above circumstances, it is incomprehensible that the Secretary-General should refuse to express his commitment to be guided by the Wall opinion in his handling of the Middle East Peace process. Worse still is his failure to even mention the Opinion when he acts as spokesman for the Quartet or to ensure that the Quartet is guided by its normative framework in its deliberations, pronouncements and actions. This failure is a variance with instructions from two of the principal organs of the United Nations – the International Court of Justice and the General Assembly – and demonstrates a preferred allegiance to a small clique of States within the Security Council, or perhaps to one State only. In terms of the Charter, the Secretary-General represents the United Nations as a whole, and is accountable to the United Nations as a whole, and not one or more of the permanent members of the Security Council. The Secretary-General’s predicament may be likened to that of President Eisenhower in respect of Brown v. Board of Education.58 Eisenhower did not like Brown and probably would have preferred not to enforce it. But, rightly, he believed that as President he was obliged to give eﬀect to the Supreme Court’s ruling on school desegregation. The Secretary General is in a similar position. He may not like the Wall Opinion, but he is obliged to use his best endeavours to implement it in all his actions – including within the Quartet.

58

347 US 483 (1954).

Chapter 20 Unity in the application of international law at the global level and the responsibility of judges at the national level: Reviewing Georges Scelle’s ‘Role splitting’ theory Pierre-Marie Dupuy

Professor Vera Gowlland has consistently demonstrated throughout her career an exceptional interest for the functioning of international justice. At the same time, being a true international lawyer – insofar as she has been schooled in several legal traditions, languages and cultures – she has also taken a keen interest in the evolution of comparative national case law dealing with the interpretation and application of public international law. It is for this reason, among others, that the following lines are devoted to a consideration of the responsibility of the national judge at a time of globalization in the development of a substantial uniﬁcation of international law, considered here as a corpus juris integrated within a true legal order. Generally speaking, the phenomenon of globalisation has stimulated the search and identiﬁcation by certain authors of the numerous manifestations of the “globalisation of law” (mondialisation du droit), to which an eminent French scholar, Professor Mireille Delmas-Marty, has already made a particularly stimulating contribution.1 In this context, the aim of unity in the interpretation and application of international law at the universal level would imply, from a purely logical perspective, the creation of a truly global judicial system. Ideally, this model would be set up in such a way as to guarantee at every level eﬀective respect by States of their international obligations. There would thus need to be a corresponding normative and institutional hierarchy. Implementation of this model would be two-fold. First, such a global judicial system should

1

See from this author: Trois déﬁs pour un droit mondial, (Paris: Seuil, 1998); Leçon inaugurale au Collège de France, (Paris: Fayard, 2003); Vers un droit commun de l’humanité, (Paris: Textuel, 2nd edn. 2005). See also from the same author Le relatif et l’Universel, (Paris: Seuil, 2004); Le pluralisme ordonné, (Paris: Seuil, 2006); and La refondation des pouvoirs, (Paris: Seuil, 2007).

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primarily rely on a simpliﬁed and harmonised relationship between international law and national law, and this is precisely where the responsibility of the national judge could be shown to be of crucial importance. In other words, according to this ideal vision, globalisation as a socio-cultural phenomenon would work as a facilitator in the promotion of a monist integration of the relationship between international and municipal law, thus rendering outmoded any persistent dualistic perception of this relationship, contrary to what is still maintained by some authors, such as Professor Arangio-Ruiz.2 Second, the next step would be to coordinate the competence of international jurisdictions within the international legal system. This latter aspect has often been considered by international scholars to the detriment of the former, namely a reconsideration of the relationship between national and international law. This two-fold ideal vision faces diﬀerent kinds of obstacles in practice.3 These obstacles are not necessarily deﬁnitive. Indeed, there is both an evolution in the relationship between international and national law, as well as a search at the strictly international level of a still shaky coordination between international jurisdictions. The present paper focuses on the ﬁrst of these two dimensions, namely the role of the national judge in the interpretation and application of international law. At both the national and international levels, it very much seems that it is ﬁrst and foremost in the minds of judges that the problem must be solved, including the interpretation of provisions of national constitutions that deal with the relationship between the two legal orders (the national and the international). If these judges are convinced that a harmonised application of the rules of international law is necessary, its unity will be guaranteed. However, if they disregard this fundamental unity, for cultural reasons or through an insuﬃcient legal understanding of international law, then the survival of this unity may indeed be threatened. At the global level, a unitary approach to the interpretation and the application of international law would imply, not necessarily the disappearance of the barrier between the national and international legal orders, which is in any event unlikely, but at least its progressive diminution. If this were to occur, it would increase the porosity of the border between national law and international law. In an ideal model, which we can refer to at this stage as a simple

2

3

See in particular G. Arangio-Ruiz, L’Etat dans le sens du droit des gens et la notion de droit international, (Bologna: Cooperativa Libreria Universitaria, 1975), pp. 103–117. Compare, H. Triepel, ‘Les rapports entre le droit interne et le droit international’, RCADI I, 1923, in particular 77–119; D. Anzilotti, Cours de droit international, Tome I, (Paris, Sirey, 1929), pp. 55–65. See C. Gray, Judicial Remedies in International Law, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990).

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working hypothesis, both the national and international legal orders would be tasked with applying international norms. This model would promote at the same time normative integration and organic cooperation. It would lead quite naturally to a monist system.4 The International Court of Justice, as a kind of universal Supreme Court, would stand atop this institutional pyramid. At the other end of the spectrum, the ﬁrst instance national judge, whether civil or administrative, having become the “common judge of international law” in a similar fashion to what occurred in the beginning with European Community law, would be the ﬁrst to guarantee that States respect internationally proclaimed human rights and that, more speciﬁcally, an individual be punished if he or she commits crimes “of concern to the international community as a whole”.5 Still according to the theoretical framework previously laid down, an organic hierarchy of national and international jurisdictions would guarantee the respect of a normative overlapping. National law would need to conform to the substantial requirements of international law, but beyond that, it would also need to make its national courts available. Without necessarily making international law directly applicable,6 the national judge could be invited to set aside the application of national law, whether that of the State or that of another State, when an analysis of the international rule would easily show that its application does not require any reference to a national rule. The progressive globalisation of law would thus lead to the establishment of a form of judicial federalism. In the actual circumstances, this ideal model is far from being applied in practice. It would, however, be a serious mistake to consider that it a mere utopia. It is immediately apparent that the obstacles to a total realisation of this coordination of legal orders requires their mutual recognition and, beyond declarations of intent, the eﬀective acceptance at the national level of the supremacy of the international over the national, in order to pave the way for even a partial integration of the latter into the former. Such a development presupposes a belief in the need to respect the international rule of law, shared by the greatest possible number of States composing

4

5

6

On the distinction between monism and dualism in the relationship between national and international law see for example, P. M. Dupuy, Droit international public, (Paris: Dalloz, 9th ed., 2006), §§ 416–422. According to the expression of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (article 5). P. M. Dupuy, supra note 4, §§ 412–415.

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the international community, but also their judges, as we shall see later.7 This implies for example that national Constitutions will not take precedence over international rules. As we know, such a vision is fundamentally and most notably not shared by a large portion of American elites nor the Supreme Court of the United States, as evinced in its case law.8 Elsewhere, particularly in France, with perhaps less arrogance but with an equally blind determination, national legal practice shows that dualism still appears to have a certain appeal regardless of the constitutional mechanism governing the relationship between national and international law.9 Its continued existence is of course at odds with a harmonious realisation of the purest form of monism, described above. Most national judges eventually accept to recognise the primacy of international law. However, even in countries that have adopted monism in their Constitution, the natural tendency of the judge is to apply international law only when it exists as an equivalent or compatible rule to national legislation. It is ﬁrst and foremost national law that the judge is trained to apply and respect, in a technical but also in a psychological and ideological sense. As for international law, one can in fact consider that it is applied with a dualist mentality when national laws are considered to constitute simple facts.10 However, it would be wrong to believe that the previously laid out integrationist vision has not yet received any concrete application – far from it. Indeed, there have long been practical applications of this juncture between legal orders for which Georges Scelle’s role splitting theory already provided a model.11 This practice even appears to be increasing. Such is the case every time a municipal institution acts with a view to implementing public international law instead of

7 8

9

10

11

See infra, Section 2D. See for example M. Byers and G. Nolte (eds.), United States Hegemony and the Foundations of International Law, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003); See also E. Jouannet and H. Ruiz-Fabri (eds.), Impérialisme et droit international en Europe et aux Etats-Unis, (Paris: Société de législation comparée, 2007). For the French case, see P. M. Dupuy (ed), Droit international et droit interne dans la jurisprudence comparée du Conseil Constitutionnel français, (Paris: Editions Panthéon-Assas, 2001). In a strict sense, international law could only be considered monist with primacy of national laws if it saw them as legal orders. The situation is however ambiguous, given that international law goes beyond the simple fact of national law, and recognizes as internationally valid certain situations resulting from the application of national rules. See C. Santulli, Le statut international de l’ordre juridique étatique, (Paris: Pedone, 2001). For a presentation of this theory: G. Scelle, Précis de droit des Gens, Principes et systématique, Vol. I. (1932) pp. 43, 54–56, 217 and Vol. II (1934) pp. 10, 319, 450. See also, by the same author, ‘Le phénomène du dédoublement fonctionnel’, in: Rechtfragen der Internationalen Organisazion, Festschrift für H. Weberg, (1956), pp. 324–342. For a commented presentation of the theory, see H. Thierry, ‘The Thought of Georges Scelle and A. Cassese, Remarks on Scelles’s Theory of “Role Splitting” ’, 1 European Journal of International Law, No. 1.

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an international organ endowed with this capacity that nevertheless fails to act. Georges Scelles used to deﬁned this phenomenon in the following way: les agents dotés d’une compétence institutionnelle ou investis par un ordre juridique utilisent leur capacité ‘fonctionnelle’ telle qu’elle est organisée dans l’ordre juridique qui les a instituées mais pour assurer l’eﬃcacité des normes d’un autre ordre juridique privé des organes nécessaires à sa réalisation.12

In other words, the existing organs of the internal legal order help compensate the organic deﬁciencies of the international legal order by providing the latter with their competence. Due to a lack of a suﬃciently developed international institutional framework, international law relies on State organs to guarantee its eﬀective application. These State organs thus “kill two birds with one stone”. While still acting within the framework of their competence as it is deﬁned in the national legal order, they also play a part in the application of international law. This role splitting theory was elaborated in the 1930s, in a period when the organic development of the international legal order could only be described as embryonic. At least, this is the case when we compare the number of international organizations at that time with those existing today. The structuring of international society by the United Nations and its specialized bodies, itself being a strong indicator of the appearance of an “international community”, is without comparison with what had been sketched out by the League of Nations.13 Back then, the organic lacunae of the system constituted the rule, not the exception. As a consequence, one could have thought that the opportunities to apply the role splitting theory would diminish as the international legal order created an increasing number of organs directly aimed at guaranteeing the eﬀectiveness of international law. This hope was shared by a number of scholars including Wolfgang Friedmann.14

12

13

14

G. Scelle, ‘Le phénomène du dédoublement fonctionnel’, ibid., p. 331. See also, by the same author, ‘Quelques réﬂexions hétérogènes sur la technique de l’ordre juridique interétatique’, in Hommage d’une génération de juristes au Président Basdevant, (Paris: Pedone, 1960), pp. 473–488. On the ambiguities of the notion of the “international community”, and its diﬀerent possible meanings, see my analysis in ‘L’unité de l’ordre juridique international’, General course at the Hague Academy of International Law, 297 RCADI 2002, pp. 245–269. W. Friedmann, The Changing Structure of International Law, (London: Stevens and Sons, 1964). On a recent analysis of this author’s contribution, see the special edition of 9 European Journal of International Law, 1998, No. 2, and more particularly the following article: G. Abi-Saab, ‘Whither the International Community ?’, pp. 248–265.

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In fact, the opposite seems to be happening. Indeed, two phenomena have simultaneously been taking place. Of course, the last sixty years have seen a spectacular organic development of the international institutional system, including its judicial arm. However, this institutional expansion has been accompanied by a similarly spectacular expansion in the scope and density of international norms. In other words, if there are many more international organs, there are also many more international norms the respect of which must be guaranteed. To say things diﬀerently, the ratio between the number of international norms and the number of international organs in charge of enabling their application has not necessarily become more favourable than at the time Scelle was writing. Moreover, the economic and social evolution of the international system, encouraged by the ambiguous “globalization” phenomena, has modiﬁed the ways in which the national and the international spheres establish links. As we mentioned at the start of this article, some claim an irreversible globalization of law,15 identiﬁable by an increased porosity of legal orders enabling a better adaptation of the regulation of human activity in the context of a multiform and an increasing overtaking of State structures. In any event, it must be admitted that, to say the least, international law needs help in order to be eﬀectively implemented! And the help that it is receiving at this stage does not lead to its eﬀective application in many cases. This considerable increase in the content of international law, both general and special, has led, since the end of World War II, to an increase in the number of situations where States are called upon to lend a hand to guarantee its eﬀectiveness, even if its implementation ultimately remains imperfect. Already, in the context of the most orthodox general international law, the conditions of exercise of diplomatic protection demonstrated the organic dependency of international law’s legal institutions on internal law, as illustrated by the requirement to exhaust all local remedies. As was pointed out by Roberto Ago in his reports to the International Law Commission, this requirement triggers a procedural mechanism allowing internal jurisdictions to require States to respect their binding international obligations. Thus, they can remove the need to call upon the international responsibility of that State.16 The development of Human Rights has further strengthened this phenomenon.17 The dozens of treaties adopted in this ﬁeld have for the most part inbuilt

15 16

17

See Mireille Delmas-Marty, supra, note 1. See P. M. Dupuy, Droit international public, supra note 4, §§ 477–479; J. Dugard, 2nd Report on diplomatic protection, 28 February 2001, UN doc. A/CN.4/514. See C. Tomuschat, Human Rights, between Idealism and Realism, Academy of European Law, Vol. XIII/1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

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mechanisms that monitor their respect by States. However, the national judge remains the one who must control the respect of the obligations undertaken. An application to both the European Court of Human Rights and its American counterpart is conditioned on the same procedural rule, that of the exhaustion of local remedies. For example, when a national judge hears a case on a matter concerning, for example, the right to life, to liberty or to a fair trial, the judge performs a role splitting function by controlling at the same time respect of international law by the State as laid down in the pertinent treaty, and the State’s conformity with national laws, particularly if the treaty concerned has not been directly integrated in the national legislation. In the context of the current evolution of State responsibility, the most striking feature, crystallized in the codiﬁcation process, is without doubt that of the ‘multilaterisation’ of international obligations. The recognition of the erga omnes obligations by the International Court of Justice in 1970, around the same time as the recognition of jus cogens in the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (1969), has led, beyond the failed attempt to realise the idea of State crimes, to the recognition of legal standing for all States, based on their membership of the international community. When “the obligation breached is owed to the international community as a whole”, “any State other than an injured State is entitled to invoke the responsibility of another State”, to require from that State the cessation of the internationally wrongful act, guarantees of non-repetition, and the recognition as well as the execution of the right to reparation. Thus is the system promoted by Article 48 of the Draft articles on State responsibility adopted by the International Law Commission in 2001.18 It would be wrong to believe that these rules will not be applied in the future. Indeed, Article 48 found its inspiration in a developing State practice that started in the 1980s, namely measures taken by some States other than the injured one against States accused of breaching their obligations against the international community as a whole. This practice has been amply commented upon, and here is not the place to develop further the analysis.19 Let us just point out that, in a number or cases, when a State takes a measure against another State based on the protection of a rule of “fundamental importance” for the international community, this State wants to legitimate such action by

18

19

See M. Iovane, ‘E possibile codiﬁcare la responsabilità dello stato per violazione delle norme internazionali di importanza fondamentale?’ in: M. Spinedi, A. Gianelli, M. L. Alaimo, (eds.) La Codiﬁcazione della responsabilità internazionale degli Stati alla prova dei fatti, (Milan: Giuffrè ed., 2006), pp. 342–384; P. M. Dupuy (ed.), Obligations multilatérales, droit impératif et responsabilité internationale des Etats, Florence conference, EUI, (Paris, Pedone, 2003). See my course at the Hague Academy of International Law on international wrongful acts, 188 RCADI, 1984, pp. 13–133.

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pretending that it is acting through its national organs, including its judicial organs, in favour of international law. The situation is identical when, in the context of the law of peace and security, States implement sanctions decided by the Security Council under Chapter VII to, among other things, freeze foreign assets, impose bans on the sale of weapons or on international ﬂights to the sanction-targeted country.20 In such a case, we have further evidence of Scelle’s role splitting in the sense that the national public organs of the State serve as instruments for the implementation of an institutional international decision. Mutatis mutandis, the same phenomenon appears at the regional level when in particular the European Union adopts through the means of its competent organs a community regulation aimed at applying sanctions or other measures decided by the UN Security Council at the universal level. There are other examples of even more recent developments of international law, in the ﬁeld of international criminal law, where role splitting can come into play. These developments, rather than being examples of the integration of national and international law, are concerned with the coordination of these laws in order to allow the former to help in the application of the latter through the judicial bodies of the competent State. Echoing the preamble, article 1 of the Rome Statute aﬃrms that the International Criminal Court (‘ICC’) “shall be complementary to national criminal jurisdictions”.21 Article 17 then considers the examples of inadmissibility of cases, the ﬁrst of which is when “The case is being investigated or prosecuted by a State which has jurisdiction over it”. Therefore, unlike the two ad hoc tribunals competent to try crimes committed in the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda, the ICC does not have primacy over national courts to try those responsible for committing the crimes listed in Articles 5 to 8.22 The State where the acts were committed, or the State that the accused person is a national of, will have priority over the ICC if they decide to prosecute the crime. The rationale for this principle of complementarity is laid down in the preamble of the Rome Statute which states that the State parties are “determined to put an end to impunity for the perpetrators of these crimes and thus to contribute to the prevention of such crimes”. There must therefore be no gap in the allocation of judicial competence to prosecute the crimes. Criminals must not escape prosecution, ﬁrst at the national level, and, if need be, at the international level.

20

21

22

See Annalisa Ciampi, Sanzioni del Consiglio di sicurreza e diritti umani, (Milan: Giuﬀre, 2008). See the text of the Rome Statute, most notably in P. M. Dupuy, Grands textes de droit international public, (Paris: Dalloz, 5th ed., 2006), p. 232 s. Ibid., p. 207 s.

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The novelty of this principle resides in the fact that it organises, in the context of a treaty, the distribution of competences between national jurisdictions and a specialized international jurisdiction. For the rest, it follows a time-old logic: it respects territoriality, as well as active nationality, as the bases for determining competence. Tribute is thus paid to the traditional attributes of sovereignty. Complementarity, by applying the role splitting model, recognizes competent national jurisdictions as the common jurisdictions in which to prosecute those who have committed the core crimes, those that article 5 of the ICC Statute calls “the most serious crimes of concern to the international community as a whole”. This principle establishes a hierarchy in the exercise of jurisdiction. The organic priority that it recognizes is made possible by the fact that both the national judge and the international judge have the same goal: to punish crimes committed against the international community. Concerning the functioning of internal jurisdictions, similar remarks could be made in situations where a State prosecutes someone accused of a crime aﬀecting the international community, based not on the territoriality or nationality principles, but on universal jurisdiction. Without detailing the conditions under which this form of jurisdiction is recognised in positive law,23 it is interesting to simply note that in such a case, the judicial organs of the prosecuting State act on behalf of the international community. We therefore remain within the role splitting framework. We can thus see that the ideal model of integration, both organic and normative, is far from being a simple utopia. Classical institutions, such as the exhaustion of local remedies, but mostly new developments linked to the institutionalization of the international community, in ﬁelds such as peace and security, the ‘multilateralisation’ of obligations and its consequences on State responsibility, or the even more recent innovations in international criminal law, illustrate the articulation of the international and national legal orders. This contradicts the dualist tendencies, despite their persistency. Thus, there is a dynamic tension between the defence of the national legal setting which still often deﬁnes itself in opposition to international law, and the corresponding recognition of what one could call the rights of the international community which call on more openness on the part of national legal orders towards the international sphere. It is possible to see in this confrontation of opposing logics one example of the fundamental tension existing between

23

See A. Cassese, ‘Is the Bell Tolling for Universality? A Plan for a Sensible Notion of Universal Jurisdiction’, in 1 Journal of International Criminal Justice, No. 3, pp. 589–595. See also D. Vermeersch, ‘La compétence universelle’, in: A. Cassese and M. Delmas-Marty, Juridictions nationales et crimes internationaux, (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2002), pp. 589–611.

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the two principles of unity of the international legal order, one formal, and the other substantial, the theoretical analysis of which has been undertaken elsewhere.24 As an overtaking more than a mere prolongation of this last tendency, recent developments have illustrated the possibility for high-ranking national courts to show their desire to actively contribute in their own case law to the further development of general international law. A spectacular illustration of this desire was provided in particular by the Italian Supreme Court in the Ferrini Case,25 and its subsequent aﬃrmations. One of the most striking features of this case law, viewed from the standpoint of how the municipal judge perceives his or her role and responsibility in contributing to the development of new evolving international rules, is the way in which the Italian Corte di Cassazione constructed its argument. Indeed, the Court did not hesitate in taking advantage of the moral and philosophical values incorporated into some international legal rules dealing with the protection of fundamental human rights in order to make them prevail over the classical customary principle of State immunity before foreign national jurisdictions. Contrary to earlier national cases, most of them before US courts, such as the famous Letelier v. Chile case before the US Supreme Court,26 the Corte di Cassazione refers to a number of relevant international norms. The Italian supreme judge considers itself as contributing to the promotion and consolidation of a new set of rules according to which in case of grave violations of fundamental human rights and breaches of “cardinal principles of humanitarian law”, the principal of foreign state immunity can no longer prevail over the obligation of prosecuting international crimes thus creating a “human rights exception”

24 25

26

See P. M. Dupuy, supra note 13. Corte di Cassazione, judgment N° 5044 of 6 November 2003, registered 11 March 2004. English translation in ILR, 2004, pp. 659–675. See in particular Gianelli, ‘Crimini internazionali ed immunità degli Stati dalla giurisdizione nella sentenza Ferrini’, 87 Rivista di diritto internazionale, 2004, 643; Pasquale De Sena and Francesca De Vittor, ‘State Immunity and Human Rights: The Italian Supreme Court Decision on the Ferrini Case’, 16 European Journal of International Law, No. 1, 2005, 89–112; A. Bianchi, ‘L’immunité des Etats et les violations graves des droits de l’homme’, 108 Revue Générale de Droit International Public, 2004, 63. Contra C. Tomuschat, ‘L’immunité des Etats en cas de violations graves des droits de l’homme’, RGDIP, 2005, 51; Karagiannakis, ‘State Immunity and Fundamental Human Rights’, 11, Leiden J of Int’l L, 1998, 11; Caplan, ‘State Immunity, Human Rights, and Jus Cogens: a Critique of the Normative Hierarchy Theory’, AJIL, 2003, 741; C. Focarelli, ‘La dynamique du droit international et la function du jus cogens dans le processus de changement de la règle sur l’immunité juridictionnelle des Etats étrangers’, RGDIP, 2008, 761. For a conﬁrmation of the Ferrini jurisprudence, see also Corte di Cassazione, Milde Max Joseph, Judgment of 21 October 2008. 488 FSupp 665 (DDC 1980), 63 ILR, 1982.

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to the principal of jurisdictional immunity as it derives from the principle of equality among sovereign States. With the exception of a series of US decisions, the only precedent for such a position was to be found in the Prefecture of Volotia v Federal Republic of Germany Case issued by the Greek Supreme Court.27 The Italian Supreme Court did not hesitate to widely apply international legal arguments for categorizing deportation and the subjection of deportees to forced labour as an “international crime”; considering the gravity of these crimes which “threaten the whole of humanity and undermine the foundations of peaceful international relations” in relation with the hierarchy of norms in modern international law. The Court takes in particular advantage of the position adopted by the minority judges of the ECHR in the Al-Adsani case28 as well as of the reasoning developed by the ICTY in the Furundzija judgment29 which lists the possibility of the victim “being able to mount a civil damage action before the courts of a foreign State” as one of the outcomes of a normative violation of this type of crime being carried out “on an interstate level”; it reaches the conclusion that: “there is no doubt that a contradiction between two equally binding legal norms ought to be resolved by giving precedence to the norm with the highest status”.30 The Supreme Court concludes by identifying “a tendency to override the theory of restricted immunity”, after having asserted that “the distinction between acts performed jure imperii and acts carried out jure gestionis assumes no relevance in respect of damages claims arising from ‘assaults on the physical integrity of a person’ or from loss or damage of a ‘bodily’ nature.”31 The Court underlines that the gravity of the crimes committed by the Third Reich in the context of the concerned case breached peremptory norms of international law which “prevail over all other norms, either statutory or customary in nature”.32 As rightly pointed out by two qualiﬁed commentators, “what led the Court to deny Germany’s immunity from Italian jurisdiction is not merely the formal supremacy of the jus cogens category, covering the norms violated in the case, but the substantial importance which can be attributed to the values protected by

27

28

29

30 31 32

Prefettura do Voiotia v. Federal Republic of Germany Judgment n°11, 4 May 2000, cited in the Ferrini judgment in the English translation, ILR, 2004, 667. Common dissenting opinion of Judges Rozalkis, Caﬂish, Wildhaber, Cosata, Cabral Barreto and Vajic in the case of Al Adsani v. United-Kingdom, Judgment of the ECHR of 21 November 2001. ICTY Trial Chamber, Prosecutor v. Anto Furundzija, Judgment of 10 December 1998, IT-95–17/1–T, pp. 153–5. Ibid., p. 669. Ibid., p. 672. See commentary De Sena, De Vittor, supra note 25, 101.

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these norms, in contrast to the traditional principle of state sovereignty.”33 The judgment of the Italian Supreme Court in the Ferrini Case, far from remaining isolated in its own case law, was further reiterated by the same judicial organ in 2007 and 200834 with the consequence of provoking a claim before the International Court of Justice against Italy instituted by Germany for having “failed to respect the jurisdictional immunity which the Federal Republic of Germany enjoys under international law”.35 Now, if one compares the actual stand adopted by the Italian Corte di Cassazione with Scelle’s theory of “role splitting”, it is quite evident that one is here confronted with a qualitative change compared to the situations previously described under the cover of this theory. In the Ferrini-type situations, the national judge does not remain within the purely institutional perspective according to which he assists the organically deﬁcient international order by implementing well-established rules of international law, whether based on treaties or custom. On the contrary, conscious of the existence of some contradictory trends which contemporarily coexist within the same legal order, the national judge deliberately chooses a very progressive interpretation of the law to apply. In so doing, the national judge draws what he or she considers to be the normative logical consequences of the existence of peremptory rules which tend to substitute a substantial unity of the international legal order that until recently has only been organized on the basis of its formal coherence, that provided a set of secondary rules of international law as deﬁned by H. L. A. Hart.36 Confronting a conﬂict of rules inherent to international law, the national judge here actively takes a course of action which gives primacy to these peremptory rules over others according to a certain perception of what the law is becoming but also according to what it should become if it is to safeguard its coherence. In so doing, the Italian Supreme Court asserts itself as a promoter of the logical implications of a series of normative innovations, which should not be forgotten as being the product of the will of States, that relate to the concept of jus cogens or to new developments in the area of international criminal law. For this reason it would be simplistic to depict the Italian Supreme Court judge as someone who is moved by an anti-positivist and ultra-monist perception of the relationship between international and national law. Rather, the recent jurisprudence of the Italian Supreme Court (interestingly, traditionally inspired by a dualistic approach of the relationship between 33 34

35

36

Ibid., p. 194. See C. Focarelli, supra note 25, 26 ﬀ, and the Milde Max Josef case, supra note 25 (only in Italian language). Case Concerning Jurisdictional Immunities (Federal Republic of Germany v. Italian Republic), Application of the FRG, 22 December 2008, http://www.icj-cij.org. On this, see P. M. Dupuy, supra note 13, 24 ﬀ.

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national and international law) demonstrates that the role of the national judge perhaps encompasses new developments in the near future, not only in the application but also in the development of modern international law. After all, decisions taken by the national judge that interpret the international rule of law are part of what is traditionally recognized as the practice of States in the sense of the general theory of the customary law-making process.

Chapter 21 The binding nature of the decisions of the International Court of Justice Abdul G. Koroma

1. Introduction Mechanisms for international dispute settlement have seen exponential growth, in both number and use, since the early 1990s. Various international courts and tribunals have been established to resolve disputes in many areas of international law; these include the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea, the UN Criminal Tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda, the International Criminal Court, the Dispute Settlement Body of the World Trade Organization and many more.1 At the same time, those international dispute settlement institutions that have long existed have witnessed an unprecedented increase in their case loads. This is true for the Permanent Court of Arbitration and the tribunals established under the ICSID Convention. It is, however, equally true for the International Court of Justice (ICJ), which has, since the early 1990s, dealt with a constant ﬂow of cases concerning virtually all ﬁelds of international law, including inter alia territorial disputes, maritime delimitation, international environmental law, international criminal law, international investment matters, the law of the use of force, questions of immunities. Some have been submitted by special agreement, some pursuant to treaties granting jurisdiction to the Court, others on the basis of forum prorogatum.

1

The literature evidences a surge of interest in the implications of this development for the international legal system. See, for example, Laurence R. Helfer, and Anne-Marie Slaughter, ‘Toward a Theory of Eﬀective Supranational Adjudication’, 107 Yale L J, 1997, p. 273; Benedict Kingsbury, ‘Foreword: Is the Proliferation of International Courts and Tribunals a Systemic Problem?’, 31 NYU J Int’l L & Pol., 1999, p. 679; Jonathan I. Charney, ‘The Impact on the International Legal System of the Growth of International Courts and Tribunals’, 31 NYU J Int’l L & Pol., 1999, p. 697; Cesare P. R. Romano, ‘The Proliferation of International Judicial Bodies: The Piece of the Puzzle’, 31 NYU J Int’l L & Pol., 1999, p. 709.

