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Which International Jurisdiction for Corporate Crimes in Armed Conflicts?

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By Jelena Aparac*

     The commission of gross violations of human rights and international humanitarian law (“IHL”) requires the participation of many actors, including businesses, since economic life does not cease with the start of an armed conflict. Various types of businesses play a role in armed conflict: for example, the extractive industry, private military companies, and private banks do so by allowing the flow of money and financial transfers. In cases of gross violations of international law involving corporations, it can sometimes be difficult to identify who is responsible for a particular crime. This is notably due to the complex structure of corporations and, according to a majority of scholars today, the lack of corporate legal personality in international law.

     IHL applies in the context of armed conflict, during which it is considered as lex specialis.[1] Grave breaches of IHL are sanctioned by international criminal law (“ICL”), which gives rise to international crimes.[2] The idea of international crime is not new, but there is no universal definition of what exactly can amount to it[3]. Today, it is accepted that the Rome Statute, which created the International Criminal Court (“ICC”), provides definitions for crimes such as war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocide and aggression,[4] albeit limited to cases that fall within the Court’s jurisdiction.

     International tribunals prosecute individuals for IHL violations, regardless of the lack of their legal personality in international law. This is founded on the belief that some crimes should be governed by international law, rather than domestic law, because of the gravity of the crime. Some argue that core crimes[5] hurt universal values respected by all actors of international community. Consequently, international justice can eliminate obstacles that are usually present in domestic courts, including prescription and immunities.[6]

     In the course of contemporary international legal development, the remit of international crimes naturally extends to corporations alleged to be responsible for core crimes. Crime in itself is not limited to individuals as authors of crime. By prosecuting corporate executives for their involvement in international crimes, the Nuremberg trials[7] opened a new era, progressively erasing the traditional legal theory of societas delinquere non potest, which stated that enterprises cannot be held criminally responsible. It also opened new opportunities for international criminal justice to prosecute not only corporate executives, but also corporations, as legal entities.

International Criminal Court (ICC) and Corporate Criminal Liability as Appropriate Jurisdiction

     From the very start of the negotiations to create the ICC, the issue of whether to provide for jurisdiction over legal persons was controversial because of the diverse ways that national legal systems addressed corporate criminal responsibility.[8]

     In its final version, the Rome Statute excludes legal persons from its jurisdiction.[9] The inclusion of legal persons would, seemingly, be constrained primarily by the principle of complementarity. The ICC is the “last resort” jurisdiction; it can prosecute only if states were unwilling or unable to do so. But many of them do not recognize legal persons in their internal orders, which would challenge the effective implementation of the principle of complementarity.[10]

     The decision to exclude legal persons was, however, far from unanimous. As underscored by Professor Andrew Clapham, though the negotiations failed to include legal persons in the Rome Statute, the discussions during negotiations reinforced the idea that there was a need for further development of corporate liability.[11] The first opportunity to do so arose when Prosecutor Luis Ocampo announced the investigation of corporations for crimes committed in the Democratic Republic of Congo.[12] But as he had no legal basis, the corporations do not appear in the indictments. It is regrettable to note, that while the Prosecution has considerable discretion over the choice of affairs to investigate, the procedures motu proprio were limited[13] and no executive directors were indicted either. Although the option to prosecute corporate executives exists within article 25 of the Rome Statute, the modification of the Statute to include corporations would provide the most opportune solution for both victims and international justice. Not only would the ICC qualify the crimes and pronounce sanctions for them, but victims already have rights that no other international criminal tribunal accorded them previously (such as participation in the procedure and obtaining reparation through the Trust Fund for Victims). Thus, any potential financial sanction of legal persons would assist in allocating potentially significant reparation amounts.

Is International Arbitration a Substitute for a Civil or Commercial Proceeding and an Appropriate Arena for International Crimes?

     Many commercial contracts signed between states and corporations have an arbitration clause in which the parties agree to settle any contractual disputes in an arbitration proceeding rather than in a court of law. But when it comes to corporate core crimes, who would sign the arbitration agreement in the name of victims? Their legal representatives? The state? The same state that often proves too weak to process civil or commercial disputes?