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The wide array of jurisdictional bases and legal areas, together with the growing case load, testiﬁes to the great importance States attach in general to independent third-party dispute settlement and speciﬁcally to the Court’s capability and expertise in resolving disputes between States on the basis of international law. It is, however, not only the contribution third-party dispute resolution can make towards the peaceful settlement of disputes that inﬂuences States in their decision to entrust the Court with this task; the fact that the binding nature of the Court’s decisions is integral to the international legal order also makes dispute settlement in the ICJ particularly appealing and politically acceptable for States. Disputes can therefore be settled more eﬀectively and more lastingly by the ICJ than is possible with other forms of international dispute settlement, as shown, for example, by the unfortunate developments in respect of, and the partial non-compliance with, the decisions of the Eritrea-Ethiopia Boundary Commission. Against this background, the eﬀectiveness of the Court’s international dispute settlement results from the binding nature of its decisions and the compliance mechanisms underpinning it within the institutional framework provided by the United Nations, above all its Security Council. The importance and speciﬁc contribution to dispute resolution of the binding nature of International Court of Justice decisions are often taken for granted by the parties and legal scholars and considered as so self-evident that in-depth analyses of the very concept of binding international third-party dispute settlement are not as common as one would expect. The literature focuses on the more practical ramiﬁcations of the scope of the binding eﬀect of decisions of the ICJ, the scope of the res judicata authority of ICJ decisions ratione materiae and ratione personae, and the precedential force of the Court’s decisions2 rather than on in-depth treatment of the theoretical and philosophical foundations of the binding nature of the Court’s decisions, their place and signiﬁcance within the international legal order, and their contribution to an understanding of the theory of international law. It is against this background that the present paper explores the binding nature of decisions of the International Court of Justice, by (1) revisiting the formal basis of their binding eﬀect in present-day international law, (2) explaining the connection between the binding nature and the function of the Court as a judicial body that settles disputes on the basis of law, that is to say by justifying the binding nature from a functional perspective in relation to the parties to a dispute, (3) explaining the binding nature from an institutional perspective, that is to say in terms of the position of the Court in the international legal order in general, and (4) venturing into the connection between the binding 2

See, in particular, Mohamed Shahabuddeen, Precedent in the World Court (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

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nature of the Court’s decisions and legal pluralism in the multicultural world of international law.

2. The Binding Nature from a Formal Perspective From the point of view of positive law, the binding nature of decisions of the International Court of Justice is well enshrined in various legal instruments. Article 94(1) of the Charter of the United Nations provides that “[e]ach Member of the United Nations undertakes to comply with the decision of the International Court of Justice in any case to which it is a party”. This makes clear that submission to the jurisdiction of the Court entails the obligation to accept the Court’s decision as binding, whether or not the State concerned agrees with the speciﬁc decision as such. In addition to that, Article 94(2) of the UN Charter allows for the Security Council to take action in case a State party to a dispute before the Court does not comply with the Court’s judgment. In that respect, Article 94(2) provides: If any party to a case fails to perform the obligations incumbent upon it under a judgment rendered by the Court, the other party may have recourse to the Security Council, which may, if it deems necessary, make recommendations or decide upon measures to be taken to give eﬀect to the judgment.

Similarly, Article 59 of the Statute of the International Court of Justice provides that “[t]he decision of the Court has no binding force except between the parties and in respect of that particular case”. Furthermore, Article 60 stipulates that “[t]he judgment is ﬁnal and without appeal. In the event of dispute as to the meaning or scope of the judgment, the Court shall construe it upon the request of any party”. Even though Article 59 of the ICJ Statute is formulated in the negative, it makes clear that the Court’s decisions have binding force for the parties to a dispute. In view of the obligation to comply with ICJ judgments in Article 94 of the UN Charter, Article 59 of the ICJ Statute has lost much of its importance when it comes to establishing positively the binding nature of the Court’s decisions, since today virtually every State is a Member of the United Nations. Article 59 did, however, have an independent scope of application relating to the binding force of the Court’s decisions at a time when submission to the Court’s jurisdiction was independent of membership in the United Nations. In other words, States that were not Members of the United Nations had to submit expressly to the Court’s jurisdiction. Article 59 of the Statute of the ICJ already had a predecessor in the Statute of the Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ); interestingly, that provision was inserted into the PCIJ Statute not in order to establish the binding

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nature of the decisions of the Permanent Court, but in order to clarify that the PCIJ’s function was to settle disputes between States authoritatively on the basis of international law and that it did not have a law-creating or law-making function.3 In contrast, the nature of the decisions as binding was rather presupposed as part of the nature of the Court as a third-party dispute settlement mechanism based on the application of law.4 Moreover, the binding nature of decisions of the International Court of Justice has been emphasized in the jurisprudence of the Court. Even though there has been no major issue as to the binding nature of judgments of the Court, the question has been raised in litigation before the Court with respect to the Court’s power under Article 41 of the Statute to order provisional measures. Article 41(1) of the Statute provides: “The Court shall have the power to indicate, if it considers that circumstances so require, any provisional measures which ought to be taken to preserve the respective rights of either party.” In the LaGrand case, Germany had brought action against the United States because the latter had violated an order of the International Court of Justice imposing provisional measures. The United States, in turn, argued that provisional measures granted by the Court were not binding as a matter of international law upon the State subject to them, but rather represented recommendations without any binding force. Yet, the Court made clear that not only were its judgments binding upon the parties as a matter of international law, but that the same applied equally to decisions indicating provisional measures. It stated: 102. The object and purpose of the Statute is to enable the Court to fulﬁl the functions provided for therein, and, in particular, the basic function of judicial settlement of international disputes by binding decisions in accordance with Article 59 of the Statute. The context in which Article 41 has to be seen within the Statute is to prevent the Court from being hampered in the exercise of its functions because the respective rights of the parties to a dispute before the Court are not preserved. It follows from the object and purpose of the Statute, as well as from the terms of Article 41 when read in their context, that the power to indicate provisional measures entails that such measures should be binding, inasmuch as the power in question is based on the necessity, when the circumstances call for it, to safeguard, and to avoid prejudice to, the rights of the parties as determined

3

4

Rudolph Bernhardt, in: Andreas Zimmermann, Christian Tomuschat, Karin Oellers-Frahm (eds.), The Statute of the International Court of Justice, Art. 59, para. 4. See on the question of judicial restraint/law-application v. judicial activism/law-making Pieter Kooijmans, ‘The ICJ in the 21st Century: Judicial Restraint, Judicial Activism, or Proactive Judicial Policy’, 56 International and Comparative Law Quarterly, 2007, p. 741. For the practice of the PCIJ in relation to Article 59, see also Berthold Schenk von Stauﬀenberg, Statut et Règlement de la Cour permanente de Justice internationale, (Berlin: Heymanns, 1934), pp. 421–424.

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by the ﬁnal judgment of the Court. The contention that provisional measures indicated under Article 41 might not be binding would be contrary to the object and purpose of that Article. 103. A related reason which points to the binding character of orders made under Article 41 and to which the Court attaches importance is the existence of a principle which has already been recognized by the Permanent Court of International Justice when it spoke of ‘the principle universally accepted by international tribunals and likewise laid down in many conventions . . . to the eﬀect that the parties to a case must abstain from any measure capable of exercising a prejudicial eﬀect in regard to the execution of the decision to be given, and, in general, not allow any step of any kind to be taken which might aggravate or extend the dispute’ (Electricity Company of Soﬁa and Bulgaria, Order 5 December 1939, P.C.I.J., Series A/B, No. 79, p. 199). Furthermore measures designed to avoid aggravating or extending disputes have frequently been indicated by the Court. They were indicated with the purpose of being implemented.5

The LaGrand decision thus clearly establishes that decisions indicating provisional measures are binding upon the parties just like judgments of the Court. It also clariﬁed an earlier statement in the Nicaragua case, “it is incumbent on each party to take the Court’s indications seriously into account, and not to direct its conduct solely by reference to what it believes to be its rights”,6 that could have been taken as a more lenient view on the binding nature of such decisions of the Court. The more fundamental reason why decisions and judgments of the Court are binding is, of course, the speciﬁc consent of States to the submission of a dispute to the Court, as the Court’s jurisdiction is not compulsory, unlike that of dispute settlement bodies of other international organizations, such as the World Trade Organization. This perspective aligns with a voluntaristic view of international law that is based upon the notion of State sovereignty as the central feature in the traditional State-based system of international law. That consent is the basis for the binding nature of the Court’s decision is, however, not only reinforced by Article 36 of the Court’s Statute, but has been emphasized time and again in the Court’s jurisprudence. The context of these decisions was mostly the scope of the binding nature of the Court’s judgments ratione personae, yet they are equally indicative of the fundamentally consent-based foundations of the Court’s competence and the binding nature of its dispute settlement activity.

5 6

LaGrand (Germany v. United States of America), Judgment, 2001 ICJ Reports, pp. 502–503. Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States of America), Merits, Judgment, 1986 ICJ Reports, p. 144, para. 289.

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In the Monetary Gold case, for example, the Court observed: It is true that, under Article 59 of the Statute, the decision of the Court in a given case only binds the parties to it and in respect of that particular case. This rule, however, rests on the assumption that the Court is at least able to render a binding decision. Where, as in the present case, the vital issue to be settled concerns the international responsibility of a third State, the Court cannot, without the consent of that third State, give a decision on that issue binding upon any State, either the third State, or any of the parties before it.7

More pointedly, the Court stated in the Continental Shelf case between Libya and Malta: “it is a fundamental principle that the Court has no jurisdiction to determine matters in dispute between States without their consent”.8 Similarly, in Land and Maritime Boundary between Cameroon and Nigeria the Court held that its “jurisdiction . . . is founded on the consent of the parties. The Court cannot therefore decide upon legal rights of third States not parties to the proceedings.”9 It is thus abundantly clear that positive international law establishes the binding nature of the Court’s decisions on the basis of the consent of the States that are parties to the proceedings.

3. The Binding Nature from a Functional Perspective The binding nature of the Court’s decisions is, however, not only a matter of the provisions in the UN Charter and the Statute of the Court. It is also intrinsic to the nature of the Court as a dispute settlement mechanism that resolves disputes between States by applying rules and principles of international law. The binding nature of the Court’s decisions can therefore also be justiﬁed from a functional perspective. It is against this background that Article 59 reﬂects a general principle of law to the eﬀect that decisions by independent third-party dispute settlement bodies are binding upon the parties subject to them.10 The binding nature stems from the function the Court performs as an independent, impartial judicial body that resolves disputes between parties by applying rules and principles of international law and gives reasons for its decisions in terms of the application of legal rules.

7

8

9

10

Monetary Gold Removed from Rome in 1943 (Italy/France, United Kingdom and United States of America), Preliminary Question, Judgment, 1954 ICJ Reports, p. 33. Continental Shelf (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya/Malta), Application for Permission to Intervene, Judgment, 1984 ICJ Reports, p. 10, para. 14. Land and Maritime Boundary between Cameroon and Nigeria (Cameroon v. Nigeria: Equatorial Guinea intervening), Judgment, 2002 ICJ Reports, p. 421, para. 238. Bernhardt, in: Zimmermann, Tomuschat, Oellers-Frahm (eds.), supra note 3, Art. 59, para. 3.

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The function of courts diﬀers fundamentally from that of both political bodies and moral institutions. Unlike politics and morality, law generates legal normativity and creates expectations about the behaviour of others, including States, notwithstanding occasional violations of it. A court in this context has the function of upholding legal norms even if a State aﬀected does not comply. The primary and genuine function of law, as can be seen from this example, is the reestablishment of the expectation of validity of a certain norm. With respect to international law, the International Court of Justice thus has the function of satisfying the expectations of States and the international community at large, and of the parties to a dispute more speciﬁcally, that its decision will have a legal rationale and thus be predictable – to the extent law is predictable at all. This function of law, and of courts, to foster expectations as to the behaviour of others and their contractual enforcement is the essence of legal normativity. It is distinct from both politics and morality.11 Similarly, one consideration in favour of the conclusion that decisions relating to provisional measures were binding on States was the fact that the Court applies international law, a function that requires binding dispute settlement by a judicial body. Already for Hersch Lauterpacht, writing in 1958, this was a central factor when arguing on this very point that [i]t cannot be lightly assumed that the Statute of the Court – a legal instrument – contains provisions relating to any merely moral obligations of States and that the Court weighs minutely the circumstances which permit it to issue what is no more than an appeal to the moral sense of the parties.12

Likewise, international politics diﬀer from international law. While politics are driven by interests in achieving certain aims by certain means, the end and means being themselves more or less arbitrarily chosen, international law involves the evaluation of a dispute according to predetermined rules and principles. What this entails becomes particularly clear when comparison is made with earlier periods of international relations, above all the time before World War II, when the conception of international law’s function was much diﬀerent from that of today. Then international law related more to legitimizing the “balance of power” between the various hegemons and the “national interests” they pursued. International law was merely an extension of domestic politics and a pure means of international politics. It was one device among others to achieve the national interests of those States that were powerful enough to impose their will upon others.

11 12

Walker, The Oxford Companion of Law, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), pp. 885–886. Hersch Lauterpacht, The Development of International Law by the International Court, (London: Stevens & Sons, Ltd., 1958), p. 254.

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Today, by contrast, international law is also an eﬀective framework limiting the pursuance of the national interest of States in view of policy perspectives of the international community. This can be seen, above all, with respect to the changes in enforcement mechanisms for international law. Traditionally, international law was enforced solely by States in the form of countermeasures that could ultimately involve the use of force. Enforcement was thus primarily power-based. Today, by contrast, much of the settlement of international disputes takes place in the context of legal proceedings before international courts and tribunals. It takes the form of law-based enforcement. Courts have such important status in the implementation of a legal order because they concretize general norms with binding force for fact-speciﬁc disputes and are under an obligation to render a decision. They cannot abstain from it based on political considerations. The Court alluded to this understanding in, for example, the Corfu Channel case, where it described its own function as “ensur[ing] respect for international law, of which it is the organ”.13 Similarly, the Advisory Opinion of the International Court of Justice in Legal Consequences for States of the Continued Presence of South Africa in Namibia (South West Africa) notwithstanding Security Council Resolution 276 (1970) is instructive in clarifying the distinction between law and politics: In the alternative the Government of South Africa has contended that even if the Court had competence to give the opinion requested, it should nevertheless, as a matter of judicial propriety, refuse to exercise its competence. The ﬁrst reason invoked in support of this contention is the supposed disability of the Court to give the opinion requested by the Security Council, because of political pressure to which the Court, according to the Government of South Africa, has been or might be subjected. It would not be proper for the Court to entertain these observations, bearing as they do on the very nature of the Court as the principal judicial organ of the United Nations, an organ which, in that capacity, acts only on the basis of the law, independently of all outside inﬂuence or interventions whatsoever, in the exercise of the judicial function entrusted to it alone by the Charter and its Statute. A court functioning as a court of law can act in no other way.14

From a perspective that takes international law seriously as international law, the function of courts and the binding nature of their decisions thus become crucial. If decisions of the International Court of Justice were not binding,

13 14

Corfu Channel (United Kingdom v. Albania), Merits, Judgment, 1949 ICJ Reports, p. 35. Legal Consequences for States of the Continued Presence of South Africa in Namibia (South West Africa) notwithstanding Security Council Resolution 276 (1970), Advisory Opinion, 1971 ICJ Reports, p. 23.

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performing this function would be impossible: disputes between States would not be authoritatively settled, but merely complemented by a statement of a collegiate body of judges serving as a mere recommendation to be accepted or rejected, depending on whether it served the interests of the State parties to the dispute in question. This functional approach to the binding nature of decisions of the International Court of Justice is, in fact, shared by the Court itself. The invocation of its function as a court and a judicial dispute settlement mechanism ﬁgures prominently in the Court’s jurisprudence. Already the predecessor of the ICJ drew a connection between the binding nature of its decisions and the nature of the Court as a judicial body when it observed in Free Zones of Upper Savoy and the District of Gex that “it would be incompatible with the Statute, and with its position as a Court of Justice, to give a judgment which would be dependent for its validity on the subsequent approval of the Parties”.15 Likewise, in the LaGrand case the ICJ drew on the concept of the judicial character of ICJ litigation as further support of its conclusion as to the binding nature of orders granting provisional measures when it stated: The object and purpose of the Statute is to enable the Court to fulﬁl the functions provided for therein, and, in particular, the basic function of judicial settlement of international disputes by binding decisions in accordance with Article 59 of the Statute.16

4. The Binding Nature from a Teleological Perspective The binding nature of ICJ decisions is, however, not only imperative when viewed in the context of the debate about international law as law and the function of courts in such a system of law. It also has very practical aspects to it, namely in regard to the object and function of the United Nations as a peace-building institution and international law’s contribution to this aim. One of the most important functions of international law is its peace-building function. This function evolved primarily in the second half of the 20th century. In the preceding era, that is to say prior to World War I, by contrast, international law was built on the presumption that war was merely a continuation of political conﬂicts between States. Accordingly, the use of force

15

16

Free Zones of Upper Savoy and the District of Gex, Judgment, 1932 PCIJ, Series A/B, No. 46, p. 161. LaGrand (Germany v. United States of America), Judgment, 2001 ICJ Reports, p. 502, para. 102.

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was permitted as a function of external sovereignty, subject only to the moral requirement to limit warfare to just war.17 This changed fundamentally with the experience of two world wars and their unprecedented consequences. After World War I, the League of Nations was the frontrunner organization that aimed at suppressing war as a means of international politics. Although to a certain extent remaining in the tradition of treaties establishing military alliances, the Covenant contained the members’ “undertak[ing] to respect and preserve as against external aggression the territorial integrity and existing political independence of all Members of the League”.18 Similarly, disputes among members had to be settled by means of peaceful settlement through international adjudication, arbitration or the decision of the League’s Council.19 The Covenant did not, however, contain an unconditional prohibition of the use of force, as the UN Charter does. Article 12 of the Covenant, for example, only contained the obligation of the Members “in no case to resort to war until three months after the award by the arbitrators or the judicial decision, or the report by the Council”.20 In case a Member resorted to war without attempting to settle disputes peacefully, the Covenant provided for economic sanctions and military measures to be taken on behalf of the League.21 Overall, the League therefore attempted to solve the problem of war by procedural means, i.e., by attempting to resolve the underlying inter-State conﬂict through third-party dispute settlement, not by categorically outlawing war as such. First steps towards outlawing war as such were taken in 1928 with the Briand-Kellogg Pact. It contained the declaration of the Contracting Parties to “condemn recourse to war for the solution of international controversies, and renounce it, as an instrument of national policy in their relations with one another”.22 The Pact further contained the “agree[ment] that the settlement or solution of all disputes or conﬂicts of whatever nature or of whatever origin they may be, which may arise among them, shall never be sought except by paciﬁc means”.23 Although the Pact did not prevent World War II, it paved the

17

18 19 20 21 22

23

Cf. Richard Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace. Political Thought and the International Order from Grotius to Kant (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999). Art. 10, Covenant of the League of Nations. Arts. 12 et seq., Covenant of the League of Nations. Art. 12, Covenant of the League of Nations. See Art. 16, Covenant of the League of Nations. Art. 1, Treaty between the United States and other Powers providing for the renunciation of war as an instrument of national policy, signed at Paris, 27 August 1928 (hereinafter Briand-Kellogg Pact). Art. 2, Briand-Kellogg Pact.

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way for the future development of international law in the prohibition of the use of force and underlined its peace-building function. After World War II, the prohibition of the use of force played a pivotal role in the founding documents of a number of international organizations, including the Organization of American States (OAS),24 the Organization of African Unity (OAU),25 the Arab League,26 and, most importantly, the United Nations. Article 2(4) of the UN Charter states: All Members shall refrain in their international relations from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any State, or in any other manner inconsistent with the Purposes of the United Nations.

The prohibition of the use of force is subject to only two exceptions, the right to self-defence27 and military action authorized by the Security Council.28 Accordingly, the prohibition of the use of force has also played an important role in the jurisprudence of the International Court of Justice. In the Nicaragua case, for instance, the Court emphasized that the principle of non-intervention prohibits a State “to intervene, directly or indirectly, with or without armed force, in support of an internal opposition in another State”.29 It reinforced this position only recently in the case concerning Armed Activities on the Territory of the Congo.30 The prohibition of the use of force is therefore one of the central pillars and founding principles of international law in the modern era. Likewise, the peace-building function of international law also comes into play in international humanitarian law. Independent from the prohibition of war as such, international law rules have developed that impose minimum

24

25

26

27 28 29

30

See Art. 21 of the Organization of American States Charter: “The territory of a State is inviolable; it may not be the object, even temporarily, of military occupation or of other measures of force taken by another State, directly or indirectly, on any grounds whatever. No territorial acquisitions or special advantages obtained either by force or by other means of coercion shall be recognized.” See Art. III of the Organization of African Union Charter: “The Member States . . . solemnly aﬃrm and declare their adherence to the following principles . . . The sovereign equality of all Member States . . . Non-interference in the internal aﬀairs of States . . . Respect for the sovereignty and territorial integrity of each State and for its inalienable right to independent existence.” See Arts. V and VIII of the League of Arab States Charter: “Each member-state shall respect the systems of government established in the other member-states and regard them as exclusive concerns of those states.” Art. 51, UN Charter. Chapter VII, UN Charter. Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States of America), Merits, Judgment, 1986 ICJ Reports, p. 108, para. 206. Armed Activities on the Territory of the Congo (Democratic Republic of the Congo v. Uganda), Judgment, 2005 ICJ Reports, para. 164.

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standards for State conduct during warfare. The Geneva Convention of 1864 (revised in 1906), the Hague Conventions of 1899 and 1907 and the Geneva Conventions of 1929 and 1949 established a number of rules and principles concerning the use of weaponry and practices of land warfare, providing for humane treatment for wounded soldiers and prisoners of war, limiting rights and duties of the parties to a military conﬂict, and – last but not least – rules protecting civilians. These rules are based on the “dual notion that the adverse eﬀects of war should be alleviated as much as possible (given military necessities), and that the freedom of the parties to resort to methods and means of warfare is not unlimited”.31 These rules also add to the peace-building function of international law and illustrate the humanitarian content of international law. In sum, today a system of war prevention exists in international law and comprises the prohibition of the use of force, the collective security provisions of the United Nations Charter for the maintenance of international peace, the obligation to resort to peaceful means for the settlement of international disputes and the regulations on weapons prohibition, arms limitation and disarmament. International law thus contributes crucially to achieving the goal of preventing war. The International Court of Justice serves an important function in the peace-building mission of international law in general and the United Nations in particular. Part of the rationale for creating an international court was the idea that the establishment of a dispute settlement mechanism could avert international armed conﬂicts and thus contribute to the peace-building function of international law. What allows the Court to contribute to the avoidance of international armed conﬂicts through third-party dispute settlement is, however, its power to settle disputes submitted to it in a binding fashion without any possibility for States to disregard the outcome of the proceedings. The binding nature of the decisions of the International Court of Justice is thus part of the teleology of international law and an integral element of the objective of the United Nations itself. As Professor Gowlland-Debbas has observed, the norms developed by contemporary international law, and given juridical expression by the Court, are so fundamental that their non-observance would aﬀect the functioning of the international legal system.32 Ultimately, this is also why

31

32

Dinstein, Yoram, ‘Rules of War’, The Oxford Companion to Politics of the World, (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press 1993), p. 966. Article 35 of the Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions of 1949. See also Marco Sassòli and Antoine A. Bouvier, How Does Law Protect in War?, (Geneva: International Committee of the Red Cross, 1999), p. 175. Vera Gowlland-Debbas, ‘Judicial Insights into the Fundamental Values and Interests of the International Community’, in: A. S. Muller, D. Raič and J. M. Thuransky (eds.), The Interna-

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the UN Charter provides for the possibility of the Security Council imposing sanctions on a State that disregards judgments of the Court.33

5. The Binding Nature from a Cross-Cultural Perspective Finally, the binding nature of the decisions of the International Court of Justice is also justiﬁed in light of the speciﬁc composition of the Court. Unlike a three- or ﬁve-person arbitration tribunal, the Court is composed of ﬁfteen judges coming from diﬀerent regions of the world and representing virtually all major legal systems.34 The composition of the Court and its procedure in reaching decision ensure not only that disputes are analyzed from a legal perspective but that understandings are brought to bear by jurists with varying backgrounds and experience. They also guarantee a particularly balanced view of international law, one in which international law does not serve the interests of one or a few States, but rather those of the international community as a whole; and it is representative of the various legal systems and legal traditions constituting this community. The binding nature of the decisions of the International Court thus ensures, in view of the universal composition of the Court, that a case and the international law applied to it have been extrapolated and discussed to the greatest extent possible and that the decision embodies a fair assessment of the content of international law, as distilled and enunciated by individuals who cannot be associated with the region from which the dispute emanates.35

6. Conclusion The binding nature of the decisions of the International Court of Justice serves an important purpose for the peaceful settlement of disputes between States. It enables third-party dispute settlement to take place, ensures the primacy of international law over national interests and helps foster the international legal order as a system of law that helps build an international community with

33 34

35

tional Court of Justice – Its Future Role After Fifty Years, (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 1997). Cf. Art. 94(2), UN Charter. See Art. 9 of the ICJ Statute: “At every election, the electors shall bear in mind not only that the persons to be elected should individually possess the qualiﬁcations required, but also that in the body as a whole the representation of the main forms of civilization and of the principal legal systems of the world should be assured.” See Christopher Weeramantry, Universalizing International Law (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoﬀ Publishers, 2004), pp. 5–6.

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common interests, a common economy, common protocols for interaction and communication, common values, etc. That decisions of the Court are binding is true both of judgments and of decisions ordering provisional measures. As such, the binding nature is ﬁrmly anchored in the UN Charter and the Statute of the Court and has been emphasized time and again in the jurisprudence of the Court. It also has deeper justiﬁcations in the concept that international law constitutes law and in the function of courts in such systems of law. Were the Court’s decisions not binding, international law could not be conceived of as law, but would rather represent a program for mediation and negotiation based on the good will and interests of the participating States. The Court, in turn, could not be properly understood as a Court that applies law to individual disputes and resolves them accordingly. The binding nature of the decisions of the International Court of Justice is thus closely connected to the very foundations of international law as a system of law that contains and generates binding standards for the behaviour of States and helps to maintain the international legal order.36

36

This article has been written in appreciation of Professor Gowlland-Debbas’s distinguished work on the rule of law as the governing principle of the international system.

Chapter 22 Choosing Our International Judges, Past and Present Philippe Sands*

1. Introduction In February 1960 the United Kingdom Foreign Oﬃce received an informal enquiry as to its views on a potential Belgian candidate for the forthcoming elections to the International Court of Justice. The enquiry made its way to Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice, the Legal Adviser. In an internal memorandum he provided the following response: M. Nisot has a very diﬃcult personality and I should imagine he is somewhat of a problem child from the point of view of the Belgian Government, as he must be almost unplaceable in any normal Foreign Service post, and this probably accounts for the fact that he has been with the Belgian Permanent Mission in New York pretty well since the foundation of the United Nations in one capacity or another. Nevertheless, despite his cantankerous nature and the jaundiced view that he takes of most things, there are a number of points in his favour. He is completely honest; he is also a man of considerable intellectual ability and a very sound lawyer. Furthermore, although he has strong prejudices, these would mostly operate in our favour and he would bring to the Court a conservative element which, in view of its present general bias, it could well do with.1

* I would like to thank Jimmy Kirby for his meticulous and enterprising eﬀorts in assisting in the preparation of this Inaugural Lecture. I express also my profound thanks to Sir Elihu Lauterpacht for directing me to the results of the researches of others, and to Daniel Bethlehem and (via Sir Elihu Lauterpacht) to Frances Meadows for making available to me the results of their earlier researches at the Public Records Oﬃce. I also thank my students in the LLM course on The Law and Policy of International Courts and Tribunals – and over the years my co-teachers Professor Christine Chinkin, Professor Matt Craven and Ruth Mackenzie – for their energy, ideas and critiques. 1 Minutes of Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice on the Possible Candidacy of M. Nisot for the International Court of Justice, 1 February 1960 [FO 371/153556/1645/6].

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The Legal Advisor’s memorandum throws some light on the internal workings of what has traditionally been a shrouded process: the manner in which individual candidates emerge for election to international courts. It suggests the way in which informal soundings could make or break a possible candidature. It shows the role of the senior civil service. And it indicates some of the factors that might be taken into consideration in weighing up the pros and cons of a particular candidate, including personality and political disposition. The document tends to conﬁrm assumptions about some of the factors that might inform the selection and election of candidates to international judicial oﬃce. The subject is of increasing importance, and subject to critical scrutiny. In a recent lecture Lord Hoﬀman has raised the issue of “constitutional legitimacy” in regard to the European Court of Human Rights. “The judges are elected by a sub-Committee of the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly, which consists of 18 members chaired by a Latvian politician, on which the UK representatives are a Labour politician with a trade union background and no legal qualiﬁcations and a Conservative politician who was called to the Bar in 1972 but so far as I know has never practised”, he said, bemoaning a decision-making process that he describes as “totally opaque”.2 It was hardly surprising, he added, that to the people of the United Kingdom the European Court of Human Rights “does not enjoy the constitutional legitimacy which the people of the United States accord to their Supreme Court.” Over the past two decades States have created more than thirty international courts and tribunals, and there are now some 250 international judges. The courts and the judiciary have emerged as important international actors, with the potential to place signiﬁcant constraints on traditional State freedoms. The existence of these bodies signals a desire to strengthen the rule of law in international relations. The extent to which that desire will be achieved turns, in part, on the process by which the judges are appointed. Some of these judicial bodies have a potentially global reach, others operate within regions, yet others operate amongst only a small group of countries. They address a wide range of subject matters, and they can deal with cases of great practical and political signiﬁcance. In this country the European Court of Justice (ECJ) and the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) are already well known, their eﬀects being felt almost on a daily basis. There are many others, which may be less well known:

2

Lord Hoﬀmann, ‘The Universality of Human Rights’, Judicial Studies Board Annual Lecture, 19 March 2009.