     Arbitration is a process where the parties may have unequal power and the corporation can easily impose conditions through the arbitration agreement. Many arbitration agreements signed between states and companies contain clauses of immunity from criminal prosecution. Indeed, arbitration agreements allow parties broad flexibility in designing arbitral procedures, including choice of applicable law and which acts will be prosecutable, which is why corporations favor this type of dispute settlement.

     Arbitration procedures are most often private and the final awards are confidential, permitting the corporation to continue its (criminal) business with full discretion. Furthermore, it discards one of the basic criminal procedure principles as there can be no appeal of the arbitration award.

     Therefore, it appears that arbitration stands in full contradiction to the ideology behind international crime and its prosecution. It is not an appropriate institution to process international crimes, and it is highly unlikely that it would provide victims with satisfaction or justice.

New tribunal: International Court for Human Rights and Humanitarian Law?

     There are several regional courts with jurisdiction over human rights violations.[14] Nevertheless, not all regions have a court on human rights. Furthermore, some regions that do have them have technical, political or financial difficulties that constrain the courts in their pursuit of human rights violators. Amending their statutes and allowing the court’s jurisdiction over corporations would inevitably require more experts, research, and logistics in international business, criminal and humanitarian law.

     However, one alternative might be to create a new international court with jurisdiction over human rights and international humanitarian law violations. Such a court could act as universal human rights court—which is lacking today—with both human rights (with its derogation systems) and IHL as lex specialis and its basic principles can govern ratione materiae jurisdiction (jurisdiction over core crimes). Various UN bodies already report on violations of both HR and IHL by natural persons, including non-state actors and corporations. In this new ad hoc jurisdiction, judges could identify human rights and IHL violations, and pronounce an appropriate judgment accordingly, taking a step further from the report phase. It could also provide the possibility for victims to claim compensation, while international justice could be attained. However, not many states would be willing to finance the new international tribunal.

     To this day, the doctrine has not fully seized the opportunity opened by the Nuremberg trials; the main focus remains on individuals, business leaders, or states, leaving aside legal persons like corporations. Their role and implication in international crimes is significant and it should not be left in impunity. International criminal law remains the best option for the prosecution of legal persons for international crimes.

* Jelena Aparac, PhD candidate in public international law, Lecturer in international humanitarian law at University Paris Ouest Nanterre La Defense, invited lecturer at CERAH in Geneva, former Legal Advisor in international humanitarian law for Médecins Sans Frontières.

[1] Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Rep. 1996, ¶ 22-428 (July 8); Juan-Carlos Abella v. Argentina, Report No. 55/97, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 137 ¶ 157-165  (Nov. 18, 1997); Las Palmeras v. Colombia, Judgment on Preliminary Objections, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 67 ¶ 32-34 (Feb. 4, 2000); Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Advisory Opinion, I.C.J. Rep. 2004, ¶ 105-109 (July 9).

[2] Ole Kristian Fauchald & Jo Stigen, Corporate Responsibility Before International Institutions, 40 Geo. Wash. Int’l L. Rev. 1040, 1044 (2009).

[3] It was the post-WWII courts at Nuremberg and Tokyo that established a list of international crimes for the first time, although limited to their jurisdiction. It is important to underline, that the international crimes established in these courts were different from domestic crimes known up until that time. Professor Antonio Cassese proposed several common cumulative factors to identify international crimes. See Antonio Cassese, International criminal law 11-12 (3rd ed. 2013).

[4] Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, art. 5, July 17, 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 90.

[5] Core crimes are considered to be war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide.

[6] Droit international pénal 67 (Robert Kolb et al. Eds., 2008), according to Robert Kolb, it is widely recognized today that there is not a prescription for an international crime. See also Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, supra note 4, at arts. 27, 29.

[7] Nuremburg Military Tribunals, Trials of War Criminals before the Nuremberg Military Tribunals under Control Council Law No. 10 Vol. VI (1950) (regarding the Flick Case); Nuremburg Military Tribunals, Trials of War Criminals before the Nuremberg Military Tribunals under Control Council Law No. 10 Vol. VII (1950) (regarding the I.G. Farben Case); Nuremburg Military Tribunals, Trials of War Criminals before the Nuremberg Military Tribunals under Control Council Law No. 10 Vol. IX (1950) (regarding the Krupp Case).