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– In The Hague, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) has given judgments on a wide range of vital issues, such as a serving foreign minister’s immunity from national courts, apparently ruling that the House of Lords in Pinochet may have been wrongly decided;3 – In Geneva, the World Trade Organisation (WTO) Appellate Body is a ﬁnal court of appeal for international trade disputes, deciding on environmental and other issues of broad public interest;4 – In Hamburg, the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea (ITLOS) brings to a halt Japanese ﬁshing activities for Southern blue-ﬁn tuna;5 – In Washington, the Inter-American Commission of Human Rights orders the United States to protect the basic human rights of foreign detainees at Camp X-Ray, Guantanamo;6 and – In The Hague, the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) decides whether or not former President Milosevic is individually responsible for genocide in Bosnia and crimes against humanity in Vukovar.7

The subjects addressed by these bodies are not minor matters. The fact that they are addressed by courts – rather than political bodies – reﬂects the extent to which States have been willing to hand over decision-making authority to the new international adjudicators, and to subject themselves to an international rule of law. In this article I address certain issues concerning the appointment of international judges. I am not concerned whether the emergence of these judicial bodies is a welcome development, or the challenges posed by their activities. Nor do I address what their existence presages for competing conceptions of sovereignty, constitutionalism and the rule of law. Or what they mean for the international legal order in a globalizing world. These are of course important topics, and the subject of great academic and practical interest. I proceed on the basis that these bodies exist, and that they are here to stay. The broad issue of interest is this: is suﬃcient attention given to the appointment of our international judges? We know remarkably little about our international judges: who they are; their backgrounds; how they were selected to become candidates for election; and how they were actually elected. That information – and the decisionmaking processes that underpin the information – has traditionally been left in

3

4 5

6 7

Arrest Warrant of 11 April 2000 (Democratic Republic of Congo v. Belgium), Judgment, ICJ Reports 2002, p. 3. See e.g. Shrimp Turtles Case, AB-1998-4, 12 October 1998; ILM 33, 1999, 118 et seq. ITLOS, Southern Bluefin Tuna Cases (Australia and New Zealand v. Japan) 39 IL 1359 (2000). 41 ILM 432, 2002. See generally http://www.un.org/icty/indictment/english/mil-ii011122e.htm (last visited on 23 June 2003).

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the hands of governing elites: politicians, senior civil servants and, very occasionally, members of the bench and bar and academe. Generally speaking the processes are rarely open to public attention or scrutiny. That is a regrettable fact, in my view, because it tends to undermine the legitimacy of those processes and could, over the longer term, tend to diminish the possibility that these bodies can operate eﬀectively.

2. Background: The Emergence of International Courts It is appropriate to begin with some background. Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice wrote his note on M. Nisot’s possible candidature at a moment of change. It was 1960. The ICJ was the only functioning international court in existence. The ECHR was conceived in 1950, established in 1959, but only gave its ﬁrst judgment in November 1960.8 The ECJ – part of the European Economic Community – was created in 1957 and became fully operational in the 1960’s. Since then a large number of international courts have been established, with more than 30 now in operation, and some 250 international judges in place. One of the most recent additions is the International Criminal Court (ICC), which began to operate in 2003.9 Its 18 judges were ﬁrst elected in 2003 under conditions which were very diﬀerent from those attending the elections to the ICJ in the autumn of 1960, or even those attending current ICJ elections. In the intervening 40 years the international community appears then to have decided that international courts are a positive thing. Each has been established for its own reasons, and the whole cannot be seen as a planned or systemic approach. Nevertheless there are overlaps and interrelationships, such that reference is made to “a system of international courts and tribunals”, and even “an international judiciary”. No rules of general application have been promulgated on the functioning of international courts, including the selection of judges. To an extent each is an island, with its own system of governance and rules, including for the appointment of the judges. But they do have one point in common: states have always been greatly concerned about the manner in which international judges are appointed. This is understandable. If states set up a court and entrust it with functions they inevitably lose a degree of control over what that body does. If it is a court it

8 9

Case 332/57, Lawless v Ireland (No. 1), 14 November 1960 (preliminary objections). See P. Sands (ed.), From Nuremburg to The Hague: the Future of International Criminal Justice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

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is independent, and independence extends to relations with the states which create them, and may then become parties before them. There are at least two ways in which governments can seek to inﬂuence international courts: by controlling the budget, and by deciding who will sit on the court as a judge. The appointment process and the independence of the court are therefore closely connected: the greater the control of the states, the less the independence of the international court. States have been concerned about the appointments process from the very beginning of the short history of international courts. The ﬁrst eﬀorts to move beyond ad hoc arbitration to a permanent international court – during the Hague Peace Conference of 1899 – failed because States were unable to agree on how to choose a representative group of judges (out of some 50 states). Instead they set up a body known as the Permanent Court of Arbitration (PCA) which did not have compulsory jurisdiction over disputes, but which comprised a group of up to four persons nominated to serve as potential arbitrators, appointed on a case-by-case basis. The issue did not arise for the ﬁrst international court to be established – the Central American Court of Justice, in 1907 – because there were only three states parties, so each could have a judge. In 1922 the Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ) became the ﬁrst international court in which the number of judges was to be smaller than the number of states parties, requiring a process of selection and then election. The arrangements followed by the PCIJ were intended to contribute to the independence of the judges by putting the selection of possible candidates into the hands of the national groups at the PCA. The process was taken up by the ICJ, in 1946. Throughout that period it was recognised that the “proper manning” of the courts, and their successful functioning, could only be assured if careful scrutiny was exercised when the actual selections were made. But States were very clear that they wished to exercise control and that their freedom should not be limited. In 1944 Manley Hudson – Judge and President of the PCIJ – reviewed the existing rules. His conclusion was: No absolute disqualiﬁcations can be said to exist in general international law to restrict the freedom of States, though the literature of the nineteenth century evidenced some disposition to list such qualities as infancy and insanity as barring a person’s selection.10

10

Manley O. Hudson, International Tribunals: past and future (Carnegie Endowment for Peace and Brookings Institution, 1944), p. 34.

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3. ICJ Selections and Elections (1946–1960) How, then, does a government seek to inﬂuence the selection and election of international judges, both its own nationals and those of other states? The internal machinations are not easily accessible, since states are reluctant to allow much, if any, public scrutiny of the way in which choices are made, and inﬂuenced. Happily in this country we have two national institutions which permit a degree of access to historical information: the ﬁrst is the thoroughness of the British civil service, and its thoroughness in writing; and the second is the Public Records Oﬃce (PRO). Material is now in the public domain relating to the ICJ elections in 1946, 1954 and 1960. Even if historical, the material is of interest. It relates to the ICJ, the principal judicial organ of the United Nations. It shows the way in which inﬂuence could be brought to bear and the factors that were considered to be signiﬁcant. It is necessary to say something about the manner in which ICJ judges are appointed. The ICJ has a well-established procedure for the selection of judges, applying that used at the PCIJ from 1922 onwards. The ICJ is composed of 15 judges. According to the Statute they are independent, they are to be elected regardless of their nationality, and they are to be persons of high moral character who possess the qualiﬁcations for appointment to the highest judicial oﬃce in their own countries, or be jurists of recognised competence in international law.11 The judges are elected by the states members of the UN General Assembly and the Security Council. The electors – the states – are to bear in mind that “in the body as a whole the representation of the main forms of civilization and the principal legal systems of the world should be assured” (Statute, Art. 9). They elect from a list of persons who are nominated by each of the National Groups in the PCA.12 Each Contracting party selects four persons (at the most) to serve as potential arbitrators under PCA rules. Those four persons constitute the National Group, so-called. Each National Group is entitled to make nominations of candidates for elections to the ICJ. They may nominate up to four persons, not more than two of whom may be of their own nationality.13 It is a convoluted process. The nominations of candidates for the ICJ are not, in theory at least, made by governments. The approach reﬂects a “fear that, if governments were entrusted with the function of nominating candidates, they

11 12 13

Statute of the International Court of Justice [hereinafter “ICJ Statute”], Article 2. ICJ Statute, Article 4(1). ICJ Statute, Article 5(2).

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might be inﬂuenced by political considerations”, to take the words of a UN document prepared before the 1946 ICJ elections.14 Before making their nominations, the ICJ Statute “recommends” that the National Group should consult its highest court of justice, its legal faculties and schools of law, and its national academies and national sections of international academies devoted to the study of law.15 The extent to which this happens is not clear. Practise appears to vary widely. To the best of my knowledge there has not been an in-depth study of various practise. In some countries it plainly does not happen at all, in other cases there is informal consultation, and it is apparent that the national group often nominates persons they are told to nominate by the government. In other cases there is extensive external consultation. That is the theory. What is the reality? Some general features emerge. To begin with, it is clear that although the nomination is a matter for the national groups at the PCA, in practise the government and the relevant civil servants are not far removed from the process. Second, it is also apparent that the factors which are taken into account are not necessarily the same as those to which the Statute directs attention. And third, the material available does not indicate that the criteria set forth in the ICJ Statute are necessarily treated as exhaustive. A. The 1946 Elections: Sir Arnold Macnair The ﬁrst elections to the ICJ took place in 1946. By October 1945 the Foreign Oﬃce was receiving requests from other states enquiring as to who the United Kingdom might nominate. The British judge at the PCIJ had been Sir Cecil Hurst, a former legal adviser at the Foreign Oﬃce, but he was not considered suitable. By the autumn of 1945 it is clear that there was already considerable discussion – and disagreement – between the Foreign Oﬃce (and in particular Sir Philip Noel-Baker, the Minister of State) and the Lord Chancellor, Lord Jowitt, as to who the British candidate should be. The relationship between the Foreign Oﬃce and the independent National Group at the PCA was also a matter of diﬀerence. The Legal Adviser at the time, Sir Eric Beckett, was under no illusions as to what his task was: “we have . . . got to persuade tactfully our national group to accept guidance”.16 The Lord Chancellor took a diﬀerent view:

14

15 16

United Nations Information Organization Memorandum on the International Court of Justice, 25 September 1945 [FO 371/50947/U7369]. ICJ Statute, Article 6. Minutes of Eric Beckett on the Nomination of a British Judge to the International Court of Justice, 19 October 1945 [FO 371/50947/U8170].

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Sir Eric was not impressed: I rather doubt if any letter from any Lord Chancellor more gratuitously rude about the Legal Adviser has ever been written . . . No Lord Chancellor has ever taken this line with the Foreign Oﬃce in connection with the International Court before . . .18

Beckett considered that it had been customary in the past for the National Group at the PCA to know of the views of the Foreign Oﬃce and the Lord Chancellor: “In the past these views have been accepted by national groups as having so much weight that they have always followed them.” He recognised, however, that the matter had to be handled carefully: “We must . . . be very careful not to appear to be overriding the prerogative which belongs to them, otherwise we may ﬁnd that one of them begins to raise objections.”19 By the end of November 1945 there was a clear divergence of opinion: the Foreign Oﬃce (Ernest Bevin, Sir Philip Noel-Baker and Sir Eric Beckett) favoured, in order of preference, Lord Greene (the Master of the Rolls), Lord Simons and Lord Porter, with Sir David Maxwell-Fyfe and Arnold Macnair joint fourth.20 The list appeared to follow the desire of the Legal Adviser to choose a high-ranking judge, who could be “one of the two or three inﬂuential men who would really make the Court”.21 In a note to the Secretary of State (Ernest Bevin), the Minister of State explained that his preference for Lord Greene was based on a widely held view within “the legal profession generally” – consultation does not appear to have gone wider than that – that the Master of the Rolls was seen as “the outstanding lawyer in this country and that Lord Simonds probably comes about second.”

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Letter to Sir Philip Noel-Baker from Lord Jowett, 25 October 1945 [FO 371/50948/ U9514]. Minutes to The Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State from Eric Beckett, 26 October 1945 [FO 371/50948/U9514]. Minutes of Eric Beckett on the Appointment of a British Judge on the International Court of Justice, 26 October 1945 [FO 371/50947/U8300]. Letter to Sir Cecil Hurst from Eric Beckett, 29 November 1945 [FO 371/50948/U9515]. Minutes to Sir Philip Noel-Baker from Eric Beckett, 28 August 1945 [FO 371/50947 U8298].

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But one other aspect needed to be dealt with. Noel-Baker wrote: Though Lord Greene is a Catholic, I am told that he is not at all an ardent one. [. . .] If there were any objection on the score of religion to a man being a judge, the objection would be surely much stronger against a judge who administers justice inside his own country than in the case of a judge who is deciding suits as between government.22

The Lord Chancellor was in a diﬀerent camp. Early on he expressed a clear preference for Professor Arnold Macnair, a member of the British National Group at the PCA and the Chichele Professor of International Law at Oxford. The Lord Chancellor was impressed by the fact that he was much better known to the outside world as an international lawyer. He wrote to Noel-Baker at the Foreign Oﬃce complaining that “I am a little doubtful whether you are receiving good advice”.23 But Beckett was strongly opposed to Macnair, because he did not have judicial experience and because he had not written a modern textbook on international law, having chosen instead to edit Oppenheim’s International law, an existing treatise. According to Beckett, Oppenheim “was a bad man to edit. His work does not really deserve to live”.24 As between Macnair and Sir David Maxwell-Fyfe, however, Beckett expressed a preference for Macnair. Part of the reason was that it is possible that one of the ﬁrst cases to come before the new International Court will be British Honduras. Now, Fyfe, as law oﬃcer, has advised on this case, and I do not think he would be able to sit when this case came oﬀ. This is a very important case and it would be a great pity if the titular British judge could not be a member of the Court when it was being heard.25

Notwithstanding the Lord Chancellor’s view, Ernest Bevin pressed ahead and wrote directly to Lord Greene inviting him to consider the candidature, noting the inﬂuence he was likely to have: “an English judge at The Hague who has presided over a court in this country for many years will certainly by that fact alone carry much more weight with his foreign colleagues when he is advocating any particular course”.26

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26

Minutes to Ernest Bevin from Sir Philip Noel-Baker, 15 November 1945 [FO 371/50948/ U9513]. Letter to Sir Philip Noel-Baker from Lord Jowett, 19 October 1945 [FO 371/50948/ U9514]. Draft of a Letter to Lord Jowett from Eric Beckett, 1 October 1945 [FO 371/50947/ U8299]. Minutes to Sir Philip Noel-Baker from Eric Beckett, 12 November 1945 [FO37150948/ U9513]. Letter to Lord Greene from Ernest Bevin, 29 November 1945 [FO 371/50948/U9515].

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But Lord Greene declined for reasons of health. Lord Simonds was then invited. He too declined, but without giving reasons. Sir Eric Beckett then notes: “We are now going for Lord Porter”.27 He too declined. The three leading judicial candidates having declined, Professor Macnair emerged as the United Kingdom’s candidate. He was duly elected. The process lasted less than three months. The following broad conclusions may be drawn. The National Group played a limited role. The Foreign Oﬃce took the lead, and within the Foreign Oﬃce it was the Legal Adviser who played the central role. In the end the Lord Chancellor’s preference prevailed. The entire process was done on the basis of soundings within a select community. A ﬁne candidate emerged, notwithstanding the obstacles which fell to be navigated. B. The 1954 Election: Professor Hersch Lauterpacht Arnold Macnair served as a Judge until 1954, with great distinction. By February 1954 it had become clear that Macnair would not be willing to stand for reelection, in the elections which were due to be held in October 1954. The issues of concern are addressed in a letter from the Minister of State (Selwyn Lloyd) to the Lord Chancellor, Lord Simonds, on 25 May 1954. Selwyn Lloyd considered that the matter of identifying a candidate was entirely for the National Group to decide, but that “the Foreign Oﬃce is very directly concerned and interested”.28 He added: “Our view is that the right nomination would be whatever person in this country has the greatest qualiﬁcation in the particular ﬁeld of public international law, and is willing to accept nomination”. Moreover, the United Kingdom had an added responsibility in ﬁnding the right person, arising “from the fact that this country is in large measure able to impose its nominee on the eventual electorate, in view of the convention that the ﬁve Great Powers should always have a Judge on the Court.”29 Selwyn Lloyd did not think that it would really be worthwhile for any English judge to take the post, given lack of experience in the ﬁeld and the conditions under which work at The Hague took place. That said, “a subject like international law despite the fact that it has pretty wide ramiﬁcations in these days, is one which can always be learnt up”. Against that, certain persons in academic circles did have necessary knowledge and experience, the most eminent being Professor H. Lauterpacht QC, Whewell Professor of International Law at Cambridge. According to Selwyn Lloyd, such a nomination “would

27

28 29

Notation on File to Sir Philip Noel-Baker from Erick Beckett, 13 December 1945 [FO 371/50949/U9817]. Letter to Lord Simonds from Selwyn Lloyd, 25 May 1954 [FO 371/112419/255/38]. Ibid.

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meet with universal approval internationally”, and would be “the best and the right thing”. Lauterpacht was, however, an immigrant, and that could be expected to give rise to concern. Selwyn Lloyd addressed this directly: He is not British by origin, but he has been naturalised for more than twenty years, and continuously resident in this country for upwards of 30. He is very much liked by all those who know him, and, despite his continental origins, his outlook on legal matters reﬂects mainly the Anglo-Saxon approach. [. . .] Owing to his origins, he would not perhaps be what we should regard as entirely sound from our point of view on matters of Human Rights; that is to say, his bias would be to take perhaps too wide a view of the topic. However, irrespective of the character of the British Judge, this is a subject on which we should always wish to keep away from the Court, in any event.

The view was apparently shared by Macnair, who was a member of the UK National Group.30 But it does not appear that the National Group played a very active role in the process. Apparently the Lord Chancellor – Lord Simonds – originally objected to Lauterpacht, but in the absence of any suitable judicial ﬁgure emerging, eventually agreed to his nomination, at the suggestion of Selwyn Lloyd and with the support of Macnair.31 According to a note prepared by Fitzmaurice, the decision was taken after the British National Group had decided that it could ﬁnd no one else suitable, and asked Selwyn Lloyd to intervene once it became clear that no senior judicial ﬁgure had emerged. The suggestion did not meet with universal approval, in particular from the Attorney-General (Sir Lionel Heald MP) and the Solicitor-General (Reginald Manningham-Buller MP), who considered that it would be a mistake. The Attorney wrote to Selwyn Lloyd to share with him his “considered opinion”, expressing the view that the appointment would be badly received by the legal profession and in the House: He has of course the highest academic qualiﬁcations as an international lawyer, but he has no judicial experience of any kind, he has never practised and he has no standing at the Bar. Moreover, it has been impressed on me that, in these days, when the International Court touches British interests at so many points, public conﬁdence in it is more than ever essential. It is therefore surely desirable that our representative at The Hague should both be and be seen to be thoroughly British, whereas Lauterpacht cannot help the fact that he does not qualify in this way either by birth, by name or by education.32

30

31

32

Minutes of Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice on the Nomination of a Candidate to Replace Sir Arnold McNair on the International Court, 17 June 1954 [FO 371/112419/255/49]. Minutes of Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice on the Nomination of a Candidate to Replace Sir Arnold McNair on the International Court, 30 June 1954 [FO 371/112419/255/49]. Letter to Selwyn Lloyd from Sir Lionel Heald, 27 July 1954 [FO 371/112420/255/76].

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But the objection had come too late, since the nomination had already been made, as Selwyn Lloyd made clear in a letter in response.33 Lauterpacht was duly nominated by the National Group and elected to the ICJ on 7 October 1954. Around this time, the Foreign Oﬃce was preoccupied by another matter, namely the overall composition of the ICJ bench. There had been another election for ICJ judges in 1951, which had resulted in Europe losing one of the four seats it had previously held at the Court, with Latin America gaining a fourth seat at the expense of Western Europe. The question of the election of the British judge therefore also raised issues about geographic distribution, and the appropriate balance between the UN regions. By this time a “convention” – that is to say an unwritten rule – had emerged to the eﬀect that the ﬁve permanent members of the Security Council should be “represented” on the Court. Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice had by now replaced Sir Eric Beckett as Legal Adviser at the Foreign Oﬃce. He was concerned by the issue of geographic representation: The trouble is that the ﬁve posts which will come up at the next election will be three Latin Americans, the French, and our own. This means that any additional European Judge must be at the expense of one of the Latin Americans. Can we be sure, however, that if the [General] Assembly replaces one of the Latin Americans at all, it will not do so by an Asian? Mr Johnson and I both feel that, of the two evils, the Latin American is the lesser evil than the Asian.34

The lesser evil did not come to pass, and Sir Zafrullah Khan, from Pakistan, was elected. In its report home, following the elections, the UK UN delegation considered that this would probably not be to the advantage of the United Kingdom: Khan, it was written, was known to be an “almost fanatical” anticolonial, had been too long in UN politics to revert to taking a purely judicial view of things, and was “not . . . a man who appears to have a basically judicial temperament”.35

33 34

35

Letter to Sir Lionel Heald from Selwyn Lloyd, 29 July 1954 [FO 371/112420/255/76]. Minutes of Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice on a Possible Supplementary Item for the Agenda on the International Court, 13 August 1953 [FO 371/107078/253/23]. Letter to the United Nations Political Department, Foreign Oﬃce, from the United Kingdom Delegation to the United Nations, 9 October 1954 [FO 371/112421/255/124].

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C. The 1960 Elections: Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice 36 It is at the “global” institutions that the processes of judicial election can become highly politicised. This is because the number of judges is invariably smaller than the number of states potentially able to propose a candidate, and the judges elected have to be broadly “representative” of the legal, cultural and political spectrum represented amongst the membership. There is horse-trading, and factors are taken into account which are not set out in the ICJ Statute. Hard information is scarce. Here again the material available from the PRO is of interest. In 1960 there were regular elections for ﬁve slots at the ICJ, as well as an election to ﬁll the vacancy caused by the untimely death of Sir Hersch Lauterpacht that spring. As to the slot caused by Sir Hersch’s death, there was by now an unwritten convention that such casual vacancies, as they were called, should be ﬁlled by an individual of the same nationality. The Foreign Oﬃce (Francis Vallat) expressed the view that only two candidates were properly qualiﬁed: Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice (the Foreign Oﬃce legal adviser) and Sir Humphrey Waldock.37 Vallat indicated that the Secretary of State apparently favoured Fitzmaurice, and that he had met with Lord Macnair, who had had a preliminary discussion with the British National Group, and they had a “tendency” in favour of Fitzmaurice.38 Lord Macnair (now a member of the UK National Group at the PCA) and the Lord Chancellor agreed on the need to keep consultation between the National Group and Government Departments on an “informal level”. Those consultations resulted in the National Group nominating Fitzmaurice. The National Group also had to nominate up to four other candidates for the ﬁve regular slots to be ﬁlled. The Foreign Oﬃce had views as to who those four other candidates might be, but was also concerned about appearances, and not being seen to be too involved in the process whereby the National Group reached a decision. The Foreign Oﬃce also wanted the National Group not to declare its nominations too early. A draft letter was written to Lord Macnair to that eﬀect. Mr Vallat amended the draft: “I have suggested some alterations

36

37

38

See also L. Johnman, ‘Playing the role of Cassandra: Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice, Senior Legal Advisor to the Foreign Oﬃce’ 13 Contemporary British History, 1999, 46–63. Minutes of F. A. Vallat on Elections to the International Court of Justice, 17 May 1960 [FO 371/153559/1645/30]. Letter to Mr. Tahourdin, United Nations Department, from F. A. Vallat, 24 May 1960 [FO 371/153559/1645/33].

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to the draft letter to Lord Macnair to make it look a little more like information rather than consultation”.39 Of the various possible nominees, by May 1960, according to a letter written by Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice, there appeared also to be a desire that the National Group should not nominate Sir Zafrullah Khan, who by now was Vice President of the ICJ. This was partly “because of Indian feeling” and because it would be too public an act of support.40 Within a couple of months, however, the Foreign Oﬃce was apparently ready to accept the nomination of Khan, as the National Group apparently wanted, and as the convention in favour of “sitting tenants” suggested. The Foreign Oﬃce was far less keen on the suggestion from the National Group that it might also nominate Judge Ugon (Uruguay), and made its views clear: Our view is that the fourth nomination should go to the candidate of the Soviet Union [. . .]. Our reasons for this are the need to maintain the Great Power Convention and the indication that the Latin American Group are unlikely to support Judge Ugon.41

On July 22 the National Group informed the Foreign Oﬃce of its interim decision to nominate Fitzmaurice (UK) (for the casual vacancy) and Hackworth (the sitting American Judge), Khan, Klaestad (Norway, sitting President) and Morelli (Italy). Ugon of Uruguay was not to be nominated. Nor was the candidate of the USSR. Another problem had emerged. The number of candidates for the AfroAsian seat was growing, and there were now three candidates: Khan (the sitting judge), Pal and Tanaka. From the Foreign Oﬃce Legal Adviser’s perspective it was important to try to maintain a degree of control over the tenure of that seat. The thinking is reﬂected in an internal memorandum from Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice: I think I should also say that Sir Zafrullah’s seat is not strictly a Commonwealth one. The Commonwealth seat is the one that used to be occupied by Judge Read of Canada and is now occupied by Sir Percy Spender of Australia. We like to regard this as a white Commonwealth seat, but it is by no means certain whether we shall always be able to do so. [. . .] [I]t is, I think, properly to be regarded as simply an additional Asian seat.

39

40

41

Minutes of F. A. Vallat on Elections to the International Court of Justice, 24 June 1960 [FO 371/153560/1645/39]. Extract of Letter to Lord McNair from Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice, 16 May 1960 [FO 371/153560/1645/39]. Letter to Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice from F. A. Vallat, 6 July 1960 [FO 371/153560/1645/39].

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Sir Gerald also indicated his thinking on other diﬃculties: It would certainly be impossible . . . to maintain that Sir Zafrullah Khan’s seat should circulate indeﬁnitely between Pakistan, India, Malay and one or two African states such as Ghana and Nigeria. The confusion has really arisen from the fact that it is the ex-British Asian States, India, Pakistan and Ceylon, who have by far the most outstanding lawyers amongst the Asians and can therefore provide the best candidates.42

The sitting candidate – Sir Zafrullah Khan – was now competing with Dr Pal (India) and Dr Tanaka ( Japan). One of Sir Gerald’s colleagues, Mr Uﬀen, described this seat as “the nigger in the woodpile”.43 Who to vote for? The principal of continuity suggested support for Khan, who happened to be the Vice-President of the ICJ, even if he was not, according to Fitzmaurice’s “I fear, very trustworthy”44 (as Fitzmaurice had put it, “what one needs for the Court is a considerable element of continuity, coupled with a certain amount of change. To some extent the latter is brought about by natural causes, i.e. deaths”).45 On 8 September 1960 Mr J. L. Simpson from the UK Mission to the UN wrote to Uﬀen as follows: [Tanaka] labours under various disadvantages. He is a newcomer to the United Nations. It does not seem likely that Japan will be able to buy much support for him in pre-election bargains. Japanese law has not much to commend it from the point of view of the representation of “the principal legal systems of the world” on the Court. [. . .] Zafrullah Khan has several advantages. He is a well remembered ﬁgure at the United Nations. Islamic law, however primitive it may be in some of its manifestations, is without doubt one of the ‘the principal legal systems of the world’.46

Uﬀen agreed. The Foreign Oﬃce’s aim was to see a Commonwealth judge elected, and Khan was a sitting judge. Moreover, “we believe that the Japanese will recognise and accept philosophically our inability to support their candidate”.47 42

43

44

45 46 47

Minutes by Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice on Elections to the International Court of Justice, 22 February 1960 [FO 371/153556/1645/3]. Minutes by K. J. Uﬀen on Elections to the International Court of Justice, 1 September 1960 [FO 371/153562/1645/90]. Minutes of Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice, n. 36, above. And “we heard some rather disquieting things about him at the time of the Buraimi Arbitration, and this was one of the reasons why, when that Arbitration broke down, we did not want the Saudi Arabians to be able to take the matter before the International Court and therefore introduced an additional reservation to our Optional Clause Declaration.” Ibid. Ibid. Letter to K. J. Uﬀen from J. L. Simpson, 8 September 1960 [FO 371/153562/1645/90(c)]. Letter to K. A. East, Commonwealth Relations Oﬃce, from K. J. Uﬀen, 16 September 1960 [FO 371/153562/1645/90].

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By now also the Foreign Oﬃce had formed the view that it would vote for the Soviet candidate (“on the basis of the Great Power Convention”) and that (if there were two American candidates) they could vote for Prof Jessup “unless the State Department take a strong dislike to his candidature”.48 The elections were postponed, until after the US presidential elections. The new Democratic administration in the US opted for Phillip Jessup, and Hackworth withdrew (apparently with the encouragement of the State Department), Khan and Pal split the Asian vote (as Fitzmaurice had predicted might happen),49 leaving Tanaka to get in. Fitzmaurice was elected in a separate election to ﬁll the vacancy left by Lauterpacht’s death. By way of postscript, Vallat wrote to Fitzmaurice expressing a sense of reassurance that despite the change in the composition of the UN “there is not, or not as yet, any serious disposition to question the convention by which the membership of the International Court of Justice should include a judge of the nationality of, and supported by, each of the ﬁve permanent Members of the Security Council”.50 Not one of the incumbents (including Hackworth and Vice-President Khan) was re-elected. Vallat notes that a “precedent may have been set against the re-election of judges who have served one or more full terms, or who do not represent the permanent members of the [Security Council]” (the US and Latin American countries arguing that “it ought to be the practice not to re-elect a judge who has served a full term since, it is said, to hold out hope of re-election inevitably means that a judge is susceptible to political pressures towards the end of his term”). Vallat also noted a growing anxiety in relation to claims that Africa was not adequately represented on the Court. In response Fitzmaurice noted that he “ought not to be on record with anything in the shape of an oﬃcial commentary” (since he had now been elected to the Court). On the possibility of an African attack developing on one of the Western European seats, however, he had this to say: On merits, if anyone has to lose a seat it should be the Latin Americans [. . .]. Europe, even Western Europe, contains a genuine diversity of cultures and legal systems, whereas Latin America is more or less all one. This is a point which the Foreign Oﬃce will have to watch very carefully.51

48

49

50

51

Minutes by K. J. Uﬀen on Elections to the International Court of Justice, 1 September 1960 [FO 371/153562/1645/90]. Letter to K. J. Uﬀen from the Commonwealth Oﬃce, 29 April 1960 [FO 371/153564/ 1645/26]. Letter to Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice from F. A. Vallat, 23 November 1960 [FO 371/153564/ 1645/145]. Letter to F. A. Vallat from Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice, 24 November 1960 [FO 371/153564/ 1645/145].