[8] The United Nations Committee on International criminal court has issued a report on the proposal for the future status of court 5 September 1951. Regarding the article 25 of the proposal, the Committee asked: “Should the court be competent to try individuals only, or should it also be competent to try legal entities?” United Nations Committee on International Criminal Jurisdiction, Draft Statute for an International Criminal Court, U.N. Doc. A/AC/48/4 (Sept. 5 1951); Subsequently, the Committee rejected the Australian proposal to include legal persons in the statute stating that the courts of Nuremberg and Tokyo were not ready to recognize a new principle of corporate criminal liability, U.N. G.A.O.R., 9th Sess., Suppl. No. 12, U.N. Doc. A/2645 (1954) (proposition of revised article 25). Notwithstanding the various attempts to provide the basis for the ICC, the project actually began in earnest in 1992 with the request by the General Assembly of the Commission to develop the proposal for the future status of court; G.A. Res. 47/33 (Nov. 24, 1992); G.A. Res. 48/31 (Dec. 9, 1993). See also Andrew Clapham, The Questions of Jurisdiction Under International Criminal Law Over Legal Persons: Lessons from the Rome Conference on an International Criminal Court, in Liability of Multinational Corporations Under International Law 171 (Menno T. Kamminga & Saman Zia-Zarifi eds., 2000).

[9] For detailed comment of this article, see Kai Ambos, Article 25, Individual criminal responsibility, in Commentary on the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court 743-770 (Otto Triffterer, ed., 2008). For the historical process of Rome statute negotiations regarding the legal persons, see William Schabas, International criminal law and the business world, in La Responsabilité des Entreprises Multinationales en Matière de Droit de l’Homme (Emmanuel Decaux, ed., 2010). See also Report of the Preparatory Committee on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court, U.N. Doc. A/CONF.183/2 (Feb. 4, 1998); Draft Statute for the International Criminal Court, U.N. Doc. A/CONF.183/2/Add.1 (Apr. 14, 1998), U.N. Doc. A/CONF.183/2/Add.1/Corr.1 (May 26, 1998); Draft Rules of Procedure Revision for the United Nations Diplomatic Conference of Plenipotentiaries on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court, U.N. Doc. A/CONF.183/2/Add.2/Rev.1, at art. 23 (Apr. 15, 1998).

[10] Albin Eser, Individual Criminal Responsibility in The Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court: A Commentary 767, 778-79 (Antonio Cassese et al. eds., 2002); Harmen van der Wilt, Corporate Responsibility for International Crimes: Exploring the Possibilities, 12 Chinese J. of Int’l L. 43, 45 (2013).

[11] Clapham, supra note 8 at 140.

[12] Press release, Office of the ICC Prosecutor, Communications Received by the Office of the Prosecutor of the ICC, 009-2003 (Jul. 16 2003).

[13] See Situation in the Republic of Kenya, ICC-01/09-19-Corr, Pre-Trial Chamber II Decision Pursuant to Article 15 of the Rome Statute on the Authorization of an Investigation into the Situation in the Republic of Kenya (Mar. 31, 2010).

[14] European Court for Human Rights, Inter-American Court for Human Rights, African Court for Human Rights, The Arab Human Rights Committee’s experts.


The Emerging Asian-Pacific Court of Human Rights in the Context of State and Non-State Liability

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By Chang-ho Chung*

Prior to embracing the international community, most Asian-Pacific states have experienced hardships in the early 20th century. The Asia-Pacific region witnessed, survived, and was reborn from the ashes left by the Russo-Japanese war and the invasion of Manchuria, World War II, the Korean division and subsequent war, the Vietnam War, and Pol Pot’s regime in Cambodia, to say the least. Consequently, millions of lives were lost, and a great deal of rich cultural, philosophical, and religious achievements that were developed up until the 19th century were completely destroyed. In the 21st century, with the rapid development of international justice, the question arising is whether the atrocities of the previous centuries can be prevented through more meaningful engagement in international justice such as the creation of a regional judicial body. If such a body were to exist in the Asia-Pacific region following the examples of our brothers and sisters in Africa, Europe, and the Americas—a so-called Asian-Pacific Court of Human Rights (“APCHR”)—one may consider whether it could serve as a forum of regional justice not only for violations by states, but also non-state actors.

Since the late 20th century, many Asian-Pacific states have experienced accelerated economic development, having joined the international community. In the 21st century, greater numbers of developing Asian-Pacific states have joined in the effort to achieve such economic development. There is no doubt that Asian-Pacific states will play a great role in the economic development of the international community throughout the 21st century.

Yet the economic development of Asian-Pacific states would become truly meaningful only if it were accompanied by the development of the rule of law and a system of national human rights protection. The disease of corruption and human rights abuses emerging in the wake of economic development can only be cured through the proper application and implementation of the rule of law. Apart from these domestic efforts, Asian-Pacific states also need to actively participate in and contribute to the international effort to enhance the rule of law and human rights protection.

The International Criminal Court functions as the center of such an effort. International crimes, the most atrocious forms of all human rights violations, often demand that the international community work together to tackle the issue given the lack of capacity in any one country to address the problem on its own. As stated in Article 1 of the Rome Statute, State Parties are allowed to try crimes of such extent if it is in their capacity to do so.[1] Thus, states becoming members of the International Criminal Court not only indicate confidence in their respective judicial systems, but also demonstrate support to those developing nations who have yet to reach such a stage.

Many cases of human rights violations that do not reach the seriousness of that of an international crime, by principle, should be managed by each nation’s domestic system. In support of such efforts, however, countries have attempted to protect the human rights of their citizens through joint conventions. As a result, various European, American, and African nations were able to establish their respective human rights courts. The only region that has yet to establish such a human rights court is the Asia-Pacific. Considering its population, economic power, and dynamic political situation, there is an even greater need to institute the APCHR than ever before.

The concerns of Asian-Pacific states over possible infringements of their sovereignty vis-à-vis international justice are important, and a regional approach may be a solution that would not compromise but rather promote respect for mutual co-existence. For instance, to bring a case before the African, Inter-American or European human rights systems, all domestic remedies must have been exhausted.[2] Moreover, before adjudicating a case in the African and American systems, the case must be reviewed by a commission whose members are respectively appointed by the Organization of American States (OAS) and the African Union (AU) to decide, inter alia, whether or not cases are admissible and have sufficient merit to be taken to trial.[3] Besides ensuring that every applicable and available domestic remedy has been duly exhausted, the Inter-American and African Commissioners respectively may dismiss any case that does not concern an OAS or AU state’s breach of their obligations under the corresponding American or African human rights instruments, which must have been consented to and ratified by the state.[4] The same facts should not have been brought before any other international body of adjudication,[5] and the case must have been filed within a reasonable time after the final domestic decision.[6] The commissioners appointed by the OAS and AU members are, at the end of the day, the gatekeepers of each state’s sovereignty, which is a system that ASEAN, ASEAN Plus Three, and even the East Asia Summit could consider for a regional judicial system.

The future APCHR would, at its early stages, focus mainly on state liability, but may also consider the question of corporate accountability at the behest of its members. To this extent it is important to take note of the emerging trend of corporate accountability. As recently held by the Special Tribunal for Lebanon, “in a majority of the legal systems in the world, corporations are not immune from accountability merely because they are a legal— and not a natural—person.”[7] For the sake of academic discussion, let us briefly review the regional human rights systems’ take on corporate accountability in order to provide some ideas that the APCHR could take into account once it is settled.

When it comes to this topic, there is no doubt that the African human rights system has a progressive body of jurisprudence and statutes. In SERAC et al v. Nigeria, the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights found that “[g]overnments have a duty to protect their citizens, not only through appropriate legislation and effective enforcement but also by protecting them from damaging acts that may be perpetrated by private parties.”[8] In fact, the Commission held that such an obligation was breached in the case at hand as “the Nigerian Government [gave] the green light to private actors, and the oil companies in particular, to devastatingly affect the well-being of the Ogonis.”[9]