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4. Today: ECHR That was then, what about now? The ICJ material dates back more than 40 years. It arises in the context of the speciﬁcs of the ICJ system and the values that prevailed at that time. It may be asked: what is it’s relevance? It remains relevant because it conﬁrms the steps to which governments will go to safeguard their interests and ensure that the right candidates emerge. It is not clear whether the approach reﬂected in these materials is materially diﬀerent today – certainly the ICJ election process has not changed in those 40 years, although the composition of the Court has. It is readily apparent that far more foreign oﬃce legal advisers and ambassadors or foreign ministers are represented on the Court than previously. Beyond the ICJ there have been signiﬁcant changes in the openness of the selection and election process, and the degree of public scrutiny. The ICJ process shows where we have come from. Although the UK has not advertised ICJ selection processes it does now advertise many other international judicial appointments, for example at the ECHR and the ICC. Indeed, the UK nomination process for the ECHR has been described as the only one which is independent and transparent.52 There has been a great deal more public attention given to the ECHR election system, which is the subject of scrutiny by academics and non-governmental organisations. The tension which exists at the ECHR is between the desire of governments to control the nomination process, on the one hand, and the growing recognition that a transparent and open system is more likely to throw up the most suitably qualiﬁed candidates. The issues remain controversial, as Lord Hoﬀman’s recent speech indicates. Unlike the ICJ, in the ECHR system nominations are made directly by Governments. There are 47 judges, one from each state party. Each of the parties to the ECHR nominates three candidates. The Convention is silent as to the procedures to be followed at the national level on the nomination of the three, one of whom is elected by the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe. Before that election takes place each of the candidates’ curriculum vitae is reviewed by the Directorate General for Human Rights, to ensure that they meet formal criteria (e.g. language). The Committee of Ministers then reviews each national list, with an informal exchange of views taking place. It is understood that the results of such exchange do not bind governments, who “retain the right to present candidates of their choosing”.53 Finally, an

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53

Henry Schermers, ‘Election of Judges to the European Court of Human Rights’ (1998) 23 European Law Review 568, 574. CM/Del/Dec/Act(96)547/1.3.

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Ad Hoc Sub-Committee of the Parliamentary Assembly looks at all the candidates, makes recommendations on the suitability of candidates and expresses a preference for a particular candidate (having regard to the merits of the individual and the “harmonious composition of the Court”). This follows a review of the c.v. and a short interview (approximately 15 minutes in 1998). In so doing it can and frequently does change a ranking (where provided by the state, even if not permitted). Occasionally the Sub-Committee rejects the list entirely and calls on the state to provide a new one – in 1998 it did so for Bulgaria, San Marino and Croatia. The recommendations then go to the Parliamentary Assembly for election. Following the ﬁrst elections to the new Court (in 1998) the Parliamentary Assembly expressed concern about certain aspects of the quality of the candidates. It adopted a Recommendation on various aspects of the nomination procedure.54 Amongst other matters it recommended that States should issue a call for candidates in the specialised press (para. 6.i), and that states should avoid expressing any oﬃcial preference for a particular candidate (amongst the 3) (para. 6.v). The Recommendation was transmitted to the Court, which expressed an Opinion on 6 March 2000. The Court said that it considered that the Parliamentary Assembly’s concerns to ensure that as far as possible the appointment of the judges be “the product of a genuine and informed election from among the candidates who are fully qualiﬁed to discharge the complex and sensitive duties involved in the oﬃce”.55 It also agreed that the Parliamentary Assembly was “right in stressing the importance of the composition of the lists of the candidates by governments”. The Committee of Ministers – comprising representatives of the Governments – was robust in its response. It stated that “the details of the procedures chosen by states in order to nominate candidates for election to the Court are a matter for sovereign national decision” and it agreed that whilst advertising in the press would be one way of satisfying the criteria of transparency and fairness, “there are other ways through which this could be achieved”.

5. Conclusions Where does this material takes us? I am conscious that I have just scratched the surface on issues of great complexity and importance, issues that remain unresolved and contentious also at the national level, including in this country.

54 55

Council of Europe Parliamentary Assembly Recommendation 1429 (1999). Para. B.

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But it is possible to draw the threads together. International courts exist and will continue to exist. The tasks which have been entrusted to them reﬂect diﬀerent – and perhaps changing – conceptions about their function. Historically, their task has been seen by many commentators as the resolution of narrow, technical disputes between states (the classical view). An alternative vision posits them as part of a more sophisticated system for the delivery of international justice (the modern view). Our conception of their function has implications for the kind of people one would wish to be appointed as international judges. That in turn has implications for the selection process, and the election process. If we are happy to have international courts fulﬁl political functions that tie them closely to international organisations, then perhaps we should not get too exercised about how the judges are appointed. If however, we see international courts and tribunals as exercising judicial functions analogous to those we expect of our national courts, then it is right to focus attention on who the judges are and how they attained their oﬃces. Perhaps I am not suﬃciently realist, but I am ﬁrmly in the latter camp. Our international judges matter. If the process of international judicial selection is legitimate then the outcome of their deliberations is more likely to command respect from the audiences to which judgments are directed. That is principally the parties to any case, but it also includes a far broader audience, including the national courts that are increasingly called upon to have regard to, take account of and even apply international judgments. What principles can be derived from the historical material? The historical material from the Public Records Oﬃce is signiﬁcant for a number of reasons. It conﬁrms assumptions that, notwithstanding formal requirements to the contrary, governments (and their civil servants) invariably seek to inﬂuence outcomes, to push matters in a direction which will support the interests of the state. In that sense the notion that the selection process is somehow independent from political or governmental inﬂuence is disabused. In that regard, the historical material may be of interest for a second reason, namely on the freedom of choice to nominate candidates. The days are surely long gone in which only infancy or insanity could act as a bar to nomination (being “cantankerous” should not be a bar to high judicial oﬃce, nor should Belgian nationality). There must surely now be other restrictions on that “absolute freedom”, including the propriety of nominating certain persons, having regard to their prior functions. Who could not be struck by the view that Sir Zafrullah Khan may not be entirely the right person for international judicial oﬃce, having spent so much time around the UN? But does Mr Uﬀen’s point also extend to ambassadors and legal advisers? It is apparent from the PRO material that government legal advisers (and ambassadors and foreign ministers) may be extensively involved

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in election processes. It is diﬃcult to extinguish altogether the possibility that some of Sir Gerald Fitzmaurice’s internal memoranda might shed new light on the thinking which motivated him on some of the issues he faced when he subsequently served as a judge at the ICJ.56 There is a third aspect of the historical material that is of interest. The question of geographic distribution appears as important today as it did 40 years ago. Experience as counsel before various international courts, including the ICJ and ITLOS, makes it clear that the geography of the composition is an important factor. The Great Power Convention – which still holds good today – seems increasingly anomalous and diﬃcult to justify. Equally diﬃcult to justify is an arrangement at the ICJ which meant that after the regular elections in 2003, ﬁve of the ﬁfteen ICJ judges were nationals of the European Union. The “diversity of cultures” of which Sir Gerald wrote appears to have been safeguarded. But I wonder if it is really in the interests of the long term well-being of the ICJ – or the emerging system of global governance – for geographic representation on the ICJ to be skewed towards any particular region, or any particular group of countries. And what of the selection process itself ? The ECHR materials point the way to a more open and transparent process, although not one which attracts universal support. It is far from certain that it leads to the appointment of a better class of international judge. But it certainly contributes to a system of appointments in which a far greater number of interested persons might feel that their views have been taken into account. I have refrained from making any practical suggestions. It seems, however, that the principles applied to other international judicial appointments are equally valid for the process of nominating future candidates to the ICJ. Why should states and their national groups not advertise for potential candidates, and then invite comments from interested third persons as part of a broader consultation process? This and related matters are currently the subject of a research project that will be completed in early 2010, supported by the Arts and Humanities Research Council in the United Kingdom, on process and legitimacy in the nomination, election and appointment of international judges.57 Finally, there is one outstanding matter, which no doubt you have not forgotten. I introduced my lecture with a reference to M. Nisot, and you may be

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57

One thinks in particular of the 1966 Judgment in the South West Africa cases (Ethiopia v. South Africa; Liberia v. South Africa), where the narrowest of majorities (including Fitzmaurice) ruled that Ethiopia and Liberia could not be considered to have established any legal right or interest in the performance of South Africa as Mandatory in respect of South West Africa: ICJ Reports 1966, p. 6. Details at: http://www.ucl.ac.uk/laws/cict/index.shtml?judicial-selection.

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wondering what became of him. I leave the last word to Sir Gerald: “In short, while M. Nisot is not exactly the sort of person that one would pick for the Court if one was starting from scratch, one might well do worse, in fact quite a lot worse”.58 But, concluded Sir Gerald, “Considerable complications would attend his candidature”. In the event M. Nisot did not emerge as a candidate.

58

Supra note 1.

Chapter 23 La paix par le droit. Entre réalité, mythe et utopie Eric Wyler*

L’expression “paix par le Droit” a fait fortune à l’époque contemporaine et a même acquis un statut d’évidence, tant l’habitude est ancrée de s’en remettre au Droit aﬁn de résoudre l’ensemble des problèmes que connaissent les sociétés, internes ou internationale, quel que soit leur degré de gravité. Toutefois, quelques voix discordantes se sont élevées pour contester la validité d’un adage qui confère au juridique une puissance peut-être trop ﬂatteuse. “La paix par le Droit a toujours été un mythe”, déclarait en 1979 René-Jean Dupuy, d’une voix dont l’écho résonne plus récemment chez Serge Sur,1 Pierre-Marie Dupuy2 et de manière plus péremptoire chez Prosper Weil : “le mythe de la paix par le Droit doit être abandonné une fois pour toutes”.3 Pourquoi se défaire des mythes ? Ne sont-ils que des paroles mensongères qu’il convient de dénoncer ? Peut-on ou doit-on purement et simplement décréter la “paix par le Droit” indésirable en Droit international contemporain, ou, au contraire, peut-on considérer le mythe digne de quelque utilité ? La réponse à ces questions passe par une analyse de la notion et la façon d’opérer du mythe, sans oublier ses fonctions dans la société internationale, toutes investigations que l’auteur est heureux de soumettre à l’éminente et estimée spécialiste du Droit de la paix qu’est Vera Gowlland-Debbas.

* Professeur associé à Sciences Po (Paris) et Chargé d’enseignement à l’Institut des Hautes Etudes Internationales et du Développement, et à l’Institut Européen de l’université (Genève). 1 S. Sur, Relations internationales (Paris, Montchrestien, 1995), p. 417. 2 P.-M. Dupuy, ‘Cours général de Droit international public’, Recueil des cours de l’Académie de droit international de La Haye, 2000-V, 461. F. Attar, lui, a intitulé la première partie de son ouvrage ‘L’architecture chaotique d’un ordre ou le mythe de l’eunomia’. F. Attar, Le Droit international entre ordre et chaos (Paris, Hachette, 1994). 3 P. Weil, ‘Cours général de Droit international public’, Recueil des cours de l’Académie de droit international de La Haye, 1992-VI, 65.

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1. Mythe, science et droit A. La notion de mythe En dépit de quelques sceptiques aux yeux desquels la notion de mythe ne signiﬁe rien ou presque,4 les déﬁnitions du mythe qu’en donnent les mythologues présentent des traits de ressemblance marqués. Ainsi Jean-Pierre Vernant, voyant le mythe comme un récit sur les origines, souligne que “la tradition grecque . . . reconnaît [dans le mythe] soit une façon de dire autrement, sous forme ﬁgurée ou symbolique, la même vérité que le logos expose de façon directe, soit une façon de dire . . . ce qui, par nature . . . échappe au savoir et ne relève pas du discours articulé selon l’ordre de la démonstration”,5 ou Mircea Eliade, précisant que “les mythes primitifs mentionnent très souvent la naissance, l’activité et la disparition d’un dieu ou d’un héros dont les gestes (“civilisateurs”) sont dorénavant répétés à l’inﬁni”.6 Pour Jacques Boulogne, le mythe est “une représentation imagée et dramatisée de l’inconnu, eﬃcace au point d’être admise par tous les membres d’une collectivité et ensuite transmise par la tradition . . ., [eﬃcace parce] qu’elle réussit à apprivoiser l’invisible en accord avec l’ensemble des autres connaissances en vigueur.”7 Dans la même ligne, l’anthropologue juriste Norbert Rouland voit dans les mythes des “récits qui livrent les explications fondamentales concernant la création de l’univers, la naissance de la vie en société et les grandes règles qui l’ordonnent.”8 Au-delà des diﬀérences, ces approches s’accordent sur les essentialia suivantes du mythe : 1° transmis oralement avant que d’être transcrit, le récit mythique voit ses origines se perdre dans des temps reculés,9

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Selon M. Détienne, “le mythe est une forme introuvable . . . L’illusion mythique triomphe de faire croire aux inventeurs modernes de la mythologie que rien n’est plus concret, plus réel, plus évident que le mythe”. M. Détienne, L’invention de la mythologie (Paris, Gallimard, 1981), p. 236 et 238. J.-P. Vernant, Mythe et société en Grèce ancienne (Paris, La Découverte, 2004), p. 212. Selon Vernant, la mythologie est ‘un ensemble narratif uniﬁé qui représente, par l’étendue de son champ et par sa cohérence interne, un système de pensée original, aussi complexe et rigoureux à sa façon que peut l’être, dans un registre diﬀérent, la construction d’un philosophe’. (Ibid., p. 207). M. Eliade, Le mythe de l’éternel retour (Paris, Gallimard, 1969), p. 173. J. Boulogne, ‘Le mythe pour les anciens Grecs’, in : Mythe et création (Lille, Uranie, 1991), p. 28. N. Rouland, Anthropologie du Droit (Paris, PUF, 1988), p. 187. “Le propre du mythe est de n’avoir pas d’origine. Ou plus exactement, son origine est comme l’horizon : plus on s’en approche, plus il s’éloigne”. Ph. Descamps, ‘Les trois visages d’un Titan turbulent’, Les Cahiers de Science et Vie, avril 2006, 13.

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2° sans origine lui-même, le mythe parle des origines des Dieux, du monde, des héros, des peuples et de leurs institutions.10 C’est parce qu’il est hors du temps que le mythe est “instituant”, contient une “intention signiﬁante”11 le diﬀérenciant du rite, simple répétition commémorative,12 et de la fable qui, elle, se limite à raconter une histoire13 généralement sans rapport avec l’origine des choses, 3° le mythe est polysémique, comme l’attestent les nombreuses versions d’une histoire estimée “canonique”.14 Fort des découvertes conjuguées de la psychanalyse, de la linguistique générale et de l’anthropologie structurale, le XXe siècle15 a proposé une approche du mythe diﬀérente, parfois même considérée incompatible avec la vision “classique”.16 Sous l’inﬂuence de l’analyse freudienne du mythe d’Œdipe-Roi, l’accent porte sur l’inéluctabilité d’un travail de décodage du langage mythique,17 le contenu “manifeste” du mythe cachant un contenu “latent” qui, à l’image du rêve, l’autre mode de pensée symbolique, ne livre pas d’emblée ses mystères.18 Ces secrets que le sujet porte lui-même à son insu, le mythe les raconte à tous, mais en les travestissant, parce qu’ils comportent quelque chose d’inavouable, d’indicible et d’essentiel tout à la fois. Claude Lévi-Strauss souligne que les mythes, s’ils “ne disent rien qui nous instruise sur l’ordre du monde, la nature du réel, l’origine de l’homme ou sa destinée . . . nous apprennent beaucoup sur les sociétés dont ils proviennent, sur les ressorts intimes de leur fonctionnement, éclairent la raison d’être des

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“Le mythe dit toujours comment quelque chose est né”. P. Ricœur, ‘Mythes. L’interprétation philosophique’, in: Encyclopedia Universalis, vol. 15, Paris, 1995, p. 1045. Ibid, p. 1044. R. Girard, Les origines de la culture (Paris, Hachette, Pluriel, 2004), p. 208. P. Ricœur, op. cit., p. 1045. Il est diﬃcile de s’entendre, parfois sur ce “canon”. Ph. Descamps, op. cit., p. 13. L’occultation des controverses entre mythologues du Moyen-âge, de la Renaissance ou de l’époque romantique est bien entendu cavalière, mais cette sélectivité s’autorise de ce que notre point de vue épistémologique diﬀère de celui de l’historien de la mythologie. Voir ci-dessous, la citation de Cl. Lévi-Strauss. Ricœur met en exergue l’appartenance du mythe aux “sciences sémiologiques”, en particulier la linguistique, où on l’appréhende selon le “modèle structural” (la mythologie de LéviStrauss notamment), axé sur l’analyse textuelle (syntaxique), et le “modèle métaphysique”, attaché à l’étude sémantique (le mythe comme discours, pas seulement système sémiologique). P. Ricœur, op. cit., pp. 1042–1044. C’est là le point de rupture entre l’anthropologie structurale et son prédécesseur, l’anthropologie fonctionnaliste, pour laquelle le mythe, loin de dire des vérités, ne cherche qu’à renforcer la “cohésion sociale”. Voir L. Brisson, ‘Le mythe’, in : Encyclopédie Philosophique Universelle, vol II (Les notions philosophiques) (Paris, PUF, 1998), p. 1716.

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croyances, de coutumes et d’institutions . . . Les mythes se pensent dans les hommes et à leur insu.”19 Le langage courant a surtout retenu, à côté de l’immortalité des mythes, leur caractère dissimulateur et mensonger, avalisant implicitement l’idée d’une nécessité de les démasquer et les dénoncer. C’est le sens de la sentence sans appel prononcée par Prosper Weil contre la “paix par le Droit”.20 Dans le présent essai, nous utiliserons conjointement les deux diﬀérentes signiﬁcations prêtées au mythe, admettant simultanément – contrairement à Lévi-Strauss – le mythe comme récit ou représentation symbolique des origines, et comme récit, théorie, formule ou adage mettant en relation un contenu manifeste et un contenu latent, dévoilant ainsi une vérité tout en en masquant une autre, comme si la condition du “dire” était un “non-dit” s’y rattachant de façon aussi mystérieuse qu’intime. B. Mythe et utopie Sur le chemin d’accès au mythe, on ne peut éviter facilement utopia, laquelle revendique également le statut de récit bafouant certaines vérités pour mieux en dire d’autres. Que le premier sens de “utopie” (nulle-part) se soit estompé depuis Thomas More jusqu’à caractériser le discours psychotique21 n’a pas altéré sa véritable nature de “procédé”, sans pour autant attenter à son rang prestigieux de “genre littéraire” – à quoi le mythe ne saurait, lui, être réduit – acquis dès sa naissance. Visant à présenter un monde imaginaire, soit souhaitable mais inaccessible (la République d’Utopia, le système phalanstérien) soit redoutable et imminent (1984 ou Le meilleur des Mondes),22 l’utopie, à l’instar des mythes, use du système symbolique et de l’artiﬁce, mais se singularise par son regard prospectif et sa dimension messianique, le mythe demeurant éminemment “conservateur”, enchaîné dans un passé qu’il raconte inlassablement et dans un présent qu’il “travaille” dans l’ombre. C. Mythe et science Une interrogation sur les rapports entre mythe et science oblige à remonter le temps jusqu’à l’Antiquité grecque, ce pour deux raisons au moins. La première,

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Cl. Lévi-Strauss, Mythologiques IV, L’homme nu (Paris, Plon, 1971), p. 571 et Mythologiques I, Le cru et le cuit (Paris, Plon, 1964), p. 20. Voir supra, p. 1. J. Gabel, ‘Utopie. Nuance schizophrénique du rêve utopiste’, in : Encyclopedia-Universalis, vol. 23, op. cit., pp. 267–269. ‘L’utopie est comme la prophétie : elle annonce ou évoque, tantôt sur le mode fascinant pour que des choses arrivent, tantôt sur le mode redoutable, pour qu’elles n’arrivent pas.’. H. Desroche, ‘Utopie et utopies’, op. cit., p. 267.

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générale, tient au “miracle grec”, la Grèce apparaissant comme le topos ou berceau de la quête, devenue obsédante en Occident,23 des “causes” ou origine des choses, et la seconde se rapporte à la distinction – presque opposition – élaborée progressivement par la philosophie grecque entre mythos, pensée “irrationnelle” et logos, devenu discours rationnel ou philosophique. Si le mythe, au contraire de la philosophie, s’exprime par des représentations symboliques, non “rationnelles”, il nourrit comme celle-ci des prétentions à la Vérité ; dans ce sens s’instaure un dialogue entre mythe et philosophie, presqu’une complémentarité, non exempte d’ambiguïté. Alors que le logos cherche à démontrer, à conférer un statut aux prédicats de l’Être tel que la logique aristotélicienne les a dégagés, le mythos, lui, s’adresse moins à la raison qu’à l’âme dans son ensemble, sur laquelle le merveilleux et le dramatique, portés par la musicalité et le rythme de sa parole narrative agissent en profondeur,24 à l’image de la catharsis provoquée par le spectacle de la tragédie.25 Tout en s’opposant, logos et mythos ne s’excluent donc point, tous deux traquant des vérités par des moyens diﬀérents. C’est pourquoi sans doute Platon lui-même y recourt simultanément, dans une attitude d’ambivalence, parce que critique visà-vis d’un “fonds” mythologique dans lequel il n’a de cesse de puiser pourtant, surtout lorsqu’il s’attaque aux origines du monde (Timée) ou à l’immortalité de l’âme (Er le Pamphylien). Les relations entretenues aujourd’hui par les mythes et les sciences ont hérité de l’antique ambiguïté. Selon qu’on les envisage dans les termes d’une dialectique d’opposition radicale ou de complémentarité, on dira mythe et sciences absolument incommensurables ou, au contraire, apparentés et solidaires. La position d’incommensurabilité est défendue en particulier par un positivisme scientiﬁque strict (le Cercle de Vienne), pour lequel aucune “mytho-logie” ne saurait exister, faute de pouvoir soumettre les mythes au test de vériﬁcation critique (falsiﬁabilité) indispensable à l’acquisition d’un statut scientiﬁque. En faveur de la complémentarité ﬁgure la position considérant les mythes comme des outils utiles pour la science (Freud, Lévi-Strauss, Eliade . . .), ainsi que la thèse de la science “ﬁlle” du mythe, la continuité des deux se trouvant avérée par leur commune ﬁnalité d’explication des origines des choses ; seulement, là où le “projet” mythique se réalise d’une manière naïve et symbolique,

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“Le grand défaut des Européens est de philosopher toujours sur les origines des choses d’après ce qui se passe autour d’eux”. J-J. Rousseau, Essai sur l’origine des langues (Paris, A. Belin, 1817), p. 27. J.-P. Vernant, op. cit., pp. 196–200. “La tragédie est dans l’imitation d’une action noble et achevée . . . et, par le biais de la pitié et de la crainte, elle opère l’épuration des émotions de ce genre”. Aristote, Poétique (Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 1997), p. 21. On sait que, pour Aristote, les mythes fournissent à la tragédie d’inépuisables matériaux.

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le projet scientiﬁque, lui, obéit à une méthode expérimentale rigoureuse, n’excluant toutefois pas toute intervention de l’imagination créatrice. Si notre “Big Bang” a succédé au Démiurge aux ﬁns de nous éclairer sur l’origine du monde, ou les lois newtoniennes d’attraction des corps aux épaules du géant Atlas pour rendre compte de la stabilité de la Terre, le but visé, l’Erklärung, demeure identique. Et lorsque les sciences s’avouent – provisoirement peut-être – impuissantes à résoudre l’énigme, le mythe reste à disposition. La boîte de Pandore demeurant un récit saisissant sur l’origine du mal et des malheurs de notre condition humaine, nous n’y renonçons pas tout à fait, en dépit des savantes élaborations de la psychiatrie (dementia praecox, schizophrenia . . .) ou des corrélations établies par les neurosciences entre troubles comportementaux et lésions du lobe frontal. Bien qu’il semblerait judicieux d’examiner maintenant si le Droit comme science est un mythe, nous n’ouvrirons pas ici cette autre (petite) boîte de Pandore. D. Mythe et Droit Il n’est pas indiﬀérent de remarquer que les Grecs, encore eux, nous oﬀrent quelques mythes sur l’origine du Droit. Par le don aux humains de Philia, composée d’une part d’aidos (sentiment d’honneur et d’obligation) et de dikè d’autre part (justice, coutume), Zeus signiﬁe, par l’entremise d’Hermès (entre autres, dieu de l’interprétation !), qu’après sa victoire sur les Titans, l’heure du cosmos (ordre) est venue remplacer les temps sombres du chaos. Ainsi, d’origine divine, sacré, le Droit apparaît d’emblée lié à la paix et à l’ordre. Le mythe de la création de l’aréopage, raconté par Eschyle dans les Euménides, éclaire, lui, l’origine de la justice institutionnelle, et ce de façon fort subtile. Créé par Athéna aux ﬁns de juger Oreste, pourchassé inlassablement par les Erinyes à cause de son matricide, ce premier Tribunal composé de sages citoyens rendit son verdict à parfaite égalité de voix, “obligeant” la Déesse à trancher le litige ; Oreste est acquitté, mais culte aux Erinyes sera désormais rendu à Athènes aﬁn d’apaiser leur furie vengeresse. Non seulement le mythe scelle l’origine divine de la justice humaine, mais il met en exergue simultanément les limites indépassables de pareille justice. A défaut de dieux, il faut se résigner à en conﬁer la mission à des tiers avisés et impartiaux, quitte à les voir en désaccord entre eux sur la solution juste à adopter. Peut-être le mythe veut-il également souligner l’existence d’un élément transcendant, sacré, dans l’acte même de juger, la position à la fois médiane et extérieure du Tiers impartial assurant le dépassement de celle, bornée, des parties, arc-boutées sur leur “bon droit”. La polysémie du mythe n’interdit bien sûr pas d’autres interprétations.

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La relation entre mythe et Droit se circonscrit-elle exclusivement dans l’espace délimité si poétiquement par les Grecs ? A la suite de Jean Carbonnier, on peut tout d’abord voir un lien profond entre mythe et coutume : “Le mythe raconte, la coutume ordonne”,26 écrit-il, avant de préciser que la coutume dérive généralement des us, en ce qu’elle imite les comportements d’ancêtres, transmis par les mythes, son autorité provenant de la première pratique et sa force de la répétition.27 Issu des mythes, le Droit peut toutefois également en enfanter. C’est cette piste qu’a suivie Christian Atias, l’un des rares juristes à s’être intéressé aux mythes en Droit. Concevant le mythe comme un “langage qui use ouvertement de l’artiﬁce” et qui “atteint la réalité parce qu’il en force l’apparence,”28 Atias lui reconnaît la fonction de rendre “possible l’aﬃrmation de la positivité du Droit”29 et lui rattache les quatre “eﬀets”30 suivants : “résister à la critique”, donner un “signe de reconnaissance” à une communauté de juristes, “occulter” une partie de raisonnement juridique et enﬁn un “eﬀet d’hyperbole” ou d’augmentation de sa capacité de résistance à la critique.31 Aux yeux de l’anthropologue du Droit qu’est Norbert Rouland, le mythe se signale également par sa fonction d’assurer ou renforcer la cohésion d’un groupe, à quoi travaillent également les rites et les tabous.32 Si le problème d’éventuelles fonctions spéciﬁques des mythes par rapports à d’autres institutions sociales intéresse davantage Rouland qu’Atias, les deux auteurs se rejoignent dans une même perception du procédé mythique, à savoir le phénomène d’occultation opéré,33 et dans la reconnaissance de nombreuses mythologies juridiques, tel le mythe de l’individu et son “pendant”, le mythe de l’Etat, ou le mythe du Code, “signe mystique”.34 E. Utopie et Droit Parmi les auteurs ayant mené quelques investigations sur les utopies en Droit ﬁgurent deux internationalistes, Serge Sur et Martti Koskenniemi. Pour le 26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34

J. Carbonnier, Flexible droit (Paris, LGDJ, 2001), p. 123. Dans le même sens, N. Rouland, op. cit., p. 190. Ch. Atias, Philosophie du Droit (Paris, PUF, Thémis, 1999), pp. 252 et 284. Ibid., p. 253. Il nous semble qu’Atias rassemble sous cette dénomination à la fois l’un des caractères essentiels des mythes (cacher quelque chose), l’une de ses fonctions (rassembler) et l’une des conséquences de sa nature (échapper à la critique). Ibid., pp. 282–285. N. Rouland, op. cit., p. 412. C’est l’approche fonctionnaliste. “La partie du mythe transcende le sens du signe qu’il utilise”. N. Rouland, op. cit., p. 411. Ibid., pp. 411–416.

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premier, l’utopie est une “méthode” proposant un “objet idéal vers lequel les actions conscientes doivent converger”, reﬂétant “une aspiration vague à une conversion” sans “indiquer une méthode de réalisation précise”. L’utopie est aussi l’une des trois “dimensions” de Droit international, à côté de celles “d’enregistrement” et d’ “organisation”.35 Entre autres fonctions, la “négation” correspond à sa composante “révolutionnaire” (modiﬁer le Droit positif ), l’ “aﬃrmation” à sa valeur symbolique (poser a priori la valeur obligatoire de certains actes juridiques), et l’ “anticipation” à sa valeur ﬁctive (présenter déjà réalisé ce qui n’existe qu’à l’état de programme, par exemple les “Nouveaux Ordres” de Droit international). Fort de cette percutante conceptualisation, l’auteur peut diagnostiquer que “dans sa dimension utopique, le droit international est un droit des faibles, qui tend ou doit tendre à compenser et à corriger des inégalités”.36 Concentrant son attention essentiellement sur la doctrine, Koskenniemi, voit dans l’utopie, avec l’ “apologie” qui lui est opposée, l’un des deux pôles entre lesquels oscillent l’ “argumentation juridique libérale internationaliste”. Ces deux extrêmes sont à ses yeux aﬀectés chacun d’une faille mortelle. La tendance apologétique, qui consiste à défendre une “conception sociale du droit”, dans le souci “réaliste” de fonder un Droit international “objectif” traduisant les rapports de puissance entre Etats, ﬁnit par confondre Droit et pouvoir : “le Droit perd son identité en devenant une sociologie descriptive de ce qui existe dans le monde. Il se fait alors apologie du pouvoir.”37 Voulant au contraire assurer au Droit international sa normativité et sa force obligatoire contre la souveraineté étatique, la tendance utopique, elle, tombe dans l’excès inverse, prenant trop de libertés avec les réalités d’une société internationale hétérogène. Si “la force normative du droit international dépend . . . de la distance [de l’argument juridique] par rapport à la réalité de la société internationale”, une trop grande distance représente “une utopie abstraite et non vériﬁable, ne traduisant que les préférences de ceux qui parlent”.38 Bien que l’aspect programmatoire, révolutionnaire, soit plus marqué chez Sur, les deux auteurs défendent tous deux une conception “idéologique” de l’utopie, discours “mensonger” prenant ses désirs pour des réalités. Se voit ainsi conﬁrmée la notion d’utopie évoquée auparavant, distincte du mythe par l’intention de changer la société qu’elle manifeste.

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S. Sur, ‘Système juridique international et utopie’, Archives de Philosophie du Droit, 1987, 35–36. ‘Dans sa dimension d’organisation, le Droit international est un Droit des égaux (certains restant toutefois plus égaux que d’autres), et dans sa dimension d’enregistrement, il est un Droit des puissants, consacrant de façon générale leur situation et leurs avantages’. Ibid. p. 41. M. Koskenniemi, La Politique du Droit International (Paris, Pedone, 2007), p. 57. Ibid., p. 58.

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2. La paix par le droit, un mythe du droit international? A notre connaissance, l’étude des mythes du Droit international reste à faire . . . À moins que ce dernier n‘en recèle point, ce dont semble rendre compte . . . Un mythe ! Nous parle en eﬀet d’une société multiculturelle et multilingue le célébrissime mythe de la Tour de Babel, racontant la colère de Dieu décidant d’envoyer aux hommes la multiplicité des langues, donc le conﬂit, aﬁn de les punir de l’érection de la Tour. Selon une première interprétation, Dieu entendait châtier le péché d’orgueil qui incita les hommes à chercher à le rejoindre dans les sphères célestes, alors que selon une autre appréciation, il les punit au contraire d’avoir arrêté leur construction, c’est-à-dire renoncé à s’élever vers lui, préférant retourner à leur condition de pécheurs. Dans notre perspective, l’intérêt de ce mythe réside dans le lien établi entre multiculturalisme, pluralité des langues et conﬂit. Le mythe de Babel se trouve en eﬀet renforcé par l’ “hypothèse Sapir-Whorf ” ou “hypothèse du relativisme linguistique”. Les recherches menées par ces deux auteurs ont montré en eﬀet que toute langue, en tant que construction d’un rapport au réel jamais donné univoquement, porte nécessairement vision du monde.39 La conséquence en est une part inéluctable d’incommunicabilité entre les diﬀérentes cultures (langues). L’illustre de manière saisissante la langue des Inuits, l’inuktitut, laquelle dispose de plusieurs dizaines de mots pour traduire autant de caractéristiques de la réalité “neige”, là où le français, par exemple, ne propose que quelques adjectifs visant à marquer les quelques diﬀérences perçues sous nos latitudes (poudreuse, gelée, lourde . . .), éminemment grossières et peu explicites pour les Esquimaux. Si la langue marque véritablement une inscription culturelle largement indépassable, source d’incompréhensions entre les peuples, ne doit-on pas conclure à l’incommunicabilité des mythes issus de cultures diﬀérentes, partant à l’impossibilité d’une mythologie propre à la société internationale ? Nous détournant pour l’heure de cette embarrassante question, nous tirerons de Babel une autre conclusion, à savoir que la ﬁnalité essentielle du Droit international semble bien la paix ou la résolution des conﬂits, que ceux-ci mettent aux prises des personnes privées (Droit international privé) dans des relations transnationales,40 ou des Etats (Droit international public). 39

40

La langue maternelle, héritage historique en évolution constante, détermine les modes de pensée, donc de captation du réel, notamment parce que, en tant que système symbolique, ses signes renvoient à des expériences et concepts collectifs intégrés par chaque individu parlant la même langue dans la même culture. E. Sapir, Culture, language and personality (Berkeley, University Of California, 1966), p. 12. La notion d’extranéité révèle d’emblée la multiculturalité.

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La notion de “conﬂit” désignant, en Droit international, tant les conﬂits armés que les diﬀérends, il convient d’examiner séparément, dans la perspective mythologique, les relations entretenues par le Droit international avec la guerre (A) d’une part, et avec les litiges (B) d’autre part. A. Droit international et guerre On entendra “paix par le Droit” de deux manières. Au sens strict, le Droit international donne la paix en terminant la guerre et, au sens large, il œuvre à la paix en réglementant et limitant les débordements de la guerre. 1. Le Droit international “fait la paix” La “paix par le Droit” signiﬁe-t-elle que le Droit International peut réellement mettre ﬁn aux guerres ? A l’appui de cette idée viennent immédiatement à l’esprit les fameux Traités de paix scellant les guerres, à l’image du Traité de Versailles (1919) ou des divers Traités de paix consécutifs à la seconde guerre mondiale. Sur le plan bilatéral, certaines guerres, même brèves, sont également (mais plus rarement) suivies de traités de paix, tels ceux conclus entre Israël et l’Egypte (1979) ou Israël et la Jordanie (1994). Certains actes juridiques autres que des accords de paix y ressemblent fort en ce qu’ils comportent, eux aussi, des clauses relatives à la délimitation de frontières, au partage des responsabilités, aux réparations de guerre, etc. Ainsi, la Résolution 687 du Conseil de Sécurité du 3 avril 1991, adoptée suite à la guerre menée contre l’Irak, met à la charge de ce pays la réparation de tous les dommages “subis par des Etats étrangers et des personnes physiques et sociétés étrangères du fait de l’invasion et de l’occupation illicites du Koweït”,41 obligeant de plus l’Irak à accepter la destruction ou neutralisation de divers armements, l’interdiction de fabriquer l’arme nucléaire ou l’obligation de respecter les frontières tracées par le traité bilatéral en vigueur entre ces deux pays.42 Cette “paix par le Droit” semble bien mythique, car aux vérités “dites”, à savoir que les Traités de paix rétablissent l’ordre et organisent une paix durable grâce à la présence, parmi les signataires, des vainqueurs comme des vaincus, sont liées d’autres vérités, voilées celles-là (presque des contre-vérités). La première de ces “vérités”, c’est que le nouvel ordre conventionnel porte en luimême une violence latente, la paix instaurée étant déjà grosse d’une guerre potentielle (le Traité de Versailles “annonce” la guerre de 1939–1945). Ces accords imposés aux vaincus arborent leur pseudo-validité à ciel découvert, mas-

41 42

Résolution 687, para. 16. Ibid., para. 8, 12 et 2.

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quant la contrainte sous l’empire de laquelle ils furent conclus, d’ailleurs en contradiction avec le Droit des traités, en particulier l’article 52 de la Convention de Vienne de 1969.43 Même dans l’hypothèse d’un conﬂit sans véritable vainqueur, résolu à égale satisfaction apparente des protagonistes, le traité signé, à défaut de contrainte, n’est au mieux qu’un Vertrag,44 c’est à dire une forme d’accord dont l’apparente convergence d’intérêts masque la réalité du conﬂit entre ces intérêts, toujours présents bien que ponctuellement neutralisés. Loin d’une “paix par le Droit”, c’est d’une “paix par la guerre” dont il s’agit, les mêmes armes servant la cause de la guerre comme celle d’une paix marquée du sceau de la précarité. L’autre veritas indicta masquée par l’adage, c’est cette vérité que la paix – forcée – précède la Droit, donc que ce dernier n’a jamais pu la faire. Suivant une “chrono-logique”, l’armistice précède normalement les traités de paix, en est la condition de possibilité. Certes, lorsque les armes parlent, on négocie souvent, mais la ﬁn de la guerre ne résulte pas des traités, c’est l’inverse qui se produit, l’armistice, généralement précaire,45 n’étant que le produit et non la cause de la cessation des hostilités. 2. Le Droit international, réglementation de la guerre Sans à proprement parler mettre ﬁn à la guerre dans les termes qu’on vient d’analyser, le rôle du Droit international serait, dans l’esprit de l’adage, de la limiter, la contrôler, par le fait même de la soumettre à ses propres règles. Le mythe rencontré ici, la “guerre juste”, présente un double visage : la guerre peut être considérée “juste” soit en raison de sa ﬁnalité, soit en raison de la manière avec laquelle elle est conduite, les deux aspects se trouvant liés, parfois intimement, comme dans la “guerre humanitaire”. Parmi les ﬁgures du Droit international contemporain susceptibles de s’autoriser de la notion de guerre “juste”, on trouve à côté de la guerre de tous contre le fauteur de trouble ou action armée de “sécurité collective”, la guerre humanitaire ou “Droit d’ingérence humanitaire”.46 43

44

45

46

En Droit interne Suisse, les contrats conclus sous l’empire d’une contrainte ou ‘crainte fondée’ sont annulables par la victime (Voir l’article 29 du Code des Obligations helvétique). Terme opposé classiquement à Vereinbarung ou accord exprimant un intérêt commun, une transcendance. “Les armistices ou les cesser le feu . . . n’entraîne[nt] qu’une sortie partielle et fragile de la guerre . . .”. S. Sur, op. cit., p. 432. La guerre réactive menée en légitime défense (article 51 de la Charte) ne ressortit pas, selon nous, à la guerre “juste”. Participant d’une logique “réﬂexe” de la survie, la légitime défense n’exprime aucun choix éthique de l’agressé, son caractère de nécessité excluant toute possibilité de jugement sur la cause “juste” de la guerre, du moins dans la guerre interétatique classique. Or, nous ne concevons pas de droit sans choix des valeurs. La légitime défense dite “collective” restitue en revanche une dimension axiologique à la guerre, mais la Charte n’en précise pas

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Seul le “Droit d’ingérence humanitaire” nous retiendra ici, la sécurité collective n’ayant pas réussi véritablement à sortir de la Law in Books pour s’inscrire dans les réalités de la pratique. En vertu du Droit d’ingérence humanitaire,47 un ou plusieurs Etats seraient autorisés à mener une action armée contre un autre Etat aux ﬁns de protéger les intérêts de la population locale, par hypothèse malmenée par un gouvernement tyrannique ou un état de guerre civile. La noblesse de la ﬁn (l’humanitaire) justiﬁerait les moyens (action armée), l’emploi de l’oxymore faisant néanmoins pressentir qu’un maillon manque à la chaîne établie par cette étrange locution, conformément à la logique d’ “occultation” propre au mythe. “Human Rights Law demands intervention against tyranny”, proclame Anthony D’Amato, l’un des chantres de l’intervention humanitaire.48 Sur les conditions et modes d’intervention, D’Amato pose d’abord que, vu l’ineﬃcacité de l’intervention armée au titre du chapitre VII de la Charte des Nations Unies, “any nation with the will and the resources may intervene to protect the population of another nation against tyranny”.49 Quant à la licéité d’une telle intervention, elle serait assurée par l’absence de toute intention conquérante ; ainsi, l’action armée menée par les Etats-Unis à Panama en 1989 ne violait pas l’interdiction du recours à la force, “because the United States did not act against the territorial integrity of Panama ; there was never an intent to annex part or all of Panamian territory.”50 Et, comme il s’agissait de restaurer la démocratie en démantelant un régime “tyrannique”, ladite incursion américaine était “not only legally justiﬁed but morally required.”51 Autrement dit, cette guerre était à la fois “juste” et licite en Droit international. Ce que le mythe du “Droit d’ingérence humanitaire” met au jour, c’est cette vérité que tant la justice – ﬁnalité du Droit – que le respect de certaines règles

47

48 49 50 51

les conditions, de sorte qu’il faut s’en remettre aux divers Pactes régionaux (OTAN, OTASE) ou bilatéraux (Traité de coopération et de sécurité mutuelle, Etats-Unis/Japon) semblant s’y référer; mais on ne saisit alors plus la diﬀérence avec le mécanisme de sécurité collective, si bien que le concept de légitime défense ‘collective’ semble vide. Si l’on parle depuis quelque temps plutôt de ‘‘responsabilité de protéger”, c’est, à première vue, dans un souci d’édulcoration ; au-delà des mots, l’idée de l’intervention pour une ‘‘juste cause” (humanitaire) demeure essentielle (Voir par exemple L. Balmond (dir.), ‘Chronique des faits internationaux’, RGDIP, 2002, 672–673 et L. Boisson de Chazournes/L. Condorelli, ‘De la responsabilité de protéger ou d’une nouvelle parure pour une notion déjà bien établie’, RGDIP, 2006, 11–18. A. D’Amato, ‘The Validity of the United States Intervention in Panama’, AJIL, 1990, 519. Ibid., p. 519. Ibid., p. 520. Ibid., p. 519.

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dans la conduite de la guerre – en particulier le jus in bello – sont des antidotes à la guerre, presqu’une guerre contre la guerre (ouverte ou potentielle). La juste cause et la juste conduite de la guerre ne donnent au fond qu’une apparence de “guerre” à l’action armée qui, en réalité, tend soit à punir celui qui, par son oppression, menace la paix, soit à juguler un état de guerre préexistant, soit les deux à la fois. Y a-t-il vraiment une partie invisible de l’iceberg ? “Le bien-fondé de l’action humanitaire est si indiscutable, si ‘naturel’, qu’il apparaît à la fois vain et sacrilège de s’interroger sur son origine.”52 L’artiﬁce de l’oxymore permet, c’est le premier point, de voiler l’inacceptabilité normalement inhérente à la contradiction entre deux termes : “Droit” et “ingérence” sont en eﬀet antinomiques, le premier impliquant la limite, le second la transgression ; un “Droit d’ingérence” est ainsi une impossibilité logique, mais l’adjonction du qualiﬁcatif “humanitaire” permet de “légitimer une action injustiﬁable en se réclamant d’une valeur indiscutable”.53 L’autre morceau immergé de l’iceberg est d’accès plus diﬃcile, parce que sa mise à jour impliquerait des investigations sur l’origine du “souci de l’Autre lointain”, devenu proche par la magie de “l’invocation d’une commune nature humaine”.54 Si nous ne pouvons ici présenter une genèse de la mythologie des Droits de l’Homme,55 ce corpus fondé sur le substrat d’une telle “nature humaine”, nous emprunterons le chemin suivi par Gilbert Rist, établissant une ﬁliation entre mythologies : “les innovations sociales [l’émergence du Droit d’ingérence humanitaire] ne peuvent être acceptées qu’à la condition de puiser leur légitimité dans des fragments de mythes anciens, qui jouent le rôle de garants métasociaux”.56 Ainsi trouve-t-on d’autres mythes à la racine d’un mythe . . . Aux fondements de l’ “universalisme”, l’ “individualisme” et de la “vie biologique” se nichent la souveraineté, la guerre et l’abondance, personniﬁées par des dieux : à Rome, Jupiter, Mars et Quirinus.57 Jupiter est l’instance politique et juridique habilitée à décider d’une guerre juste dont la conduite est l’aﬀaire de Mars, Quirinus se chargeant, lui, d’assurer la subsistance et le bien-être, conditions dont la réalisation n’est véritablement assurée qu’en temps de paix.

52 53 54 55

56 57

G. Rist, Dérives Humanitaires (Genève, Cahiers de l’IUED, 1994), p. 34. Ibid., p. 45. Ibid., p. 35 Pour quelques éléments à ce sujet, voir A. Papaux, E. Wyler, L’éthique du Droit international (Paris, PUF, Que sais-je ?, 1997), et surtout A. Dufour, Droits de l’Homme, Droit naturel et histoire (Paris, PUF, Leviathan, 1991). G. Rist, op. cit., p. 34. En Inde, ces divinités sont Varura, Indra et Nasatya et, dans la mythologie nordique, Odin, Porr et Freyr. Ibid., p. 42.

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Avec le Droit d’ingérence humanitaire, “tout se passe comme si Quirinus devait requérir la collaboration de Jupiter et de Mars pour répandre ses bienfaits au-delà des frontières de l’Empire, à moins que ce ne soient Jupiter et Mars qui cherchent à pousser leur avantage hors de l’Empire en proﬁtant de la bonne volonté de Quirinus.”58 Ainsi le Droit d’ingérence humanitaire, en légitimant une guerre menée pour secourir et nourrir des membres de la “famille humaine”, où qu’ils se trouvent, mêle-t-il trois fonctions vitales du corps social, déiﬁées et racontées par des mythes, ce en faisant croire au primat du souci du bien-être d’autrui sur la volonté d’exporter ses valeurs, fût-ce par la force. C’est la composante idéologique ou politique, la “Loi du plus fort” ou “colonisation du troisième type”,59 que l’expression “Droit d’ingérence humanitaire” camouﬂe grâce au “label humanitaire”. Quirinus en pleine lumière cache dans son ombre Jupiter et Mars, bien présents . . . B. Droit international et litiges La distinction classique établie par l’article 33 de la Charte des Nations-Unies entre modes de règlement diplomatiques ou politiques et modes de règlement juridictionnels des diﬀérends exprime clairement l’évidente fonction assumée par le Droit international public dans la résolution des litiges entre Etats. Interpréter la “paix par le Droit” dans ce sens, tirant argument de ce que les arrêts des juridictions permanentes et les sentences arbitrales mettent ﬁn, sur la base du Droit international, aux conﬂits qui leur sont soumis, semble irréfutable.60 Trois phénomènes attestent d’ailleurs des succès remportés par les juridictions internationales dans leur mission paciﬁcatrice : leur multiplication croissante,61 le nombre également croissant de litiges que les Etats portent devant elles, et le respect global de leurs décisions par les parties. Pour les esprits chagrins,62 la multiplication des juridictions menacerait l’unité du Droit international, alors

58 59

60

61

62

Ibid., p. 44. Ibid., p. 45. Serge Sur, pour sa part, relève que “les pays en développement . . . y voient une forme nouvelle de la diplomatie de la canonnière”. S. Sur, op. cit., p. 471. “Les juridictions internationales ont un double rôle résoudre les litiges qui leur sont soumis et faire progresser le Droit international.” G. Guillaume, ‘Les formations restreintes des juridictions internationales’, in: Contentieux international (Paris, Pedone, publications de l’Institut HEI (Panthéon-Assas), 1992), p. 47. Sur ce thème voir par exemple S. Karagiannis, ‘La multiplication des juridictions internationales : un système anarchique ?’, in: S.F.D.I., La juridictionnalisation du Droit international (Paris, Pedone, 2003), p. 7 et s. Voir G. Hafner, ‘Les risques que posent la fragmentation du droit internaitonal’, ACDI, 2000, 305 ou M. Koskenniemi, P. Leino, ‘Fragmentation of International Law ? Postmodern Anxieties’, LJIL, 2002, 553.

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qu’aux yeux des moins pessimistes,63 elle révèle la vitalité du règlement juridictionnel. Dans notre perspective, il suﬃt de souligner que le souci de s’en remettre de plus en plus au juge international pour résoudre les litiges représente une victoire pour le Droit international. Parmi les grands succès remportés par la CIJ au sein de crises d’une certaine intensité, mentionnons seulement ceux obtenus dans nombre de litiges relatifs aux délimitations de frontières interétatiques.64 Concernant les juridictions ad hoc, on relèvera le recours de plus en plus fréquent à l’arbitrage, son rôle dans l’apaisement de tensions entre Etats ne s’étant jamais démenti depuis la célèbre aﬀaire de l’Alabama. L’attestent par exemple la “médiation arbitrale” dans l’aﬀaire du Canal de Beagle,65 les arbitrages successifs dans l’aﬀaire du Rainbow Warrior,66 ou l’arbitrage de Taba.67 Quant au bon respect des décisions rendues, c’est là la règle, (comme les quelques exceptions le démontrent), tant dans le contexte juridictionnel propre aux Cours de La Haye68 que dans celui de l’arbitrage.69 Peut-on réellement soutenir, face à l’omniprésence du Droit international dans le processus juridictionnel, que cette “paix par le Droit” est également mythique ? La part de vérité révélée par la maxime masque, une fois de plus, une autre réalité. Ce n’est pas que le triomphe du “Droit international juridictionnel” souﬀrirait d’une analyse axée sur la corrélation – pas aussi évidente qu’il n’y paraît – entre décision du juge et résolution réelle du litige.70 C’est bien davantage qu’une vérité profonde surgit du renversement de la maxime, s’avérant

63

64

65

66 67

68

69

70

Voir par exemple B. Conforti, ‘Unité et fragmentation du droit international : glissez, mortels, n’appuyez pas !’, RGDIP, 2007, 11; P.-M. Dupuy, op. cit., p. 470. Par exemple les aﬀaires du Diﬀérend frontalier (Burkina Faso/Mali, 1986), du Diﬀérend frontalier, terrestre et maritime (El Salvador/Honduras, 1992), du Diﬀérend territorial (République arabe libyenne/Tchad, 1994) ou de la Délimitation maritime et questions territoriales (Quatar/ Bahrein, 2001). Voir G. Moncayo, ‘La médiation pontiﬁcale dans l’aﬀaire du Canal de Beagle’, Recueil des cours de l’Académie de droit international de La Haye, 1993, 197. Voir G. Apollis, ‘Le règlement de l’aﬀaire du Rainbow Warrior’, RGDIP, 1987, 9. Sentence du 29 septembre 1988 rendu par le Tribunal arbitral institué par l’Egypte et Israël (I.L.M. 1988, 1427). Voir G. Guillaume, ‘L’exécution des décisions de la Cour Internationale de Justice’, RSDIE, 1997, 431 et s, l’auteur soulignant que “la conduite des Etats est encourageante et l’exécution spontanée des décisions de justice demeure la règle” (p. 435). Voir N. Quoc Dinh, P. Daillier, A. Pellet, Droit international public (Paris, LGDJ, 1999), note n°536 : ‘il est assez rare qu’un Etat refuse d’exécuter une sentence arbitrale internationale’. Des arrêts aussi importants que ceux délivrés par la CIJ dans les aﬀaires du Personnel diplomatique américain à Téhéran, du Nicaragua, ou l’avis consultatif délivré dans l’aﬀaire du Mur en Palestine n’ont absolument pas suﬃ à résoudre ces crises. De même, il arrive que des sentences arbitrales contestées soient attaquées . . . devant la CIJ (par exemple la sentence arbitrale du 31

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aussi indiscutable que celle contenue dans la formule classique, ainsi que l’avait compris le philosophe Alain : “Paix par le Droit ? Au contraire, c’est le Droit qui sera par la paix, attendu que l’ordre du Droit suppose une déclaration préalable de paix, avant l’arbitrage, pendant l’arbitrage et après l’arbitrage”.71 À y regarder de près en eﬀet, on constate que, loin de dériver de la décision du juge, alléguée “obligatoire”, le respect et la scrupuleuse exécution de ladite décision procèdent d’une “double acceptabilité”72 transcendant aussi bien le formalisme procédural que l’obligatoriété juridique du “morceau de papier” contenant les termes de la solution donnée. Seule une entente, présente au sein même du conﬂit, permet en eﬀet l’accord sur le moyen d’y mettre ﬁn, c’est à dire la désignation d’un arbitre et la ﬁdèle exécution de sa décision.73 Or, pareille entente présuppose une “paix” . . . Des deux acceptabilités du règlement du diﬀérend, c’est la première, le choix d’un juge, qui est décisive, la seconde, relative au respect du contenu de la décision, en dépendant presqu’entièrement – sauf le cas, rare, d’un jugement arbitraire ou manifestement infondé en droit. Mais de quoi est faite cette paix préalable, que le conﬂit ne parvient généralement pas à remettre en cause ? Sans doute tient-elle à une “communauté de valeurs”, à la croyance, sinon dans le caractère sacré du Droit (les Euménides), du moins dans la vertu curative de quelques principes généraux fondamentaux de Droit partagés, pourvu que celui qui incarne la parole juridique la dise bien (juris-dictio).74 Par la magie de cette croyance commune, le “morceau de papier” se transmute en marbre, la sentence devenant tombeau emmurant dans son silence le litige, “tranché”, c’est-à-dire mis à mort par le glaive du Tiers impartial. Cette paix inaugurale d’un “Droit”, qui la renforcera par rétroaction, implique donc une “co-existence”, un “vivre-ensemble” dans une certaine proximité culturelle, par quoi elle s’oppose à l’état de “non-guerre”, où l’on observe une simple juxtaposition entre deux peuples, cette non-guerre prenant la forme

71 72

73

74

juillet 1989, Guinée Bissau / Sénégal) ou devant un autre tribunal (par exemple dans l’aﬀaire de la Laguna del Desierto (Argentine/Chili, 1994 et 1995). Alain, Propos vol. I (Paris, La Pléïade, 1956), p. 483. Voir E. Wyler, ‘Le médiateur tiers impartial au cœur du Droit’, in: M.G. Kohen (dir.), La promotion de la justice, des droits de l’homme et le réglement des conﬂits par le droit international – Liber Amicorum Lucius Caﬂisch (Leiden, Martinus Nijhoﬀ, 2007), p. 55 et s. (spéc. pp. 984–986). Parfaitement vu par Hervé Ascencio: ‘L’autorité de la sentence découlera de l’engagement pris au moment de la signature du compromis’. H. Ascencio, ‘La notion de juridiction internationale en question’, in: S.F.D.I., op. cit., p. 170. S’infère ainsi ‘la présence d’une communauté de Droit ‘derrière’ la juridiction’. Ibid., p. 180.

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soit d’une indiﬀérence absolue (cas rare), soit d’une hostilité latente ou état de guerre potentielle voire larvée (symbolisé par le Mur, de Berlin, de Palestine).

3. Guerre, paix, nature, droit et culture La notion de “mythe-matrice” ou “mythe référentiel” mise en évidence par les travaux de Lévi-Strauss exprime la fécondité des mythes, au sens “générationnel” du mot : un mythe peut en engendrer d’autres, ainsi qu’on l’a déjà suggéré. La “paix par le Droit” semble aﬃliée à une large lignée, dont l’ancêtre est probablement le mythe assimilant la Force au règne de la Nature, le Droit au règne de la Culture, l’acquisition ou la maîtrise du Droit impliquant renonciation à la Force. Déjà dans le Gorgias, Platon met dans la bouche de Calliclès les paroles suivantes : “le plus souvent, la nature et la loi s’opposent l’une à l’autre”. Si l’on trouve une “loi” dans la Nature, c’est celle du plus fort, la Culture ayant enfanté les “lois des faibles” aﬁn d’entraver les plus forts : “les lois sont faites pour les faibles et par le grand nombre. C’est . . . pour eﬀrayer les plus forts, ceux qui sont capables d’avoir l’avantage sur eux, pour les empêcher de l’obtenir,[c’est pourquoi] ils disent qu’il est honteux et injuste d’obtenir plus que sa part . . .”.75 S’aﬀranchissant de l’opposition entre “Forts” et “Faibles”, parce que peut-être sensible à l’argument démystiﬁcateur de Socrate, démontrant à Calliclès que les “Faibles”, grâce à leurs lois, sont en réalité devenus les “Forts”, faisant du coup des “Forts” les “Faibles”, Hobbes va retravailler le mythe en le coulant dans le moule du fameux “contrat social”. A. Le mythe du contrat social (Hobbes) Égaux dans la crainte les uns des autres et le désir de survivre, les hommes, à l’état de nature, sont poussés par la “loi fondamentale de nature” à “rechercher la paix aussi longtemps qu’il [y] a espoir de l’atteindre . . . À partir de cette loi . . . on déduit cette seconde loi de nature : que ce soit la volonté de chacun, si c’est également celle de tous les autres . . . d’abandonner [son] droit sur toute chose, et qu’il soit satisfait de disposer d’autant de liberté à l’égard des autres que les autres en disposent à l’égard de lui-même”.76 Pour Hobbes, cet abandon de son droit par chacun se fera par “ce qu’on nomme contrat”77 et, “de cette loi de nature qui nous oblige à transférer à un autre ces droits qui, s’ils sont conservés, s’opposent à la paix du genre humain, 75 76 77

Platon, Gorgias (Paris, Garnier, Flammarion, 1967), pp. 224–225. Th. Hobbes, Leviathan (Paris, Gallimard, 2000), I, 14, p. 232. Ibid., p. 235.

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suit une troisième loi, selon laquelle il faut exécuter les conventions qu’on a faites” : c’est ici que l’on rencontre pacta sunt servanda, la loi fondamentale du Droit international, dans la ligne hobbesienne suivie par l’école volontariste. Ainsi Hobbes met-il l’accord des volontés de tous, le contrat, ﬁgure ressortissant évidemment au Droit, donc à la culture, au fondement de l’Etat. La violence plus ou moins ouverte à l’état de nature se trouve surmontée grâce au transfert du droit (puissance) de chacun au Léviathan, ce “dieu mortel”,78 transfert réalisé par le contrat social. Ce que ce mythe met en évidence, c’est qu’à la guerre de l’état de nature succède, grâce au consentement donné par chacun, la paix de l’état de culture, le contrat symbolisant le sacriﬁce personnel, l’aliénation de sa “volonté de puissance” que tout individu raisonnable se doit d’eﬀectuer pour obtenir la paix générale en même temps que son accession à la qualité de citoyen.79 Autrement dit, l’inclination qui nous pousse à user de la force contre les faibles doit être surmontée si nous voulons la paix, et le consentement de tous représente l’unique moyen d’y parvenir, parce qu’une paix imposée n’est plus une paix véritable. Le mythe opère donc sur l’immédiateté de l’idée que la Force est naturelle, et qu’à moins que des limites ne lui soient assignées de manière extrinsèque et pour ainsi dire “artiﬁcielle” (culturelle), elle imposera inéluctablement sa loi. Du même coup, le contrat social traduit l’évidence des liens entre Droit, cette “fabrique de limites”, et Culture, exprimant de surcroît l’idée que la puissance contraignante du Droit, à l’état civil est libre, au sens qu’elle ne peut provenir que du consentement. L’individu immole sa toute-puissance sur l’autel de la paix collective, mais sous condition de réciprocité. Par ce sacriﬁce, l’humanité pourra progresser, la renonciation à la guerre civile étant consubstantielle à l’avènement du Droit et des institutions sociales. Mais le contrat social cèle d’autres vérités. Fort de l’acquis d’Alain, on admettra que c’est grâce à une paix préalable relative que la rencontre des volontés individuelles, cristallisées dans le contrat, s’est produite. Autrement dit, cette paix que le Léviathan est chargé de garantir à l’état civil existait déjà à l’état de nature, le contrat, ce “moment” de passage à la culture, intervenant nécessairement dans un contexte paciﬁé : sans la paix, sa conclusion eût été impossible.