Further, the AU has recently issued a Protocol merging the African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights along with the Court of Justice of the AU.[10] This Court “shall have jurisdiction over legal persons”[11] for genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, unconstitutional change of government, piracy, terrorism, mercenarism, corruption, money laundering, trafficking in persons, trafficking in drugs, trafficking in hazardous wastes, illicit exploitation of natural resources, and aggression.[12] The amendment further explains that “[c]orporate intention to commit an offence may be established by proof that it was the policy of the corporation to do the act which constituted the offence.”[13] Similarly, “[c]orporate knowledge of the commission of an offence may be established by proof that the actual or constructive knowledge of the relevant information was possessed within the corporation.”[14]

While it is not yet possible to bring cases entailing corporate liability at the Inter-American and European human rights systems, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights has issued precautionary measures in cases where state liability is sought for human rights abuses allegedly caused by state and corporate actors in infrastructure projects.[15]

Given this state of affairs, there is no doubt that the APCHR would allow Asian jurists to contribute to the national, regional, and international pursuit of justice. For instance, the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (“ECCC”) has shown vast potential for development in the areas of the rule of law and human rights throughout the Asia-Pacific region. Through the participation of the Cambodian judiciary in the ECCC proceedings, the ECCC has enhanced the sense of involvement of the Cambodian people in the court cases. By collecting and exchanging information on capacity-needs, the ECCC has positioned itself to strengthen the Cambodian national justice system and its functioning. Furthermore, the ECCC has demonstrated a number of jurisprudential and structural innovations, being the first international court to allow victims to participate as full parties in the proceedings, and has demonstrated that victims’ full participation can be successfully balanced with the rights of other parties. The legacy of the ECCC may enable the integrated and well-balanced development of the rule of law and human rights in this region, and could be extended throughout Asia by establishing the APCHR.

In the 21st century, I hope that every Asian-Pacific country will be able to develop its own judicial system for the protection human rights, while taking an equally active role in the International Criminal Court. Those participating nations would certainly receive international recognition and acknowledgement that would boost confidence for further contribution to the international community. And finally, I hope to see greater attention devoted towards the establishment of the APCHR through the options elaborated above.

* Chang-ho Chung is a Judge of the International Criminal Court serving in the Pre-Trial Division. Prior to his appointment to the ICC, he served as a United Nations International Judge in the Pre-Trial Chamber of the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC) in Phnom Penh, Cambodia for three and half years. At the ECCC, he was a member of both the Rules and Procedure Committee and the Judicial Administration Committee. Prior to this, Judge Chung served six years as a high court judge, eight years as a district court judge and three years as a military judge in the Republic of Korea from 1993. From 2008 to 2009 he served as a Legal Advisor and Korean Delegate to the United Nations Commission on International Trade Law (UNCITRAL) at the Embassy of the Republic of Korea and Permanent Mission in Vienna, Austria. Judge Chung holds a B.A. in Law and an LL.M. in International Law from Seoul National University. He has also been a Research Scholar at the London School of Economics and Political Science (2001), as well as at the University of Hong Kong (2005). The views expressed herein are those of the author alone and do not reflect the views of the International Criminal Court.

[1] Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, art. 1, U.N. Doc. A/CONF.183/9, 2187 U.N.T.S. 90 (July 17, 1998) (entered into force July 1, 2002).

[2] See Organization of African Unity (OAU), African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (“Banjul Charter”), June 27, 1981, OAU Doc. CAB/LEG/67/3 rev. 5, 21 I.L.M. 58 (1982), Arts. 50, 56(5), (entered into force Oct. 21, 1986) [hereinafter African Charter]; Organization of American States (OAS), Convention on Human Rights, art. 46(1)(a), Nov. 22, 1969, 1144 U.N.T.S. 123 (entered into force July 18, 1978) (reprinted in Basic Documents Pertaining to Human Rights in the Inter-American System, OEA/Ser.L.V/II.82 doc. 6 rev. 1 at 25 (1992)) [hereinafter American Convention]; European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, art. 35(1), Nov. 4, 1950, 213 U.N.T.S. 222, (entered into force Sept. 3, 1953, as amended by Protocols Nos. 3, 5, 8, and 11, which entered into force on 21 September 1970, 20 December 1971, 1 January 1990, and 1 November 1998 respectively) [hereinafter European Convention].

[3] See African Charter, supra note 3, arts. 30, 55(2), 56; American Convention, supra note 3, arts. 35, 46.

[4] Id.

[5] See African Charter, supra note 3, art. 56(7); American Convention, supra note 3, art. 46(c).

[6] See African Charter, supra note 3, art. 56(6); American Convention, supra note 3, art. 46(b).

[7] Prosecutor v. New TV S.A.L. & Karma Mohamed Tahsin al Khayat, Case No. STL-14-05/PT/AP/AR126.1, Decision on Interlocutory Appeal Concerning Personal Jurisdiction in Contempt Proceedings, ¶ 58 (Special Tribunal for Lebanon, Appeals Panel, Oct. 2, 2014) (holding a corporation can be held liable for contempt), https://www.stl-tsl.org/en/decision-on-interlocutory-appeal-concerning-personal-jurisdiction-in-contempt-proceedings.

[8] SERAC et al v. Nigeria, African Comm’n on Human and Peoples’ Rights, Comm. No. 155/96, ¶ 57 (Oct. 27, 2001), http://www.achpr.org/communications/decision/155.96/.

[9] Id., ¶ 58.

[10] African Union (AU), Protocol on the Statute of the African Court of Justice and Human Rights, art. 2 (July 1, 2008), http://www.au.int/en/sites/default/files/treaties/7792-file-protocol_statute_ african_court _justice_and_human_rights.pdf.

[11] African Union (AU), Protocol on Amendments to the Protocol on the Statute of the African Court of Justice and Human Rights, art. 22, (27 June, 2014) (inserting art. 46C(1)), http://lawyersofafrica.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/PROTOCOL-ON-AMENDMENTS-TO-THE-PROTOCOL-ON-THE-STATUTE-OF-THE-AFRICAN-COURT-OF-JUSTICE-AND-HUMAN-RIGHTS-EN.pdf .

[12] Id. art. 14 (inserting art. 28A).

[13] Id. art. 22 (inserting art. 46C(2)).

[14] Id. art. 22 (inserting art. 46C(4)).

[15] Indigenous Communities of the Xingu River Basin, Pará v. Brazil, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Precautionary Measure 382/10 (July 29, 2011), http://www.oas.org/en/iachr/indigenous/protection/precautionary.asp.

Corporate Accountability and the Inter-American Human Rights System

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By Jesús Orozco-Henríquez*

Irresponsible activities by corporate actors have severely affected human rights of persons worldwide. The peoples of the Americas have not been the exception. In our region, the Inter-American System has received information revealing this pressing problem mostly through the negative effects of extractive activities[1] performed by transnational corporations and the contribution of corporate actors to criminal activities.[2] This problem has been present for several years and its persistence today is notable and acknowledged by governments, corporations, and civil society alike. Seeking to reaffirm its historically relevant role in the promotion of the human rights movement, the Inter-American System has also started to address this issue through its various mechanisms.

The American region has a longstanding commitment to justice and human rights. This entrenched humanitarian identity is evident through the full institutionalization of human rights norms. The states of the Americas have contracted explicit obligations enshrined in the American Convention on Human Rights and the American Declaration of the Rights and Duties of Man and the various treaties conforming the Inter-American corpus iuris.[3] Furthermore, they also created international institutions with the authority to interpret these instruments and act whenever a state had failed to meet its obligations: the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights and the Inter-American Court on Human Rights. Due to this delegation, the content of these treaties now includes an extensive catalog of human rights expectations, classified according to a duty to either respect or ensure human rights.[4]

Currently, the fragmentation of international law and globalization has contributed to deconstruct many of the assumptions sustaining the institutional framework crafted in the last century.[5] Consequent to this change in international law, the Inter-American System has also evolved and adapted to stand up to the new challenges of our times.[6] The Inter-American System is aware of the need to discuss and address corporate responsibility in human rights violations. Therefore, it has sought to open forums of discussion and frame situations in such a way as to contribute to forging a solution. One of the most recent efforts in this sense was the Inter-American Commission’s call for a public hearing dealing with the extraterritorial jurisdiction of Canada over the effect of Canadian mining companies conducting extraction in Latin America.[7] Under this notable panorama of institutional willingness, the question then arises as to whether the Inter-American legal and political framework would be a useful forum to seek accountability of corporate executives.