78

79

“En vertu du pouvoir conféré par chaque individu dans l’Etat, [le Léviathan] dispose de tant de puissance et de force assemblées en lui, que par la terreur qu’elles inspirent, il peut conformer la volonté de tous en vue de la paix à l’intérieur et de l’entraide face aux ennemis de l’étranger”. Ibid., p. 288. Si Hobbes insiste peu sur la “transformation” de l’individu en citoyen par le contrat social (“devenu politique, l’homme reste un animal”. M. Malherbe, Hobbes (Paris, Vrin, 2000), p. 134) Rousseau la pensera dans les termes d’un véritable exhaussement à une dignité de citoyen.

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Dans une symétrie parfaite, à l’omniprésence de la paix dans les deux “états” répond l’omniprésence de la guerre. Si la puissance du Léviathan est nécessaire pour se prémunir contre tout retour de la violence, c’est que celle-ci n’a pas disparu par la magie du contrat social,80 conclusion conﬁrmée par la présence de pacta, la troisième loi de nature, non dans l’état de nature, mais bien dans l’état civil : il ne suﬃt pas de s’engager, il faut encore un “engagement sur l’engagement”, la promesse de s’en tenir à ce qui fut décidé. Ainsi, d’actuelle à l’état de nature, la guerre survit en la forme potentielle à l’état de culture, de même que la paix, actuelle à l’état civil, existait déjà à l’état de nature. Le mythe nous fait d’abord voir les assimilations guerre/nature et paix/culture, comme pour mieux les abolir et en montrer le caractère illusoire, avec peut-être le “projet” d’une mise en garde : si nos institutions, le Droit en particulier, sont des remparts contre la guerre, elles ne suﬃront peut-être pas à éradiquer déﬁnitivement celle-ci. Une autre vérité indicible du mythe tient au caractère arbitraire de la distinction Nature/Culture. Ces deux termes ne sauraient en eﬀet être distingués d’un point de vue épistémologique, toute culture étant naturelle (présente dans toutes les sociétés) et tout concept de Nature étant culturel (sans culture, pas de concept ni de mot). Partant, l’assimilation de la Force au “Naturel” et du Droit au “Culturel” s’avère, elle aussi, artiﬁcielle. B. Démythiﬁcation du mythe du contrat social Le XXe siècle doit à l’apport de deux penseurs aussi célèbres que Sigmund Freud et René Girard d’avoir en quelque sorte “démythiﬁé” le mythe hobbesien en aﬃrmant la pleine vérité historique de la thèse du “contrat social” à l’origine de la culture. Il s’agit là d’une “démythiﬁcation” ou suppression du mythe, et non pas d’une “démystiﬁcation”, démarche consistant seulement à dénoncer la dimension mensongère de celui- ci. 1. Le Repas totémique de la “Horde primitive” (Freud) Dans Totem et Tabou, Freud répond à l’interrogation sur l’origine de l’organisation sociale à partir de la théorie de la sélection naturelle de Darwin et des connaissances des sociétés traditionnelles accumulées par l’anthropologie de la ﬁn du XIXe et du début du XXe siècles. Voyant dans le “bon sauvage” un reliquat de l’état de nature, en lequel le psychologue peut observer sans trop de “déformations” et “censures” culturelles la dynamique conﬂictuelle des pulsions

80

Preuve en soit que la crainte n’a pas disparu à l’état civil, elle a seulement changé d’objet, le Léviathan s’étant substitué aux autres individus. (M. Malherbe, op. cit.. p. 162).

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(les “passions” de Rousseau), Freud, s’appuyant sur la pérennité, dans les sociétés archaïques, du Repas totémique et ses rituels, avance l’hypothèse suivante : [U]n jour, les frères chassés se sont réunis, ont tué et mangé le père, ce qui a mis ﬁn à l’existence de la horde paternelle. Une fois réunis, ils sont devenus entreprenants et ont pu réaliser ce que chacun d’eux, pris individuellement, aurait été incapable de faire. Il est possible qu’un nouveau progrès de la civilisation, l’invention d’une nouvelle arme leur aient procuré le sentiment de leur supériorité. Qu’ils aient mangé le cadavre de leur père – il n’y a à cela rien d’étonnant, étant donné qu’il s’agit de primitifs cannibales. L’aïeul violent était certainement le modèle envié et redouté de chacun des membres de cette association fraternelle. Or, par l’acte de l’absorption ils réalisaient leur identiﬁcation avec lui, s’appropriaient chacun une partie de sa force. Le repas totémique, qui est peut-être la première fête de l’humanité, serait la reproduction et comme la fête commémorative de cet acte mémorable et criminel qui a servi de point de départ à tant de choses : organisations sociales, restrictions morales, religions.81

Dans cette conception, de l’acte de violence seul la paix pouvait en déﬁnitive sortir. Le meurtre originel portait en lui la renonciation future au meurtre, condition de naissance de la civilisation. La scène décrite n’est donc pas mythique, l’explication freudienne voulant montrer, dans une perspective anthropologique, par quels stades de développement l’humanité est passée, surmontant une quasi-animalité pour accoucher de l’homme moderne. Succès très relatif en ﬁn de compte dans l’esprit de Freud, puisque, d’une part l’homme primitif existe encore dans certaines sociétés tribales du XXe siècle et que, d’autre part, l’animalité refoulée de l’homme moderne n’a jamais été annihilée, le “malaise” régnant “dans la civilisation”, et les guerres nous replongeant périodiquement dans la barbarie. Remarquons que la théorie de Freud opère un mouvement parfaitement inverse à celle de Hobbes. Là où, dans la seconde, chaque individu se dépouille de sa puissance au proﬁt du Léviathan nouveau-né, dans la première, chaque frère acquiert, par le festin cannibale, une parcelle de la puissance du Père assassiné . . . 2. Le bouc émissaire (Girard) Dans une perspective voisine, Girard rattache les mythes mettant en scène la mise à mort théâtralisée de certains membres d’une collectivité donnée à une vérité historique universelle, inaugurale de la Culture. Sans le meurtre originel (Rémus) ou le sacriﬁce de l’innocent (Isaac, Jésus Christ, l’Innocent des innocents), pas de paix sociale ni d’institutions, car la rivalité mimétique,82 toujours

81 82

S. Freud, Totem et Tabou (Paris, Payot, 1979), p. 163. “On peut ramener à ce mécanisme [la mimesis d’appropriation] non seulement les interdits mais les rites, et l’organisation religieuse dans son ensemble. C’est une théorie complète de la

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à l’œuvre dans toute collectivité, ne peut se résoudre que dans et par le meurtre, répété et ritualisé au ﬁl des générations : [L]’origine de la culture repose sur le mécanisme du bouc émissaire, et . . . les premières institutions proprement humaines consistent en sa répétition, délibérée, planiﬁée.83

À la diﬀérence du mythe freudien montrant que le parricide instituant la paix sociale ne peut plus se répéter, la perpétration ritualisée du meurtre originel se poursuit et se poursuivra pour Girard, du moins jusqu’à ce que les hommes comprennent le message du Christ, lequel, en se faisant librement lui-même bouc émissaire, détruit la logique sous-tendant son sacriﬁce : “c’est justement parce que Jésus est représenté comme un bouc émissaire que le christianisme, en tant que religion, ne peut pas être fondé sur le processus du bouc émissaire”.84 Chez Freud, l’alliance égalitaire des ﬁls est centrée sur le meurtre, unique, du père et, de ce fait, elle garantit le groupe contre tout retour au crime et au chaos, car s’en remettre à un nouveau chef (même élu) reviendrait à réinstaller la tyrannie d’un frère devenu père, qu’il faudrait alors à nouveau abattre. Le pacte social engendre donc réellement la paix, en même temps que l’état civil, le parricide représentant l’étape nécessaire, et d’ailleurs inconsciemment désirée, dans cette direction. Chez Girard en revanche, le bouc émissaire renaît toujours de ses cendres, ressuscité par le mouvement périodique de la rivalité mimétique. La logique est ici dans la répétition d’une mise à mort, également inconsciemment recherchée, et si l’alliance, d’où la Culture et le Droit ont émergé, a pour objet premier la perpétration d’un meurtre, comme chez Freud, elle n’a pas pour conséquence logique son interdiction future, mais au contraire sa commission inéluctable, après un apaisement passager. Ce qui diﬀérencie encore les deux auteurs, c’est le type d’alliance à la source de la civilisation : si, dans la conception freudienne, l’on peut parler de contrat volontaire conclu par les ﬁls, l’alliance axée sur le meurtre du bouc émissaire est, chez Girard, implicite et inconsciente. Aux yeux de l’un comme de l’autre, en tout cas, l’ordre social fut réellement enfanté par le meurtre. Toute morale se fonde sur un acte immoral, avait déjà aﬃrmé Machiavel . . . La “paix par le Droit”, entre réalité, mythe et utopie ? Dans un certain sens, le mythe de la paix par le Droit paraît bien se tenir à mi-chemin entre le réel, qu’il aborde symboliquement, et l’univers fantastique et distant de l’utopie.

83 84

culture humaine qui va se dessiner à partir de ce seul et unique principe”. R. Girard, Des choses cachées depuis la fondation du monde (Paris, Grasset, 1978), p. 31. R. Girard, Les origines de la culture (Paris, Hachette, 2008), p. 79. Ibid., p. 89.

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En eﬀet, le mythe ne refuse pas, contrairement à l’utopie, ce récit imaginaire délibérément mensonger, de faire allégeance à la Vérité qu’il “dit”, même dans son silence. Il ne ment que partiellement, et encore, par dissimulation seulement. Par sa fonction, le mythe travaille à renforcer la cohésion d’une société en quête perpétuelle d’une plus grande solidarité, à la diﬀérence de l’utopie, plus “individualiste” peut-être, proclamant toujours le désir de changement manifesté, de manière souvent très absolue, par certains acteurs particuliers. Alors que l’utopie, pour mieux frapper les imaginations, trace ses objets avec un pinceau épais et des couleurs vives, le mythe, sans cesse confronté aux besoins changeants et centrifuges – par la diversité de leurs sources – de la société, suggère, dans un style pointilliste et des tons pastel, un paysage à la perspective déroutante et aux formes dédoublées, évanescentes. Revenant sur le problème de l’interculturalité des mythes soulevé précédemment, nous pensons donc que le rôle des mythes revêt une importance plus grande encore dans la société internationale que dans les autres, l’hétérogénéité de celle-ci demandant non pas à être surmontée mais “contrôlée”, aﬁn qu’elle ne se mue pas en complète incommensurabilité. Cette hétérogénéité n’a en déﬁnitive pas fait obstacle à l’intégration de mythes, et, au-delà d’une polysémie accentuée par elle, chaque culture se livrant à des interprétations variées, ceux-ci y travaillent peut-être d’autant plus eﬃcacement que le faible degré de cohésion les appelle en quelque sorte, et provoque une forte “résistance à la critique”. Ainsi le Droit international se nourrit de mythes. Des investigations pourraient être poussées dans d’autres domaines que la paix, par exemple du côté de l’unité du droit international, du principe de précaution, de l’eﬀectivité ou de la théorie classique de l’interprétation. On y découvrirait vraisemblablement que, à l’image de l’analogie, dont la métaphore, chère au mythe, est l’une des ﬁgures,85 ces diﬀérents mythes se déploient tous entre univocité et équivocité, cherchant inlassablement à rassembler au sein de la diﬀérence. Pour contrer l’éclosion des conﬂits “babéliens” générés par la multiculturalité, la “paix par le Droit” tend à les anticiper, nous rappelant que le Droit est une arme adéquate pour renforcer la tranquillité et l’ordre. On lui pardonnera dès lors de faire croire que la paix doit tout au Droit, “oubliant” dans cet élan hyperbolique un peu prétentieux, tout ce que le Droit doit à la paix.

85

Le beau livre de L. Ferry, au titre fort explicite, vise en particulier à, selon les mots de l’auteur lui-même, ‘réveiller les métaphores endormies de la mythologie grecque (. . .)’. L. Ferry, La sagesse des mythes (Paris, Plon, 2008), p. 21.

List of Contributors Georges Abi-Saab Emeritus Professor of International Law, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva; Member of the Institute of International Law Andrea Bianchi Professor of International Law, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva Laurence Boisson de Chazournes Professeur de droit international et organisation internationale, Faculté de droit, Université de Genève Lucius Caﬂisch Ancien juge à la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme, Strasbourg; professeur honoraire à l’Institut de hautes études internationales et du développement, Genève; membre de la Commission du droit international des Nations Unies Monique Chemillier-Gendreau Professeur émérite à l’Université Paris VII (Denis Diderot) Vincent Chetail Associate Professor of International Law, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies; Research Director of the Geneva Academy of International Humanitarian Law and Human Rights; Editor-in-Chief of Refugee Survey Quarterly Christine Chinkin Professor of International Law, London School of Economics Andrew Clapham Director, Geneva Academy of International Humanitarian Law and Human Rights; Professor of Public International Law, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva

490

List of Contributors

Luigi Condorelli Professeur de droit international à l’Université de Florence; Professeur honoraire à l’Université de Genève James Crawford Whewell Professor of International Law, University of Cambridge Christian Dominicé Professeur honoraire à la Faculté de droit de l’Université de Genève et à l’Institut de hautes études internationales et du développement, Genève. Ancien directeur de l’Institut universitaire de hautes études internationales, Genève John Dugard Visiting Professor, Duke University School of Law, USA; Honorary Professor, Centre for Human Rights, University of Pretoria, South Africa; Emeritus Professor, University of Leiden, Netherlands; Member of the International Law Commission; Former Special Rapporteur on the Human Rights Situation in the Occupied Palestinian Territory to the Human Rights Council (previously Commission on Human Rights) Pierre-Marie Dupuy Professor of International Law, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva Guy Goodwin-Gill All Souls College, University of Oxford Thomas Grant Senior Research Associate, Lauterpacht Centre for International Law, University of Cambridge Marcelo G. Kohen Professor of International Law, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva Abdul G. Koroma Judge of the International Court of Justice Vaughan Lowe QC Chichele Professor of Public International Law and Fellow of All Souls College, Oxford University

List of Contributors

491

Francesco Messineo PhD Student, King’s College, University of Cambridge Philippe Sands Professor of Laws and Director of the Centre for International Courts and Tribunals, University College London Linos-Alexandre Sicilianos Professeur associé à l’Université d’Athènes; rapporteur du Comité des Nations Unies pour l’élimination de la discrimination raciale Djacoba Liva Tehindrazanarivelo Adjunct Professor of International Law, International Organizations, and Conﬂict Resolution, Boston University Geneva Program; Visiting Lecturer in Law of International Security, Institut des droits de l’homme, Université catholique de Lyon Daniel Warner Director, Centre for International Governance, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva Ralph Wilde Reader in Public International Law, University College London Eric Wyler Professeur associé à Sciences Po (Paris), Chargé d’enseignement à l’Institut des hautes études internationales et du développement et à l’Institut Européen de l’Université de Genève

Table of Instruments Treaties 1830 Claims Convention (United States of America-Denmark), Copenhagen, 28 March 1830, 80 CTS 463 (Crawford et al., p. 395) 1864 Geneva Convention for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded in Armies in the Field, 22 August 1864 (Koroma, p. 442) 1871 Treaty of Versailles, 26 February 1871, 143 CTS 38 (Crawford et al., p. 401) 1871 Treaty of Frankfurt, 10 May 1871, 143 CTS 164 (Crawford et al., p. 401) 1899 Second Hague Convention, 29 July 1899, 187 CTS 429 (Crawford et al., p. 401) 1906, Geneva Convention for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armies in the Field, 6 July 1906 (Koroma, p. 442) 1907 Fourth Hague Convention on the Regulation of the Laws and Customs of War on Land, 18 October 1907 (Chinkin, pp. 246, 248, 252, 257, 261) (Lowe, pp. 310, 312) 1919 Treaty of Versailles, 28 June 1919, 225 CTS 189 (Wyler, p. 476) (Crawford et al., p. 401) 1919 Covenant of the League of Nations (Koroma, p. 440) 1928 Treaty between the United States and other Powers providing for the renunciation of war as an instrument of national policy (Briand-Kellogg Pact), 27 August 1928 (Koroma, p. 440) 1929 Geneva Convention relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War, 27 July 1929 (Koroma, p. 442) 1945 Charter of the United Nations, 24 October 1945, 1 UNTS XVI (Abi-Saab, pp. 24–27, 29, 31–37, 43) (Clapham, pp. 54, 55) (Chemillier-Gendreau, pp. 59–72) (Condorelli, pp. 73–75, 79, 81, 82) (Kohen, pp. 88, 90, 92, 94) (Sicilianos, pp. 95, 104, 116, 117, 119–123) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 127, 128, 131, 141, 142, 165, 166) (Chetail, pp. 195, 199, 208, 210, 224, 233, 238, 239, 241) (Chinkin, pp. 252, 259, 260, 264) (Lowe, p. 310) (Wilde, p. 335) (Dugard, pp. 406, 410–412, 416) (Koroma, pp. 433, 436, 438, 440–444) (Wyler, pp. 478, 480) 1945 League of Arab States Charter (Koroma, p. 441) 1946 Convention on the Privileges and Immunities of the United Nations, 13 February 1946, 1 UNTS 15 (Condorelli, p. 82) (Chetail, p. 232) 1947 General Agreement on Tariﬀs and Trade, 30 October 1947 (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 62) 1948 Charter of the Organization of American States, 30 April 1948, 119 UNTS 3 (Koroma, p. 441) 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, 9 December 1948, 78 UNTS 277 (Clapham, p. 58) 1949 Geneva Convention (I) for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Field, 12 August 1949, 75 UNTS 31 (Chinkin, pp. 246, 247, 251–253, 261) (Wilde, p. 323) (Dugard, p. 410) Koroma, p. 442) 1949 Geneva Convention (II) for the Amelioration of the Condition of Wounded, Sick and Shipwrecked Members of Armed Forces at Sea, 12 August 1949, 75 UNTS 971 (Chinkin, pp. 246, 247, 251–253, 261) (Wilde, p. 323) (Dugard, p. 410) Koroma, p. 442) 1949 Geneva Convention (III) relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War, 12 August 1949, 75 UNTS 135 (Chinkin, pp. 246, 247, 251–253, 261) (Wilde, p. 323) (Dugard, p. 410) Koroma, p. 442) 1949 Geneva Convention (IV) relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War, 12 August 1949, 75 UNTS 287 (Chinkin, pp. 246, 247, 251–253, 259, 261) (Lowe, pp. 311– 313, 315) (Wilde, p. 323) (Dugard, pp. 404, 405, 410) Koroma, p. 442) 1950 European Convention on Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, 4 November 1950, 213 UNTS 221 (Clapham, pp. 53, 54) (Sicilianos, pp. 114–116, 119, 120, 123) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 146) (Chinkin, pp. 253, 254) (Caﬂish, pp. 265, 266, 270, 272, 273, 275, 276, 279, 280, 282, 284, 286) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 293, 294, 296, 298, 299, 301, 302, 305, 306) (Wilde, pp. 320, 322—329, 332, 333, 336, 338, 340, 341, 343, 344, 346, 347)

494

Table of Instruments

1951 International Plant Protection Convention (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 354) 1961 Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations (Caﬂish, p. 274) 1963 Vienna Convention on Consular Relations (Dominicé, pp. 287–290) 1963 Charter of the Organization of African Unity, 479 UNTS 39 (Koroma, p. 441) 1966 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, 19 December 1966, 999 UNTS 3 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 146) (Bianchi, p. 180) (Chetail, pp. 198, 237) (Chinkin, p. 247) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 295–297) (Lowe, p. 315) (Wilde, pp. 320, 323) 1966 (First) Optional Protocol to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, 16 December 1966, 999 UNTS 171 (Wilde, p. 346) 1966 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, 999 UNTS 171 (Chetail, p. 198) (Chinkin, p. 247) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 296) (Lowe, p. 315) (Wilde, pp. 335, 341) 1968 Treaty on Non-proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, 12 June 1968, 729 UNTS 161 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) 1969 Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, 23 May 1969, 1155 UNTS 331 (Chinkin, pp. 244, 256) (Wilde, pp. 330, 343) (Dupuy, p. 423) (Wyler, p. 477) 1969 American Convention on Human Rights, 22 November 1969, OAS Treaty Series No. 36, 1144 UNTS 123 (Wilde, pp. 320, 334) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 296, 297) 1977 Protocol additional to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, and relating to the Protection of Victims of International Armed Conﬂicts, 8 June 1977, 1125 UNTS 3 (Chinkin, pp. 246, 247, 261) (Lowe, pp. 313, 315) 1977 Protocol additional to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, and relating to the Protection of Victims of Non-International Armed Conﬂicts, 8 June 1977, 1125 UNTS 609 (Chinkin, pp. 246, 247, 261) 1979 Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty (Wyler, p. 476) 1981 African Charter on Human and People’s Rights, 27 June 1981, 1520 UNTS 217 (GoodwinGill, p. 296) 1984 Convention against Torture and other Cruel Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, 10 December 1984, 1465 UNTS 85 (Chetail, p. 198) 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child, 20 November 1989, 1577 UNTS 3 (Chetail, pp. 198, 237) (Lowe, p. 315) (Wilde, p. 320) 1990 International Convention on the Protection on the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families, 18 December 1990, 2220 UNTS 93 (Chetail, p. 198) 1992 Treaty on European Union, signed at Maastricht, Oﬃcial Journal C 191, 29 July 1992 (Kohen, p. 87) 1994 General Agreement on Tariﬀs and Trade (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 62) 1994 Treaty of Peace between the State of Israel and the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan (Wyler, p. 476) 1995 The Agreement on the Application of Sanitary and Phytosanitary Measures (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 352, 368, 369) 1995 The Agreement on Technical Barriers to Trade (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 351, 352, 354, 369, 370, 374) 1997 Convention on the Prohibition of the Use, Stockpiling, Production and Transfer of Anti-Personnel Mines and on their Destruction (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 64) 1997 Treaty of Amsterdam Amending the Treaty on European Union, the Treaties Establishing the European Communities and Related Acts, Oﬃcial Journal C 340, 10 November 1997 (Kohen, p. 87) 1998 Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, 17 July 1998, A/CONF.183/9 (Chetail, pp. 238, 239) (Chinkin, pp. 247, 250) (Dupuy, pp. 419, 424) 2000 Cartagena Protocol on Biosafety to the Convention on Biological Diversity (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 353) 2001 Treaty of Nice Amending the Treaty on European Union, the Treaties Establishing the European Communities and Certain Related Acts, Oﬃcial Journal C 80, 10 March 2001, (Kohen, p. 88) 2005 Comprehensive Peace Agreement between the Government of the Sudan and the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement, 9 January 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) 2008 Djibouti Agreement between the Transitional Federal Government of Somalia and the Alliance for the Re-liberation of Somalia, 18 August 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 144) 2008 Convention on Cluster Munitions (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 64)

Table of Instruments

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Cases 1. International Court of Justice a. Contentious Cases International Court of Justice, Free Zones of Upper Savoy and the District of Gex, Judgment, 1932 PCIJ, Series A/B, No. 46 (Koroma, p. 439) International Court of Justice, Corfu Channel (United Kingdom v. Albania), Merits, Judgment, ICJ Reports 1949 (Koroma, p. 438) International Court of Justice, Monetary Gold Removed from Rome in 1943 (Italy/France, United Kingdom and United States of America), Preliminary Question, Judgment, ICJ Reports1954 (Koroma, p. 436) International Court of Justice, Nottebohm Case (second phase), Judgment, ICJ Reports 1955, p. 4 (Lowe, p. 317) International Court of Justice, Continental Shelf (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya/Malta), Application for Permission to Intervene, Judgment, ICJ Reports 1984 (Koroma, p. 436) International Court of Justice, United States Diplomatic and Consular Staﬀ in Tehran, Judgment, 1CJ Reports 1980, p. 3 (Wyler, p. 481) International Court of Justice, Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States of America), Merits, Judgment, ICJ Reports 1986, p. 14 (Sicilianos, p. 121) (Koroma, pp. 435, 441) (Wyler, p. 481) International Court of Justice, Frontier Dispute, Judgment, ICJ Reports 1986, p. 554 (Wyler, p. 481) International Court of Justice, Land, Island and Maritime Frontier Dispute (El Salvador v. Honduras; Nicaragua-intervening), ICJ Reports 1992, p. 351 (Wyler, p. 481) International Court of Justice, Case concerning Questions of Interpretation and Application of the 1971 Montreal Convention arising from the Aerial Incident at Lockerbie (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United Kingdom) (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United States of America) (Request for the Indication of Provisional Measures), Order, ICJ Reports 1992, pp. 3 and 114 (Abi-Saab, pp. 28, 35) (Kohen, pp. 92, 93) International Court of Justice, Territorial Dispute (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya/Chad), Judgment, 1CJ Reports 1994, p. 6 (Wyler, p. 481) International Court of Justice, Case concerning Questions of Interpretation and Application of the 1971 Montreal Convention arising from the Aerial Incident at Lockerbie (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United Kingdom) (Libyan Arab Jamahiriya v. United States of America) (Preliminary Objections), Judgment, ICJ Reports 1998, pp. 9 and 115 (Kohen, p. 93) International Court of Justice, Maritime Delimitation and Territorial Questions between Qatar and Bahrain, Merits, Judgment, 1CJ Reports 2001, p. 40 (Wyler, p. 481) International Court of Justice, LaGrand (Germany v. United States of America), Judgment, ICJ Reports 2001, p. 466 (Dominicé, pp. 287–291) (Koroma, pp. 434, 435, 439) International Court of Justice, Land and Maritime Boundary between Cameroon and Nigeria (Cameroon v. Nigeria: Equatorial Guinea intervening), Judgment, ICJ Reports 2002 (Koroma, p. 436) International Court of Justice, Arrest Warrant of 11 April 2000 (Democratic Republic of Congo v. Belgium), Judgment, ICJ Reports 2002, p. 3 (Sands, p. 447) International Court of Justice, Avena and Other Mexican Nationals (Mexico v. United States of America), Judgment, ICJ Reports 2004, p. 12 (Dominicé, pp. 288–291) International Court of Justice, Legality of Use of Force (Serbia and Montenegro v. France), Preliminary Objections, Judgment, ICJ Reports 2004, p. 575 (Sicilianos, p. 49) International Court of Justice, Case Concerning Armed Activities on the Territory of the Congo (DRC v. Uganda), ICJ Reports 2005 (Chinkin, p. 255) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 297) (Wilde, p. 320) (Koroma, p. 441) International Court of Justice, Application of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (Bosnia and Herzegovina v Serbia and Montenegro), 2007 ICJ Reports (Goodwin-Gill, p. 305) Case Concerning Jurisdictional Immunities (Federal Republic of Germany v. Italian Republic), Application of the FRG, 22 December 2008 (Dupuy, p. 428)

496

Table of Instruments

b. Advisory Proceedings Permanent Court of International Justice, Status of Eastern Carelia, Advisory Opinion, 1923, PCIJ, Series B, No. 5 (Dugard, p. 406) International Court of Justice, Admission to Membership of the United Nations, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1948, p. 64 (Abi-Saab, p. 34) International Court of Justice, Reparations for injuries suﬀered in the service of the United Nations, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1949, p. 174 (Clapham, p. 48) (Dugard, p. 415) International Court of Justice, International Status of South West Africa, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1950, p. 128 (Dugard, pp. 411, 413) International Court of Justice, Admissibility of Hearings of Petitioners by the Committee on South West Africa, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1956, p. 23 (Dugard, p. 411) International Court of Justice, Certain Expenses of the United Nations, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1962, p. 151 (Dugard, p. 406) (Abi-Saab, p. 32) International Court of Justice, South West Africa, Second Phase, Judgment, ICJ Reports 1966, p. 6 (Sands, p. 464) International Court of Justice, Legal Consequences for States of the Continued Presence of South Africa in Namibia (South West Africa) notwithstanding Security Council Resolution 276 (1970), Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1971, p. 16 (Dugard, pp. 405, 406, 413–415) International Court of Justice, Western Sahara, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1975, p. 12 (Dugard, pp. 413–415). International Court of Justice, Interpretation of the Agreement of 25 March 1951 Between the WHO and Egypt, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1980, p. 73 (Clapham, p. 50) International Court of Justice, Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1996, p. 226 (Condorelli, p. 74) (Wilde, p. 335) International Court of Justice, Legality of the Use by a State of Nuclear Weapons in Armed Conﬂict, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 1996, p. 226 (Kohen, p. 93) (Dugard, p. 406) International Court of Justice, Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 2004, p. 136 (Wyler, p. 481) (Kohen, p. 93) (Chetail, p. 225) (Chinkin, pp. 251, 255) (Lowe, pp. 309–318) (Wilde, pp. 320, 324, 335) (Dugard, pp. 403–416) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 297) 2. Arbitrations Alabama Arbitration (Great Britain v. United States of America) (1872) Moore, 1 Int. Arb. 495 (Crawford et al., p. 400) Preferential Treatment of Claims of Blockading Powers against Venezuela (Germany, Great Britain and Italy v. Venezuela) (1904) (Crawford et al., p. 400) 3. Iran-United States Claims Tribunal Iran-United States Claims Tribunal, Starrett Housing Corp v. Iran, 4 Iran-USCTR 122 (1983) (Lowe, p. 317) 4. International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea ITLOS, Southern Blueﬁn Tuna Cases (Australia and New Zealand v Japan) 39 IL 1359 (2000) (Sands, p. 317) 5. World Trade Organization World Trade Organization, Shrimp Turtles Case, AB-1998-4, 12 October 1998; ILM 33, 1999 (Sands, p. 447) World Trade Organization, European Communities – Trade Description of Sardine, Appellate Body, WT/DS231/AB/R, 26 September 2002 (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 351, 354, 369, 370, 371) World Trade Organization, European Communities – Measures Aﬀecting the Approval and Marketing of Biotech Products, Reports of the Panel, WT/DS291/R, WT/DS292/R, WT/DS293/R, 29 September 2006 (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 370, 372)