Regarding this particular matter, it is evident that the Inter-American System would have to look at the issue mostly through the lenses of the state duty to “ensure” human rights— except when the corporation is a parastatal company or public enterprise in which case the duty to “respect” also arises—and would have to exert its authority under this approach. Following this perspective, the Inter-American Court has sought to demonstrate its awareness of the emerging problems of corporate responsibility and has addressed the problem of the extent of its jurisdiction by looking into the public or private nature of the corporate actor. According to its precedents, the Court has made clear that it has authority to adjudicate over human rights violations committed by executives of public corporations[8] or corporations assuming the provision of public services.[9] In cases where private corporations commit atrocities, the Court has reaffirmed a state’s responsibility to investigate and prosecute those responsible for criminal activities.[10]

The Inter-American Commission has maintained this approach. For instance, by granting precautionary measures to Honduran Campesino Leaders of the Bajo Aguán region, after the information provided by the petitioners suggested that the beneficiaries needed protection from a “death squadron” of private security forces hired by corporate actors acting in conjunction with public officials. In that case, the Commission reaffirmed the state obligation to ensure the life and personal integrity of the affected groups.[11] Similarly, through its thematic reports, the Commission received information suggesting that executives of Colombian public corporations played a role in designing the “Dragon Operation” aiming to eliminate syndical leaders.[12] Moreover, the Commission is also looking into two cases of human rights violations deriving from environmental impact caused by corporations in the Peruvian communities of Oroya and San Mateo de Huanchor.[13] Similarly, the Commission has recently issued an admissibility report in a case that alleges violation of indigenous people’s rights by corporate actors.[14]

Following this overall tendency, it seems highly likely that the Inter-American System will be ever more open and disposed to address claims exposing criminal responsibility of corporate executives, or liability of corporations themselves. The interpretation of the American Convention on Human Rights as a living instrument[15], along with the Inter-American openness to import universal standards[16] may present ways for victims and their representatives to formulate claims under the more recent documents codifying the responsibility of corporate actors under international law.

While the Inter-American System will not be able to establish the direct responsibility of an individual for the commission of international crimes, it could interpret the American Convention and the international obligations of states in such a way as to prevent impunity for mass atrocities or other type of human rights violations committed by corporations and its executives. By monitoring states’ compliance with their international obligations, the System could ultimately contribute to the objectives of justice. It is likely that the Inter-American System could promote both crime prevention and criminal prosecution for corporate liability.

Concerning the promotion of prosecution, both the Inter-American Commission and the Court emphasize the duty of states to investigate violations of human rights by private parties. Therefore, they could require a state to exercise its jurisdiction over particular criminal acts falling under its jurisdiction according to international law standards. Moreover, these bodies could also require domestic courts to prosecute and conduct diligent investigations against particular corporate executives suspected of being responsible for mass atrocities. In the case of transnational activities, the Inter-American System could also push states to assert their criminal jurisdiction over executives even if they reside elsewhere. The result of these recommendations or resolutions would be shifting the avenues pressing for bringing cross-border justice.[17]

Similarly, regarding crime prevention, the bodies of the Inter-American System could lead states to tighten domestic controls of corporate activities. While pushing for this preventive effect, the Inter-American system could request the respective states to regulate the activities of their companies abroad, and the domestic activities of foreign companies.[18] This characteristic becomes especially relevant in cases where both the matrix and the subsidiary offices of a transnational corporation are situated in the American region. The deterrent effect brought by more stringent regulation could also increase by promoting mechanisms in the Inter-American System itself. The press releases, public hearings and thematic reports of the Commission could assist advocating strategies seeking to produce an indirect shaming effect pressing jointly upon a particular company and a state.