Table of Instruments

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World Trade Organization, United States – Continued Suspension of Obligations in the European Communities – Hormones Dispute, Reports of the Panel, WT/DS320/R, WT/DS321/R, 31 March 2008 (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 371, 372) 6. European Court of Justice European Court of Justice, Tribunal of First Instance, Ahmed Ali Yusuf and Al Barakaat International Foundation v Council of the EU and Commission of the EC (Al Barakaat CFI Judgement), Case T-306/01, 21 September 2005 (Bianchi, p. 184) European Court of Justice, Tribunal of First Instance, Yassin Abdullah Kadi v Council of the EU and the Commission of the EC, Case T-315/01, 21 September 2005 (Bianchi, p. 184) European Court of Justice, Organisation des Modjahedines du peuple d’Iran v Council of the European Union, Case T-228/02, 12 December 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136) European Court of Justice, Osman Öcalan, on behalf of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) v Council of the European Union, Court of First Instance, Case T-229/02, 3 April 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 300) European Court of Justice, Joined Cases C-402/05 P and C-415-05 P Yassin Abdullah Kadi and Al Barakaat International Foundation v. Council and Commission, Grand Chamber, Joined Cases C-402/05 P and C-415/05 P, 3 September 2008 (Abi-Saab, pp. 36, 40) (Condorelli, pp. 79, 80) (Sicilianos, pp. 122, 123) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 133, 146, 148, 150, 151, 153, 154, 162) (Bianchi, p. 184) (Wilde, p. 336) European Court of Justice, People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran v Council of the European Union, Court of First Instance, Case T-284/08, 4 December 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136) European Court of Justice, Al-Aqsa v Council of the European Union, Case T-348/07 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136) 7. Human Rights Committee Lopez Burgos v. Uruguay, Comm. No. R.12/52, Human Rights Committee, Supp. No. 40, at 176, UN doc. A/36/40 (1981), 68 ILR, 1981 (Chinkin, p. 255) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 296) (Wilde, pp. 320, 324) Lilian Celiberti de Casariego v. Uruguay, Comm. No. 56/1979, Human Rights Committee, UN Doc. CCPR/C/13/D/56/1979 (July 29, 1981), 68 ILR, 1981 (Chinkin, p. 255) (Wilde, pp. 320, 324) Landinelli Silva v. Uruguay, Communication No. 34/1978, Human Rights Committee, UN Doc. CCPR/C/12/D/34/1978 (1981) (Wilde, p. 334) 8. European Court on Human Rights European Court of Human Rights, Lawless v. Ireland, Series A, No. 3 (1961) (Wilde, p. 334) (Sands, p. 448) European Court of Human Rights, Golder v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 4451/70, Series A, No. 18 (1975) (Wilde, pp. 329–331, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Handyside v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 5493/72, Series A No. 24 (1976) (Wilde, p. 334) European Court of Human Rights, Luedicke, Belkacem and Koc v. Germany, 29 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (1978) (Wilde, p. 330) European Court of Human Rights, Ireland v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 5310/71, Series A, No. 1 (1978) (Wilde, p. 334) European Court of Human Rights, The Sunday Times v. United Kingdom, 30 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (1979) (Wilde, p. 330) European Court of Human Rights, Artico v. Italy, 13 May 1980 (Caﬂish, p. 279) European Court of Human Rights, Dudgeon v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 7525/76, Series A, No. 45 (1981) (Wilde, p. 334) European Court of Human Rights, James v. United Kingdom, 98 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (1986) (Wilde, p. 330) European Court of Human Rights, Lithgow v. United Kingdom, 102 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (1986) (Wilde, p. 330)

498

Table of Instruments

European Court of Human Rights, Johnston v. Ireland, 112 Eur. Ct. H.R. 24 (ser. A) (1986) (Wilde, p. 330) European Court of Human Rights, Brogan v. United Kingdom, 145 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (1988) (Wilde, pp. 330, 334) European Court of Human Rights, Soering v. United Kingdom, 161 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (1989) (Wilde, p. 331) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 302) European Court of Human Rights, Cruz Varas v. Sweden, 201 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (1991) (Wilde, pp. 330, 331) European Court of Human Rights, Drozd and Janousek v. France and Spain, 14 Eur. Ct. H.R. 745 (1992) (Wilde, p. 320) European Court of Human Rights, Brannigan and McBride v. United Kingdom, Appl. Nos 14553/89 and 14554/89, Series A, No. 258 (1993) (Wilde, p. 334) European Court of Human Rights, Loizidou v. Turkey, 310 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A), Preliminary Objections, 23 March 1995 (GC) (Sicilianos, p. 119) (Chinkin, p. 253) (Wilde, pp. 320, 324, 327, 330, 331, 338, 345) European Court of Human Rights, Loizidou v. Turkey, 1996-VI, Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (GC) (Merits) (Wilde, pp. 320, 324327, 330, 336, 338, 345) European Court of Human Rights, Aksoy v. Turkey, App. No. 21987/93, Reports 1996-VI (Wilde, p. 334) European Court of Human Rights, Goodwin v. United Kingdom, 27 March 1996 (Caﬂish, p. 271) European Court of Human Rights, United Communist Party v. Turkey, 30 January 1998 (Sicilianos, p. 114) (Wilde, p. 331) European Court of Human Rights, Fressoz and Roire v. France, Grand Chamber, n° 29183/95, 21 January 1999 (Caﬂish, pp. 271, 272) European Court of Human Rights, Waite and Kennedy v. Germany, n° 26083/94, 18 February 1999 (Sicilianos, p. 114) European Court of Human Rights, Beer and Regan v. Germany, n° 28934/95, 18 February 1999 (Sicilianos, p. 114) European Court of Human Rights, Witold Litwa v. Poland, 2000-III Eur. Ct. H.R. (Wilde, p. 330) European Court of Human Rights, Cyprus v. Turkey, 2001-IV Eur. Ct. H.R. 1 (GC) (Wilde, pp. 320, 327, 334, 338, 345) European Court of Human Rights, Fogarty v. United Kingdom [GC], 2001-XI Eur. Ct. H.R. (Wilde, pp. 330, 336) European Court of Human Rights, McElhinney v. Ireland [GC], 2001-XI Eur. Ct. H.R. (Wilde, pp. 330, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Al-Adsani v. United Kingdom, Grand Chamber, n° 35763/97, 21 November 2001 (Caﬂish, p. 266) (Wilde, pp. 330, 336, 340) (Dupuy, p. 427) European Court of Human Rights, Banković and others v. Belgium and others, Grand Chamber, n° 52207/99, 12 December 2001 (Sicilianos, p. 119) (Chinkin, pp. 254–256) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 297–301, 307) (Wilde, pp. 320, 321, 324, 326, 327, 331, 333, 337, 338, 341, 345) European Court of Human Rights, Christine Goodwin v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 28957/95 [GC], Reports 2002-VI (Wilde, p. 334) European Court of Human Rights, Issa v. Turkey, (2004) 41 EHRR 567 (Chinkin, pp. 254, 255) (Wilde, pp. 320, 324) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 299) European Court of Human Rights, Ilaşcu v. Moldova and Russia, 2004-VII Eur. Ct. H.R. (GC) (Wilde, pp. 320, 324) European Court of Human Rights, Steel and Morris v. United Kingdom, n° 68416/01, 15 February 2005 (Caﬂish, p. 276) European Court of Human Rights, Ocalan v. Turkey [GC], 2005-IV Eur. Ct. H.R. (Wilde, pp. 330, 331, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Bosphorus Hava Yollari v. Irland, Grand Chamber, 30 June 2005 (Sicilianos, pp. 114–120) (Wilde, pp. 330, 331, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Mamatkulov and Askarov v. Turkey [GC], 2005-I Eur. Ct. H.R. (Wilde, pp. 330, 331, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Stoll v. Switzerland, n° 69698/01, 25 April 2006 (Caﬂish, pp. 265–286) European Court of Human Rights, Monnat v. Switzerland, n° 73604/01, 21 September 2006 (Caﬂish, pp. 266, 278)

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European Court of Human Rights, Behrami v. France and Saramati v. France, Germany and Norway, Grand Chamber, n°71412/01 and n°78166/01, 2 May 2007 (Clapham, pp. 52, 53) (Sicilianos, pp. 95, 98, 102, 106, 107, 114-116, 118-120, 122) (Bianchi, p. 184) (Chinkin, p. 259) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 295, 303) European Court of Human Rights, Behrami and Behrami v. France & Saramati v. France, Germany and Norway [GC], Appl. Nos 71412/01 and 78166/01, European Court of Human Rights, Admissibility Decision, 31 May 2007 (Wilde, pp. 330, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Dupuis and others v. France, n° 1914/02, 7 June 2007 (Caﬂish, p. 283) European Court of Human Rights, Jorgic v. Germany, 2007-IX Eur. Ct. H.R. (Wilde, p. 330) European Court of Human Rights, Kasumaj v. Greece, n° 6974/05, 5 July 2007 (Sicilianos, pp. 106, 114, 119) European Court of Human Rights, Gajic v. Germany, n° 31446/02, 28 August 2007 (Sicilianos, 106, 114, 119) European Court of Human Rights, Stoll v. Switzerland, Grand Chamber, n° 69698/01, 10 December 2007 (Caﬂish, pp. 265–286) (Wilde, p. 330) European Court of Human Rights, Solomou v. Turkey, Appl. No. 36832/97, Judgment of 24 June 2008 (Wilde, pp. 320, 324) European Court of Human Rights, Saadi v. United Kingdom [GC], Appl. No. 13229/03, Judgment of 29 Jan. 2008 (Wilde, pp. 330, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Kononov v. Latvia, Appl. No. 36376/04, Judgment of 24 July 2008 (Wilde, pp. 330, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Demir and Baykara v. Turkey [GC], Appl. No. 34503/97, Judgment of 12 Nov. 2008 (Wilde, pp. 330, 336) European Court of Human Rights, Andrejeva v. Latvia [GC], Appl. No. 55707/00, Judgment of 18 Feb. 2009 (Wilde, pp. 330, 336) 9. European Commission of Human Rights European Commission of Human Rights, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Netherlands v. Greece, Appl. Nos 3321/67; 3322/67; 3323/67; 3344/67, Yearbook of the European Convention on Human Rights, vol. 12 (1969) (Wilde, p. 334) European Commission of Human Rights, Hess v. United Kingdom, Appl. No. 6231/73, 2 Eur. Comm’n H.R. Dec. & Rep. 72 (1975) (Wilde, p. 320) European Commission of Human Rights, Cyprus v. Turkey, Appl. Nos 6780/74 and 6950/75 (1975); European Human Rights Reports, vol. 4 (1976) (Wilde, p. 334) European Commission of Human Rights, Cyprus v. Turkey, Appl. No. 8007/77 (1978) (Wilde, p. 345) European Commission of Human Rights, M. v. Denmark, Appl. No. 17392/90, Dec. & Rep. 193 (1982) (Wilde, p. 320) European Commission of Human Rights, Illich Sanchez Ramirez v. France, Appl. No. 28780/95, 86 Dec. & Rep. 155 (1996) (Wilde, p. 320) 10. Inter-American Court of Human Rights Inter-American Court of Human Rights, Judicial Guarantees in States of Emergency (Arts 27(2), 25, and 8 of the American Convention on Human Rights), Advisory Opinion OC-9/87, Series A, No. 9 (1987) (Wilde, p. 334) Inter-American Court of Human Rights, Habeas Corpus in Emergency Situations (Arts 27(2) and 7(6) of the American Convention on Human Rights), Advisory Opinion OC-8/87, Inter-American Court of Human Rights, Series A, No. 8 (1987) (Wilde, p. 334) 11. Inter-American Commission on Human Rights Inter-American Commission of Human Rights, Salas and Others v. United States of America, Case 10.573, OEA/ser.L/V/II.85, doc.9rev. (1993), reprinted in 123 ILR 1 (Wilde, p. 335) Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, Coard et al v. United States, Case No. 10.951, Report No. 109/99, 29 September 1999 (Goodwin-Gill, p. 297) (Wilde, pp. 320, 335)

500

Table of Instruments

12. International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia ICTY Appeals Chamber, Prosecutor v. Duško Tadić (Decision on the Defence Motion for Interlocutory Appeal on Jurisdiction), Judgment of 2 October 1995, IT-94-1-AR72 (Abi-Saab, pp. 25, 28, 32, 35) (Kohen, p. 93) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) ICTY Trial Chamber, Prosecutor v. Anto Furundzija, Judgment of 10 December 1998, IT-9517/1-T (Dupuy, p. 427) 13. International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda ICTR Trial Chamber II, The Prosecutor v Joseph Kanyabashi (Decision on the Defence Motion on Jurisdiction), Judgment of 18 June 1997, ICTR-96-15-T (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) 14. Domestic Decisions a. Canada Suresh v. Canada (Minister of Citizenship & Immigration), [2002] 1 S.C.C. 3 (Bianchi, p. 187) Charkaoui v. Canada (Citizenship & Immigration), [2007] S.C.C. 9, Ca. Sup. Ct. LEXIS 9 (Bianchi, p. 186) Amnesty International Canada and British Columbia Civil Liberties Association v. Chief of the Defence Staﬀ for the Canadian Forces, Minister of National Defence and Attorney General of Canada (2008) FC 229 (Mactavish J); (2008) FCA 401 (Federal Court of Appeal) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 298) b. Germany Judgment of the ﬁrst Senate of 15 February 2006, 1 BvR 375/05 (Bianchi, p. 186) c. Greece Prefettura do Voiotia v. Federal Republic of Germany Judgment n° 11, 4 May 2000 (Dupuy, p. 427) d. Israel Adalah (The Legal Center for Arab Minority Rights in Israel) et al. v. GOC Central Command, IDF et al., Case No. HCJ 3799/02, Supreme Court of Israel Sitting as the High Court of Justice, 23 June 2005 (Bianchi, p. 186) Mara’abe v. Prime Minister of Israel, (Alfei Menashe Case), 15 September 2005, 45 ILM 202 (Dugard, p. 407) Public Committee against Torture in Israel v. Government of Israel, Case No. HCJ 769/02, Supreme Court of Israel, sitting as the High Court of Justice, 13 December, 2006 (Bianchi, p. 186) e. Italy Corte di Cassazione, Ferrini, Judgment N° 5044 of 6 November 2003, registered 11 March 2004 (Dupuy, p. 426) Corte di Cassazione, Milde Max Joseph, Judgment of 21 October 2008 (Dupuy, p. 426) f. Switzerland Swiss Federal Supreme Court, Youssef Nada v SECO, Administrative appeal judgment of 14 December 2007, Case No 1A 45/2007, BGE 133 II 450, reported in Oxford Reports on International Law in Domestic Courts (ILDC), 2007 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 146) g. United Kingdom Barbuit’s Case, 25 Eng. Rep. 777, Cas t. Talbot 281 (Chanc. 1735) (Wilde, p. 340) Triquet v. Bath, 97 Eng. Rep. 936, 3 Burr. 1478 (K.B. 1764) (Wilde, p. 340) Heathﬁeld v. Chilton, 98 Eng. Rep. 51, 4 Burr. 2015 (1767) (Wilde, p. 340) Dolder v. Lord Huntingﬁeld, 32 Eng. Rep. 1097, 11 Ves. Jun. 283 (1805) (Wilde, p. 340) Viveash v. Becker, 105 Eng. Rep. 619, 3 M. & S. 284, 292, 298 (1814) (Wilde, p. 340) Wolﬀ v. Oxholm, 32 Eng. Rep. 1097, 6 M. & S. 92, 100-106 (K.B. 1817) (Wilde, p. 340) Novello v. Toogood, 107 Eng. Rep. 204, 1 B. & C. 554 (1823) (Wilde, p. 340) De Wütz v. Hendricks, 130 Eng. Rep. 326, 2 Bing. 314, 315 (1824) (Wilde, p. 340)

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Emperor of Austria v. Day, 45 Eng. Rep. 861, 30 LJ Ch. 690, 702 (1861) (Wilde, p. 340) The Parlement Belge Case, [1880] 5 PD 197 (Wilde, p. 340) In re Californian Fig Syrup Co., [1888], L.R. 40 Ch. D. 620 (Wilde, p. 340) Walker v. Baird, [1892] AC 491 (Wilde, p. 340) Attorney-General for Canada v. Attorney-General for Ontario, [1937] AC 326 (Wilde, p. 340) Theophile v. Solicitor-General, [1950] AC 186 (Wilde, p. 340) Republic of Italy v. Hambro’s Bank, [1950] 1 All E.R. 430 (Wilde, p. 340) Cheney v. Conn, [1968] 1 W.L.R. 242 (Wilde, p. 340) R. v. Secretary of State, ex parte Thakrar, [1974] 2 All E.R. 261 (CA) (Wilde, p. 340) Trendtex Trading Company v. Central Bank of Nigeria, [1977] 2 W.L.R. 336, 1 QB 529 (CA) (Wilde, p. 340) International Tin Council Appeals, [1988] 3 All E.R. 257 (CA); [1989] 3 W.L.R. 969 (HL) (Wilde, p. 340) J.H Rayner (Mincing Lane Limited v DTI [1990] 2 AC 418 (the International Tin Council case) (Chinkin, p. 247) R v Lyons (Isidore Jack) (No. 3) [2002] 3 WLR 1562 (Chinkin, p. 247) The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament v The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, The Secretary of State for Foreign & Commonwealth Aﬀairs, The Secretary of State for Defence [2002] EWHC 2777 (Admin) (HC, Divisional Ct) (Chinkin, p. 248) A (FC) v. Secretary of State for the Home Department, [2004] UKHL 56 (Bianchi, p. 186) R (B) v Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Aﬀairs [2005] QB 643 (GoodwinGill, p. 302) R (Ullah) v. Special Adjudicator [2004] 2 AC 323 (Goodwin-Gill, p. 302) R (European Roma Rights Centre and others) v Immigration Oﬃcer at Prague Airport and another (United Nations High Comsmissioner for Refugees intervening) [2004] UKHL 55, [2005] 2 AC 1 (Goodwin-Gill, p. 294) R (Al-Skeini and others) v Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust and others intervening), [2005] EWCA (Civ) 1609 (21 December 2005); [2006] 3 WLR 508 (CA) (Sicilianos, p. 114) (Chinkin, p. 252) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 298, 302) (Wilde, p. 320) R (Al-Skeini and others) v Secretary of State for Defence (The Redress Trust and others intervening) [2007] UKHL 26 ; [2007] 3 WLR 33 (HL) (Sicilianos, p. 114) (Chinkin, p. 252) (GoodwinGill, pp. 298, 302) (Wilde, p. 320) R v Jones and Milling [2007] 1 AC 136 (Chinkin, p. 250) R (On the application of Al-Jedda)(FC) v. Secretary of State for Defence, [2007] UKHL 58, House of Lords, Appellate Committee, December 12, 2007 (Bianchi, p. 184) (Chinkin, p. 247) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 304) (Wilde, p. 336) R (On the application of Gentle and another) v. Prime Minister [2007] 2 WLR 195 (CA); [2008] UKHL 20 (9 April 2008) ; [2008] 2 WLR 879 (HL) (Chinkin, p. 252) (Wilde, p. 320) R (On the Application of Bancoult) v Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Aﬀairs [2008] UKHL 61 (Chinkin, p. 263) R (on the application of Al-Saadoon) v. Secretary of State for Defence [2009] EWCA (Civ) 7 (21 January 2009) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 298) (Wilde, p. 320) R (on the application of Hassan) v. Secretary of State for Defence [2009] EWHC 309 (Admin) (25 February, 2009) (Wilde, p. 320) Al-Saadoon and Mufdhi v. United Kingdom, (Appl. No. 61498/08), Decision on admissibility, 30 June 2009 (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 298, 307) h. United States of America Brown v. Board of Education 347 US 483 (1954) (Dugard, p. 416) Letelier v. Chile 488 FSupp 665 (DDC 1980), 63 ILR, 1982 (Dupuy, p. 426) Rasul v. Bush 542 US 466 (2004) (Bianchi, p. 182) Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, 542 US 507 (2004) (Bianchi, p. 182) Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, 126 S. Ct. 2749 (2006) (Bianchi, pp. 182, 187) Al-Haramain Islamic Foundation v. Bush, 507 F.3d 1190, 1202–04 (9th Cir. 2007) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 151) Boumediene v. Bush, 553 US_(2008) (Bianchi, p. 182) Munaf v. Geren, 128 S. Ct. 2207 (2008) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 298)

502

Table of Instruments

United Nations documents 1. Security Council a. Resolutions SC Res. 232 (1966), 16 December 1966 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 128) SC Res. 301 (1971), 20 October 1971 (Dugard, p. 414) SC Res. 309 (1972), 4 February 1972 (Dugard, p. 414) SC Res. 353 (1974), 20 July 1974 (Wilde, p. 344) SC Res. 365 (1974), 13 December 1974 (Wilde, p. 344) SC Res. 446 (1979), 22 March 1979 (Lowe, pp. 316, 317) SC Res. 541 (1983), 18 November 1983) (Wilde, p. 344) SC Res. 550 (1984), 11 May 1984 (Wilde, p. 344) SC Res. 678 (1990), 29 November 1990 (Kohen, p. 86) (Chinkin, p. 250) SC Res. 687 (1991), 3 April 1991 (Wyler, p. 476) SC Res. 731 (1992), 21 January 1992 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 131) SC Res. 733 (1992), 23 January 1992 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 748 (1992), 31 March 1992 (Kohen, p. 93) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 131) SC Res. 751 (1992), 24 April 1992 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 144) SC Res. 794 (1992), 3 December 1992 (Kohen, p. 86) SC Res. 816 (1993), 31 March 1993 (Kohen, p. 86) SC Res. 820 (1993), 17 April 1993 (Sicilianos, p. 117) SC Res. 883 (1993), 11 November 1993 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 131) SC Res. 917 (1994), 6 May 1994 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 132) SC Res. 1044 (1996), 31 January 1996 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 132) SC Res. 1101 (1997), 28 March 1997 (Sicilianos, p. 109) SC Res. 1127 (1997), 28 August 1997(Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 132) SC Res. 1132 (1997), 8 October 1997 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 134) SC Res. 1171 (1998), 5 June 1998 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 132, 134, 145, 161) SC Res. 1244 (1999), 10 June 1999 (Sicilianos, pp. 102, 105, 106, 107, 116, 117, 118) SC Res. 1267 (1999), 15 October 1999 (Abi-Saab, p. 38) (Kohen, p. 86) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 135, 155) SC Res. 1333 (2000), 19 December 2000 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 135) (Bianchi, p. 178) SC Res. 1356 (2001), 19 June 2001 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1363 (2001), 30 July 2001 (Bianchi, p. 178) SC Res. 1373 (2001), 28 September 2001 (Abi-Saab, pp. 28, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 42) (Kohen, p. 86) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 133, 135, 148) (Bianchi, pp. 176, 178, 179, 181) (Lowe, p. 310) SC Res. 1390 (2002), 28 January 2002 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 133, 134, 135) (Bianchi, p. 178) SC Res. 1422 (2002), 12 July 2002 (Kohen, p. 86) SC Res. 1425 (2002), 22 July 2002 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1441 (2002), 8 November 2002 (Chinkin, pp. 249, 250) SC Res. 1455 (2003), 17 January 2003 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 135) (Bianchi, p. 178) SC Res. 1483 (2003), 22 May 2003 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136) (Chinkin, pp. 252, 257) SC Res. 1487 (2003), 12 June 2003 (Kohen, p. 86) SC Res. 1493 (2003), 28 July 2003 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) SC Res. 1518 (2003), 24 November 2003 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136) SC Res. 1521 (2003), 22 December 2003 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 361, 362) SC Res. 1526 (2004), 30 January 2004 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 135, 149, 151, 153) (Bianchi, p. 178) SC Res. 1532 (2004), 12 March 2004 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) SC Res. 1533 (2004), 12 March 2004 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) SC Res. 1540 (2004), 28 April 2004 (Abi-Saab, pp. 28, 34, 36, 37 38, 40, 42) (Kohen, p. 86) (Bianchi, p. 177)

Table of Instruments

503

SC Res. 1546 (2004), 8 June 2004 (Sicilianos, pp. 116, 117) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136) (Chinkin, pp. 258, 259, 260, 262) SC Res. 1556 (2004), 30 July 2004 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) SC Res. 1572 (2004), 15 November 2004 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) SC Res. 1579 (2004), 21 December 2004 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) SC Res. 1591 (2005), 29 March 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) SC Res. 1593 (2005), 31 March 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) SC Res. 1595 (2005), 7 April 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1596 (2005), 18 April 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) SC Res. 1617 (2005), 29 July 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 135, 149, 151, 152, 153, 159) SC Res. 1624 (2005), 14 September 2005 (Bianchi, pp. 181, 185) SC Res. 1636 (2005), 31 October 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1643 (2005), 15 December 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 138) SC Res. 1647 (2005), 20 December 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) SC Res. 1649 (2005), 21 December 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) SC Res. 1672 (2006), 25 April 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) SC Res. 1674 (2006), 28 April 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 169) SC Res. 1679 (2006), 16 May 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) SC Res. 1689 (2006), 20 June 2006 (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 362) SC Res. 1696 (2006), 31 July 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) SC Res. 1698 (2006), 31 July 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) SC Res. 1718 (2006), 14 October 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 142, 143) SC Res. 1725 (2006), 6 December 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1727 (2006), 15 December 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 138) SC Res. 1730 (2006), 19 December 2006 (Sicilianos, p. 124) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 147, 153, 156, 157, 158, 161, 162, 165, 167) SC Res. 1731 (2006), 20 December 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 362) SC Res. 1735 (2006), 22 December 2006 (Sicilianos, p. 124) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 147, 149, 151, 153, 159) (Bianchi, p. 179) SC Res. 1737 (2006), 23 December 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 142) SC Res. 1739 (2007), 10 January 2007 (Sicilianos, p. 113) SC Res. 1744 (2007), 20 February 2007 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1747 (2007), 24 March 2007 (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 59) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 142) SC Res. 1753 (2007), 27 April 2007 (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 362) SC Res. 1769 (2007), 31 July 2007 (Sicilianos, p. 122) SC Res. 1772 (2007), 20 August 2007 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1782 (2007), 29 October 2007 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 138) SC Res. 1792 (2007), 19 December 2007 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 362) SC Res. 1803 (2008), 3 March 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 142) SC Res. 1804 (2008), 13 March 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) SC Res. 1807 (2008), 31 March 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) SC Res. 1814 (2008), 15 May 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 143) SC Res. 1822 (2008), 30 June 2008 (Condorelli, pp. 75, 78) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 135, 147, 149, 150, 151, 153, 154, 157, 158, 162) SC Res. 1842 (2008), 29 October 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 138) SC Res. 1844 (2008), 20 November 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 130, 144, 147, 150, 154, 153, 155, 157) SC Res. 1854 (2008), 19 December 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 362) SC Res. 1857 (2008), 22 December 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 141, 147, 150, 153, 155, 157) b. Reports Submitted to the Security Council Report by the Secretary-General on the Implementation of Security Council Resolution 323 (1972) Concerning the Question of Namibia, 30 April 1973, UN Doc. S/10921 (Dugard, p. 409)

504

Table of Instruments

Report of the Counter-Terrorism Committee to the Security Council for Its Consideration as Part of Its Comprehensive Review of the Counter-Terrorism Committee Executive Directorate, UN. Doc. S/2005/800 (Bianchi, p. 178) Report of the Security Council Committee established pursuant to resolution 1518 (2003), 19 February 2008, UN Doc. S/2008/109 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) Report of the Security Council Committee established pursuant to resolution 1518 (2003), 3 February 2009, UN Doc. S/2009/79 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 137) Report of the Analytical Support and Sanctions Monitoring Team pursuant to resolution 1735 (2006) concerning Al-Qaida and the Taliban and associated individuals and entities, 14 May 2008, UN Doc. S/2008/324 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 135) Report of the Security Council Committee established pursuant to resolution 1267 (1999) concerning Al-Qaida and the Taliban and associated individuals and entities, 31 December 2008, annexed to UN Doc. S/2008/848 (Abi-Saab, p. 39) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 155) Report by the 1132 Committee to the Security Council, 13 February 2009, UN Doc. S/2009/94 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 134) c. Letters Submitted to the Security Council Letter dated 20 March 2003 from the Permanent Representative of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to the United Nations addressed to the President of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/2003/350, 21 March, 2003 (Kohen, p. 86) Letter dated 20 March 2003 from the Permanent Representative of the United States of America to the United Nations addressed to the President of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/2003/351, 21 March 2003 (Kohen, p. 86) ‘Strengthening Targeted Sanctions Through Fair and Clear Procedures. White Paper presented by the Watson Institute Targeted Sanctions Project, Brown University’, 30 March 2006, annexed to Identical letters dated 19 May 2006 from the Permanent Representatives of Germany, Sweden and Switzerland to the United Nations addressed to the President of the General Assembly and the President of the Security Council, A/60/887-S/2006/331, 14 June 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 130) ‘The UN Security Council and the Rule of Law. The Role of the Security Council in Strengthening a Rules-based International System. Final Report and Recommendations from the Austrian Initiative’, annexed to Letter dated 18 April 2008 from the Permanent Representative of Austria to the United Nations addressed to the Secretary-General, 7 May 2008, UN Doc. S/2008/270 (Kohen, p. 92) Letter of the Government of Sudan to the Security Council, 1 June 2000, UN Doc. S/2000/513 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 132) d. Meetings of the Security Council 4394th meeting of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/PV.4394, 22 October 2001, and UN Doc. S/PV.4394 (Resumption 1), 25 October 2001 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 131) 5599th meeting of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/PV.5599, 19 December 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 157, 160, 162, 165) 5886th meeting of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/PV.5886, 6 May 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 170) 5928th meeting of the Security Council, UN Doc. S/PV.5928, 30 June 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 162) 2. General Assembly a. Resolutions GA Res. 217A (III), 10 December 1948, adopting the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Chetail, p. 198) GA Res. 449 (V), 13 December 1950 (Dugard, p. 414) GA Res. 1514 (XV), 14 December 1960 (Wilde, p. 343) GA Res. 1854 (XVII), 9 December 1962 (Dugard, p. 414) GA Res. 2871 (1971), 20 December 1971 (Dugard, p. 414)

Table of Instruments

505

GA Res. 3212 (XXIX), 1 November 1974 (Wilde, p. 344) GA Res. 35/209 (1980), 17 December 1980 (Chetail, p. 224) GA Res. 55/2 (2000), 18 September 2000 (Kohen, p. 86) GA Res. ES-10/14 (2003), 8 December 2003 (Dugard, p. 404) GA Res. ES-10/15 (2004), 20 July 2004 (Dugard, pp. 407, 408) GA Res. 60/1 (2005), 16 December 2005 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 130, 169) GA Res. 60/251 (2006), 15 March 2006 (Chetail, pp. 195, 209, 210, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 219, 222, 224, 226, 229) GA Res. 60/288 (2006), 20 September 2006 (Condorelli, p. 75) (Bianchi, p. 183) GA Res. 62/67 (2008), 8 January 2008 (Clapham, p. 51) GA Res. 62/272 (2008), 15 September 2008 (Condorelli, p. 75) GA Res. 63/3 (2008), 8 October 2008 (Kohen, p. 92) b. Reports Submitted to the General Assembly Report of the High-level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change to the General Assembly, A More Secure World: Our Shared Responsibility, 2 December 2004, UN Doc. A/59/565 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 132, 169) (Chetail, pp. 208, 212) Report of the Secretary General to the General Assembly, In larger freedom: towards development, security and human rights for all, Addendum Human Rights Council, A/59/2005/Add.1 (21 March 2005) (Kohen, p. 86) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 169) (Chetail, pp. 208, 212) Report of the Secretary-General to the General Assembly on Protecting human rights and fundamental freedoms while countering terrorism, 11 September 2006, UN Doc. A/61/353 (Bianchi, p. 183) Report of the Vice-Chairpersons to the President of the General Assembly on the Question of Equitable Representation on and Increase in the Membership of the Security Council of 11 June 2008 (Kohen, p. 86) Report of the Secretary-General, ‘Implementing the responsibility to protect’, 12 January 2009, UN Doc. A/63/677 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 169) c. Letters Submitted to the General Assembly ‘Strengthening Targeted Sanctions Through Fair and Clear Procedures. White Paper presented by the Watson Institute Targeted Sanctions Project, Brown University’, 30 March 2006, annexed to Identical letters dated 19 May 2006 from the Permanent Representatives of Germany, Sweden and Switzerland to the United Nations addressed to the President of the General Assembly and the President of the Security Council, A/60/887-S/2006/331, 14 June 2006 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 145) 3. Human Rights Council Resolution 2/4 of 27 November 2006 (Dugard, p. 408) Resolution 5/1 of 18 June 2007 (Chetail, pp. 221, 224, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233) Resolution 5/2 (Chetail, p. 231) Implementation of General Assembly Resolution 60/251 of 15 March 2006 entitled ‘Human Rights Council’. Intersessional open-ended intergovernmental working group to develop the modalities of the universal periodic review mechanism established pursuant to Human Rights Council decision 1/103, A/HRC/3/3 (30 November 2006) (Chetail, p. 224) Report of the Advisory Committee on its First Session, A/HRC/AC/2008/1/2 (3 November 2008) (Chetail, p. 221) Report of the Advisory Committee on its Second Session, A/HRC/AC/2/2 (24 January 2009) (Chetail, p. 221) Summary of the discussion on the review of procedures prepared by the secretariat, A/HRC/4/CRP. 4 (13 March 2005) (Chetail, p. 230) Summary of the discussion prepared by the secretariat, A/HRC/3/CRP.1 (30 November 2006) (Chetail, p. 225) Summary of the Discussion on universal periodic review prepared by the secretariat, A/HRC/4/ CRP.3 (13 March 2007) (Chetail, p. 225)

506

Table of Instruments

4. International Law Commission International Law Commission, Draft Articles on Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts, and commentary, adopted 9 August 2001, contained in Yearbook of the International Law Commission, 2001, Vol. II, Part Two (Wilde, p. 343) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 305) International Law Commission, ‘First report on diplomatic protection’, UN Doc. A/CN.4/506, 7 March 2000 (Clapham, p. 50) International Law Commission, ‘Second Report of Special Rapporteur Giorgio Gaja’, UN Doc. A/CN.4/541, 2 April 2004 (Clapham, p. 56) International Law Commission, ‘Fifth report on diplomatic protection’, UN Doc. A/CN.4/538, 4 March 2004 (Clapham, p. 51) 5. Economic and Social Council a. Resolutions Resolution 9 (II) of 21 June 1946 (Chetail, p. 197) Resolution 75 (V) of 5 August 1947 (Chetail, p. 199) Resolution 728 F (XXVIII) of 30 July 1959 (Chetail, p. 199) Resolution 1074 C (XXXIX) of 28 July 1965 (Chetail, p. 223) Resolution 1235 (XLII) of 6 June 1967 (Chetail, p. 199) Resolution 1503 (XLVIII) of 27 May 1970 (Chetail, p. 200) Resolution 1990/48 of 25 May 1990 (Chetail, p. 216) Resolution 1996/31 of 25 July 1996 (Chetail, p. 219) b. Commission on Human Rights Report of the Bureau of the ﬁfty-fourth session of the Commission on Human Rights submitted pursuant to Commission decision 1998/112. Rationalization of the work of the Commission, E/ CN.4/1999/104 (23 December 1998) (Chetail, p. 203) Report of the Bureau of the ﬁfty-fourth session of the Commission on Human Rights submitted pursuant to Commission decision 1998/112 (Chetail, p. 204) Commission on Human Rights, Report on the Fifty-ﬁfth session, E/1999/23-E/CN.4/1999/167 (22 March-30 April 1999) (Chetail, p. 204) Rationalization of the work of the Commission. Letter dated 26 February 1999 from the delegations of Algeria, Bhutan, China, Cuba, Egypt, India, Iran (Islamic Republic of ), Malaysia, Myanmar, Nepal, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Sudan and Viet Nam addressed to the secretariat of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/1999/120 (9 March 1999) (Chetail, p. 205) Letter dated 9 March 1999 from the Permanent Mission of the Republic of Korea to the United Nations Oﬃce at Geneva, acting as Coordinator of the Asian Group, addressed to the secretariat of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/1999/124 (19 March 1999) (Chetail, p. 204) Report of the inter-sessional open-ended Working Group on Enhancing the Eﬀectiveness of the Mechanisms of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/2000/112 (16 February 2000) (Chetail, p. 204) Commission on Human Rights Decision 2000/109, Enhancing the eﬀectiveness of the mechanism of the Commission on Human Rights, E/CN.4/DEC/2000/109 (27 April 2000) (Chetail, p. 205) Report of the Special Rapporteur of the Commission on Human Rights on the Question of the Violation of Human Rights in the Occupied Arab Territories, including Palestine, E/ CN.4/2004/6, of 8 September 2003 (Dugard, p. 404) 6. United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, E/CN.4/2003/14 (26 February 2003) (Chetail, p. 206) United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Commission’s Structures Are Sound, Problems Can Be Surmounted, High Commissioner Says As Main Human Rights Body Ends Session (25 April 2003) (Chetail, p. 204)

Table of Instruments

507

7. Human Rights Committee Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 29 on Article 4 ICCPR, States of Emergency, UN Doc. CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add. 11, 31 August, 2001 (Bianchi, pp. 180, 181) (Wilde, p. 334) Human Rights Committee, General Comment No. 31 on Nature of the General Legal Obligation on States Parties to the Covenant, UN Doc. CCPR/C/21/Rev.1/Add.13 (2004) (Chinkin, p. 255) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 296) (Wilde, p. 320) Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee on the second and third reports submitted by the United States under the ICCPR (UN Doc. CCPR/C/USA/CO/3/Rev. 1, 18 December 2006) (Bianchi, p. 180) Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Communication No.CCPR/C/GBR/CO/6, 25 July 2008 (Chinkin, p. 257) Report of the Special Rapporteur (Martin Sheinin) on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms while Countering Terrorism, 29 January 2007, UN Doc. A/HRC/4/26 (Bianchi, p. 180) 8. Committee Against Torture Committee Against Torture, Consideration of Reports Submitted by States Parties under Article 19 of the Convention, Conclusions and Recommendations: United States of America, UN Doc. CAT/C/USA/CO/2 (25 July 2006) (Wilde, p. 320) Committee Against Torture, General Comment No. 2: Implementation of Article 2 by States Parties, 23 Nov. 2007, UN Doc. CAT/C/GC/2, 24 Jan. 2008 (Goodwin-Gill, p. 297) (Wilde, p. 320)

European Union documents Council of Europe (Parliamentary Assembly), Recommendation 1429 (1999) (Sands, p. 462) Council Common Position on the application of speciﬁc measures to combat terrorism, 27 December 2001, 2001/931/CFSP, in OJEC, L 344/93, 28 December 2001 (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 136, 148, 149) Council Framework Decision on Combating Terrorism, 13 June 2002, in OJEC, L 164/3-7, 22 June 2002 (Bianchi, p. 180) Council of Europe (Parliamentary Assembly), Resolution 1597 (2008), 23 January 2008 (Condorelli, p. 77) Council Decision implementing Article 2(3) of Regulation (EC) No 2580/2001 on speciﬁc restrictive measures directed against certain persons and entities with a view to combating terrorism and repealing Decision 2007/868/EC, 2008/583/EC, in OJEC L 188/21, 15 July 2008 (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 136)

National Legislation 1. Canada Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms (Bianchi, p. 187) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 294, 298) 2. France French Criminal Code (Bianchi, p. 180) 3. United Kingdom United Nations Act 1946 (Chinkin, p. 247) Criminal Law Act 1967 (Chinkin, p. 250)

508

Table of Instruments

Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 (Chinkin, p. 250) Geneva Conventions Act 1957, as amended by the Geneva Conventions Amendment Act 1995 (Chinkin, p. 247) Human Rights Act 1998 (Chinkin, pp. 247, 256) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 295) (Wilde, pp. 321, 324) Anti-terrorism Crime and Security Act, [2001] Chapter 24, 14 December 2001 (Bianchi, p. 177) International Criminal Court Act 2001 (Chinkin, p. 247) Inquiries Act 2005 (Chinkin, p. 257) 4. United States of America Authorization for Use of Military Force, Pub. L. 107-40 (S.J. Res. 23), 115 Stat. 224, 18 September 18 2001 (Bianchi, p. 177) Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act of 2001 (USA Patriot Act), Pub. L. 107-56, 115 Stat 272, 26 October 26, 2001 (Bianchi, p. 177) Military Order, 66 F. R. 5783, 16 November 2001 (Bianchi, p. 177) Detainee Treatment Act, Pub. L. No. 109-148, 119 Stat. 2680 (2005) (Bianchi, p. 182) Military Commissions Act of 2006, Pub. L. No. 103-366, 120 Stat. 2600 (2006) (Bianchi, p. 182)

Other documents The Responsibility to Protect, Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (Ottawa: International Development Research Centre, December 2001) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 168) Declaration of Independence by the Provisional Institutions in the Serbian Province of Kosovo, 17 February 2008, 47 ILM, 2008, 467 (Kohen, p. 92)

Index 9/11 (Warner, p. 15) (Abi-Saab, pp. 28, 33, 36) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 131) (Bianchi, pp. 176, 177, 178, 185) Accountability (Clapham, pp. 45, 57) (Kohen, pp. 85, 92) (Chinkin, p. 255) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 293) (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 363) Advisory Committee of the Human Rights Council (Chetail, pp. 220, 221) Aggression, act of (Abi-Saab, p. 24) Aggression, crime of (Chinkin, p. 250) Annexation (Lowe, p. 312) (Dugard, pp. 404, 407) Arbitration (Wyler, p. 481) Armed Conﬂict (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 59) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) (Chinkin, pp. 243, 244, 249, 251, 261) (Crawford et al., pp. 380, 381, 382, 398) (Wyler, pp. 476–477) Attribution of Conduct, to States (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 128) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 293, 302, 304) (Crawford et al., pp. 381, 395, 396, 397) Attribution of Conduct, to International Organizations (Clapham, pp. 45–57) Aut dedere aut judicare (Crawford et al., p. 393) Basel Committee (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 362) Belligerents (Clapham, p. 46) Central American Court of Justice (Sands, p. 449) Civilians – see Protection of Civilians Codex Alimentarius (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 352, 369, 370, 371, 372) Coercion (Wyler, p. 477) Collective Punishment (Lowe, p. 315) Combatants (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) Commission on Human Rights (Chetail, pp. 194–210, 234) Complementarity (Clapham, p. 57) (Dupuy, pp. 424–425) Conﬁdentiality of Diplomatic Correspondence (Caﬂisch, pp. 265, 272, 274, 275, 278, 285, 286)

Conﬂict of Rules (Dupuy, p. 428) Consolidated List (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 134, 135, 139, 144, 146, 147, 149, 151–158, 169) Corruption (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 358, 366) Countermeasures (Crawford et al., pp. 380, 399) (Koroma, p. 438) Counter-Terrorism Committee (Abi-Saab, pp. 28, 40, 43) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 135) (Bianchi, pp. 176, 177, 183) Crimes, States (Crawford et al., p. 387) (Dupuy, p. 423) Crimes, individuals (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) (Chinkin, p. 251) Critical Legal Theory (Warner, pp. 6, 8, 18) Custom (Warner, p. 6) (Wyler, pp. 472–473) Darfur (Kohen p. 94) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 139–140, 159) Democracy (Kohen, p. 94) (Bianchi, pp. 180, 182, 188) Detention (Chinkin, pp. 251, 253, 257, 258, 259) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 296) Development (Warner, p. 14) Diplomatic Protection (Clapham, pp. 50–51) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 157) (Crawford et al., pp. 398–399) (Dupuy, p. 422) Dispute (Wyler, p. 480) Dispute Settlement Body, WTO (Koroma, p. 431) (Sands, p. 447) Domestic Law (Warner, pp. 11–12) (Abi-Saab, p. 42) (Chinkin, p. 224) (Crawford et al., pp. 397, 398, 399) (Dupuy, pp. 418, 419) Dualism (Chinkin, pp. 248, 260) (Dupuy, pp. 419–420) Eﬀective Control (Sicilianos, p. 97) Eﬀective Territorial Control (Chinkin, pp. 253, 254, 255, 257) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 296) (Wilde, pp. 323, 326, 327, 328) Equivalent Protection (Sicilianos, p. 114) Erga omnes (Warner, pp. 10, 12) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 307) (Crawford et al., p. 396) (Dupuy, p. 423) Eritrea-Ethiopia Boundary Commission (Koroma, p. 432)

510

Index

Espace juridique (Chinkin, p. 254) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 299, 307) (Wilde, p. 331) European Court of Human Rights (Sands, pp. 446, 448, 461, 464, 462, 463) European Court of Justice (Sands, pp. 446, 447) Exclusive Territorial Control (Crawford et al., pp. 399, 400) Extra-territorial Application of Human Rights Law Treaties (Chinkin, p. 254) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 293–308) (Wilde, pp. 317–348) (Dugard, p. 406) Forced Disappearances (Chetail, p. 201) Forum prorogatum (Koroma, p. 431) Fragmentation (Chinkin, pp. 244, 252) (Wilde, p. 336) (Wyler, pp. 480–481) Genocide (Clapham, p. 58) Global Compact (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 358) Globalisation (Dupuy, pp. 417, 418) Good Faith (Crawford et al., p. 390) Grave Breach, of the 1949 Geneva Conventions (Lowe, p. 313) Habeas Corpus (Bianchi, p. 180) Holy See (Clapham, p. 46) Human Shields (Bianchi, p. 186) (Chinkin, p. 246) Human Rights (Abi-Saab, p. 36) (Clapham, p. 57) (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 63) (Condorelli, p. 73) (Kohen, p. 91) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 129, 138, 139, 146, 148, 150) (Bianchi, pp. 179, 180, 181, 185, 186, 190) (Chetail, pp. 193–241) (Chinkin, pp. 243–264) (Dominicé, p. 289) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 293–308) (Lowe, pp. 309–318) (Wilde, pp. 319–348) (Dupuy, pp. 419, 422) Human Rights Council (Chetail, pp. 193–241) Humanitarian Assistance (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) Humanitarian Law (ChemillierGendreau, p. 63) (Sicilianos, p. 96) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 138, 139) (Chetail, p. 225) (Chinkin, pp. 243–264) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 294) (Lowe, pp. 313, 314, 315, 316) Humanitarian Intervention (Wyler, pp. 478–480) Immunity, State (Dupuy, pp. 426–428) Immunity, International Organization (Condorelli, p. 82)

Imperative Reasons of Security – see Security, imperative reasons of Implied Powers – see Powers, implied Imputability – see Attribution of Conduct Individuals, as subjects of international law (Clapham, p. 47) Individual Rights (Dominicé, p. 289) Inspection Panel (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 364) Inter-American Commission of Human Rights (Sands, p. 447) International Atomic Energy Agency (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 141) International Civil Service (Condorelli, p. 76) International Court of Justice (Warner, p. 11) (Abi-Saab, p. 23) (Clapham, p. 48) (Kohen, p. 92) (Chetail, p. 240) (Lowe, pp. 309–318) (Dugard, pp. 403–416) (Dupuy, p. 419) (Koroma, pp. 431–444) (Sands, pp. 445–465) International Criminal Law (Chinkin, p. 251) (Dupuy, pp. 424, 425, 428) Individual Criminal Responsibility (Clapham, p. 58) (Chinkin, p. 251) (Dupuy, p. 424) International Criminal Court (Kohen, p. 86) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 139) (Chetail, p. 240) (Chinkin, p. 247) (Dupuy, p. 424) (Koroma, p. 431) (Sands, p. 448) International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (Clapham, p. 49) (Kohen, p. 93) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) (Chinkin, p. 254) (Dupuy, p. 427) (Koroma, p. 432) (Sands, p. 447) International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 140) (Chinkin, p. 254) (Dupuy, p. 427) (Koroma, p. 432) International Criminal Jurisdictions (Condorelli, p. 76) International Federation for Human Rights (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 162) International Jurisdictions (Koroma, pp. 432–444) (Sands, pp. 448, 449, 450) (Wyler, p. 480) International Law Commission (Clapham, p. 56) (Dupuy, p. 422) International Organizations (Clapham, pp. 45–58) International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea (Koroma, p. 432) (Sands, p. 448) Interpretation, in general (Dupuy, pp. 417, 418) Interpretation, of treaties (Caﬂisch, p. 266) Iraq (Kohen, p. 93–94) (Sicilianos, pp. 110, 116) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 128–129) (Chinkin, pp. 245–261) (Lowe, p. 309) (Wilde, p. 343) Israeli-Palestine conﬂict (Kohen, p. 94) (Chinkin, p. 243) (Lowe, pp. 309–318)

Index

511

Judges (Sands, pp. 445–466) Judicial Review (Bianchi, pp. 184–188) (Chinkin, pp. 245, 249, 252) Jurisdiction (Chinkin, p. 253) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 293–308) (Wilde, pp. 324, 344) Jus ad bellum (Chinkin, p. 249) (Lowe, p. 310) Jus cogens (Warner, p. 10) (Abi-Saab, p. 36) (Sicilianos, p. 122) (Chetail, p. 194) (Caﬂisch, p. 266) (Dominicé, p. 291) (Wilde, p. 343) (Dupuy, pp. 423, 426, 427) Jus in bello (Lowe, p. 310) Just War (Crawford et al., pp. 379, 381) (Koroma, p. 440) (Wyler, p. 477)

(Goodwin-Gill, pp. 302, 305) (Lowe, pp. 310, 311) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 353, 354) Nuclear Weapons (Chemillier-Gendreau, pp. 61, 62) Nuremburg (Chinkin, p. 250)

Kosovo (Kohen, p. 92) (Sicilianos, pp. 102, 105) KFOR (Clapham, pp. 53, 54)

Pacta Sunt Servanda (Caﬂisch, p. 274) (Crawford et al., pp. 385, 390) (Wyler, p. 484) Peace Operations (Clapham, pp. 50, 52) Peacekeeping (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 70) (Kohen, p. 92) (Sicilianos, pp. 95–99, 102, 107) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 144, 159) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 293) Peace Treaty (Crawford et al., pp. 379, 381) Permanent Court of Arbitration (Koroma, p. 431) (Sands, pp. 449–453, 457) Permanent Court of International Justice (Koroma, pp. 433, 434) (Sands, pp. 449–451) Personality, international legal (Clapham, pp. 45, 47–49) Piracy (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 144) (Goodwin-Gill, p. 293) Practice, subsequent (Abi-Saab, p. 33) Private Contractors (Sicilianos, pp. 110, 111) Prize, law of (Crawford et al., pp. 394–395) Prohibition of Cruel and Inhumane Treatment (Bianchi, p. 180) Prohibition of Torture (Bianchi, p. 180) (Chinkin, pp. 253, 257) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 294–297, 306) Protected Persons (Chinkin, pp. 259, 261) Protection of Civilians (Abi-Saab, p. 27) (Chinkin, pp. 246, 252, 253, 257, 258, 262) (Koroma, p. 442) Provisional measures, ICJ (Koroma, pp. 434, 435, 437, 439, 444)

Law of Nations (Clapham, p. 47) League of Nations (Clapham, p. 47) (Chemillier-Gendreau, pp. 60–65) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 127) (Koroma, p. 415) (Dupuy, p. 421) Legal Positivism (Warner, pp. 9, 11, 17) Legal Space – see Espace juridique Legal System (Warner, p. 11) Legibus solutus (Abi-Saab, pp. 21–22) Legislation (Abi-Saab, pp. 25, 26) Legitimacy (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 374, 376) Lex specialis (Lowe, p. 310) (Wilde, p. 334) Margin of Appreciation (Wilde, p. 333) Military Commissions (Bianchi, p. 187) Money Laundering (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 367) Monism (Dupuy, p. 420) (Chinkin, p. 262) Myth (Wyler, p. 468) National Liberation Movement (Clapham, p. 46) NATO (Clapham, pp. 53, 55, 56) Natural Law (Warner, p. 17) (Crawford et al., pp. 384, 385, 387–389) Necessity, state of (Crawford et al., pp. 379, 382, 386, 397) Neo-Realism, international relations theory (Warner, pp. 7, 12, 13) Non-Derogable Rights (Bianchi, pp. 180, 181) (Wilde, p. 333) Non-Governmental Organizations (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 63) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 358, 359) Non-State Actors/Entities (Abi-Saab, pp. 24, 28, 34, 38) (Clapham, p. 46)

Occupation (Chinkin, pp. 243–245, 252, 254, 255, 257–259, 261–263) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 299, 304) (Lowe, pp. 309–318) (Wilde, pp. 322, 327, 329, 334, 337, 338, 342–346) (Dugard, pp. 404, 405) (Wyler, p. 479) Opting Out (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 370) Organizations – see International Organizations

Rebus sic stantibus (Crawford et al., p. 390) Refugee Law (Chetail, p. 193) Regulation of Armaments (ChemillierGendreau, p. 59) Reparation (Crawford et al., pp. 380, 383–385, 392, 394, 395, 398, 399) (Dupuy, p. 423) Reservations (Caﬂisch, p. 266) (Wilde, p. 332)

512

Index

Res judicata (Koroma, p. 432) Responsibility, of International Organizations (Sicilianos, pp. 97, 99, 100, 104, 107, 112, 114) (Clapham, pp. 51, 52, 54, 58 Responsibility, of States (Clapham, pp. 50, 51, 58) (Sicilianos, pp. 97, 100, 109, 111, 113, 114) (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 128) (Chinkin, p. 257) (Goodwin-Gill, pp. 295, 296, 299–307) (Crawford et al., pp. 377–402) (Wilde, pp. 323, 328, 344) (Dupuy, pp. 422, 423, 425) Responsibility to Protect (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 168, 169) (Wyler, p. 478) Right to Communication and Contact with Nationals of the Sending State (Dominicé, p. 288) Right to Freedom of Expression (Caﬂisch, pp. 270, 271, 273, 275, 276, 284) Right to Life (Chinkin, pp. 249, 252, 254, 262) (Wilde, pp. 325, 334) Roman Law (Crawford et al., p. 384) Rule of Law (Chinkin, pp. 245, 259) (Dupuy, pp. 419, 429) (Sands, pp. 446, 447, 419, 429) Sanctions (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 59) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 364, 366, 367, 376) (Sicilianos, pp. 118, 122, 124, 125) (Condorelli, pp. 73, 77–80, 83) (Kohen, p. 92) (Warner, pp. 10–12) (Dupuy, p. 424) (Bianchi, pp. 178, 179, 184) (Chetail, pp. 193, 215) Security, considerations/concerns (Warner, pp. 14, 15) (Clapham, p. 51) (Bianchi, pp. 184, 185, 188, 190, 191) (Chinkin, 245, 258, 259, 261, 264) (Lowe, pp. 313–316) (Dugard, pp. 404, 407) Security Council (Warner, p. 11) (Abi-Saab, pp. 23–44) (Clapham, pp. 54–57) (Chemillier-Gendreau, pp. 59, 60, 62–65, 67, 69–71) (Kohen, pp. 85–94) (Sicilianos, pp. 95–98, 100–106, 108, 116–125) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 127–171) (Bianchi, pp. 176, 177) (Chetail, pp. 208, 214, 216, 235, 236, 239) (Chinkin, pp. 247, 248, 259, 260) (Wilde, p. 335) (Dugard, pp. 405, 408, 409, 411, 412, 414–416) (Dupuy, p. 424) (Sands, pp. 450, 456, 460) Security Council Powers (Abi-Saab, pp. 23–26, 29–33, 36, 37) Security Council Reform (Kohen, pp. 85–94) Self-Contained Legal System (Warner, pp. 8, 9, 11) Self-Contained Regimes (Chinkin, p. 244) Self-Defence (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 62) (Wyler, pp. 477, 478) (Sicilianos, p. 121)

(Crawford et al., p. 394) (Lowe, pp. 310, 311) (Dugard, p. 406) Self-Determination (Chetail, p. 223) (Lowe, p. 317) (Wilde, pp. 321, 322, 329, 334, 339–343, 346, 347) (Clapham, p. 46) (Dugard, pp. 414, 415) Separation of Powers (Bianchi, pp. 182, 188) (Chinkin, p. 244) Social Contract (Wyler, pp. 483, 484, 485) Soft Law (Warner, pp. 11, 12) (ChemillierGendreau, p. 64) (Chinkin, p. 256) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 353, 354) Southern Rhodesia (Abi-Saab, p. 23) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 128, 130, 145) Sovereign (Crawford et al., pp. 377, 379–381, 383, 385, 388, 390–392, 395) Sovereignty (Crawford et al., p. 399) (Dupuy, pp. 425, 428) (Koroma, pp. 435, 440) Special Court for Sierra Leone (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 134) Special Procedures Reports to the Commission on Human Rights (Chetail, pp. 201, 202, 229) Special Procedures Reports to the Human Rights Council (Chetail, pp. 211, 214, 227, 231, 232) States of Emergency (Bianchi, pp. 180, 183, 185, 186, 190) Sub-Commission on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights (Chetail, p. 204) Subjects of International Law (Clapham, pp. 45–51) Targeted Killings (Bianchi, p. 186) Targeted Sanctions (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 127–171) Terrorism (Abi-Saab, pp. 28, 33, 36, 38–43) (Chemillier-Gendreau, p. 61) (Condorelli, pp. 73–75, 77, 78, 80, 83) (Kohen, p. 94) (Tehindrazanarivelo, pp. 131, 135, 149, 151, 154, 164, 170, 171) (Bianchi, pp. 175–192) (Boisson de Chazournes, p. 368) Third World (Kohen, pp. 89, 90) Torture – see Prohibition of Torture Transparency (Chinkin, pp. 250, 258) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 360–364, 376) Treaty, breach of (Crawford et al., pp. 378, 381, 382, 385, 386, 390, 391) Treaty Interpretation (Wilde, p. 335) Trusteeship (Wilde, p. 342) Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (Wilde, p. 344)

Index Ultra vires (Abi-Saab, pp. 26, 35, 36, 40, 43) (Kohen, p. 92) Universal Jurisdiction (Dupuy, p. 425) Universal Periodic Review (Chetail, pp. 223–227, 229, 230, 234, 235) Unlawful Enemy Combatants (Bianchi, p. 182) UNMIK (Clapham, pp. 53–55) (Kohen, p. 92) Use of Force (Kohen, pp. 93, 94) Utopia (Dupuy, pp. 419, 425) (Wyler, pp. 467–488) Veto (Abi-Saab, p. 27) (Kohen, pp. 86, 87, 89–91, 93)

513

War – see Armed Conﬂict War Crime (Chinkin, p. 251) War Damage (Crawford et al., p. 379) War on Terror (Chetail, p. 207) (Chinkin, p. 245) World Bank (Tehindrazanarivelo, p. 163) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 356, 360, 362, 364–368) World Court of Human Rights (Chetail, pp. 234–236) World Health Organization (Clapham, p. 50) World Trade Organization (ChemillierGendreau, p. 62) (Boisson de Chazournes, pp. 352, 354, 368– 373)