Furthermore, the system would also be in a position to provide victims with considerable relief, as its integral approach to reparations includes not only compensation, but also measures of satisfaction and guarantees of no repetition.[19] Although these mechanisms would expect the state to produce the compensation, national authorities could then design domestic mechanisms to revert the costs upon corporations or its executives. Beyond this set of potential benefits, as of today the largest challenge to the Inter-American System is to develop concrete standards on the issue of corporate responsibility for human rights violations. The Inter-American jurisprudence has not had the chance to construct how states’ obligations to ensure human rights are influenced by the Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights. This relatively recent body of principles endorsed in 2011 by the Human Rights Council could serve to advance interpretations of the American Convention that would require states to establish a legal and institutional framework assuring that corporations and corporate executives will be appropriately regulated and supervised. The Guiding Principles could, for instance, develop the responsibility of states under the American Convention and/or Declaration. This would ensure that domestic legislation require transnational companies acting within the states’ jurisdiction to meet domestically established requirements that aim to prevent executives from committing criminal activities.

In conclusion, the urgency to address this issue in the Americas is clear and evident. The Inter-American System, while remaining respectful to its mandate, is in a position to contribute to the solution in the different ways presented above. While the debate over corporate criminal responsibility evolves and further elaborates the adequacy of creating new international institutions or processes,[20] already existing institutions like the Inter-American System may still provide relief by supervising the state’s obligations. Human rights mechanisms can play an important role in triggering the international legal processes aimed at prosecuting these kinds of atrocities and in providing remedies for victims. To meet its full potential and to develop more specific standards, it is expected that civil society will continue to rely on the Inter-American System’s various mechanisms in order to address this pressing issue.

* Jesús Orozco-Henríquez is a Commissioner and former President of the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights and Titular Researcher at the Institute of Legal Research at the National Autonomous University of Mexico.

[1] See Due Process of Law Foundation, The impact of Canadian Mining in Latin America and Canada’s Responsibility: Executive Summary of the Report submitted to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (2014), http://www.dplf.org/sites/default/files/report_canadian_ mining_executive_summary.pdf.

[2] See Press Release, Chiquita Brands, Chiquita statement on agreement with U.S. Department of Justice, (Mar. 14, 2007), http://phx.corporate-ir.net/phoenix.zhtml?c=119836&p=irol-newsArticle&ID=974081& highlight.

[3] This concept includes the Inter-American Convention to Prevent and Punish Torture; the Additional Protocol to the American Convention on Human Rights in the Area of Economic, Social and Cultural Rights “San Salvador Protocol” the Protocol to the American Convention on Human Rights to Abolish the Death Penalty; the Inter-American Convention on the Prevention, Punishment and Eradication of Violence against Women “Convention of Belém do Pará”; the Inter-American Convention on Forced Disappearance of Persons; the Inter-American Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Persons with Disabilities; the Inter-American Convention Against Racism, Racial Discrimination and Related Forms of Intolerance, and the Inter-American Convention Against All Forms of Discrimination and Intolerance.

[4] According to this classification, expectations deriving from the duty to respect place the state in a direct position to act or refrain from acting in order to meet international obligation. On the other hand, expectations emanating from a duty to “ensure” place the state in the indirect position to create the general conditions that would enable persons to assert their rights before third parties. See Velásquez Rodríguez v. Honduras, Merits, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 4 (July 29, 1988); see also Eduardo Ferrer MacGregor & Carlos M. Pelayo, La Obligación de “Respetar” y “Garantizar” los Derechos Humanos a la Luz de la Jurisprudencia de la Corte Interamericana, 10 Estudios Constitucionales, 141 (2012).

[5] See Martii Koskenniemi (Chairman of the Study Group of the Int’l Law Comm’n), Fragmentation of International Law: Difficulties Arising From the Diversification and Expansion of International Law, U.N. Doc. A/CN.4/L.682 (Apr. 13, 2006).

[6] The System performs this task through its various contentious, protection and promotion mechanisms. The contentious system is compose of the Case and Petitions system in charge of both the Commission and the Court. The protection mechanism is composed of the precautionary and provisional measures decreed by the Commission and the Court respectively. The promotion mechanisms under the charge of the Commission consist of the thematic and country reports, press releases and public hearings.

[7] See Hearing on the Impact of Canadian Mining Activities on Human Rights in Latin America, Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., Rec. of the 153rd Period of Sessions (Oct. 28, 2014).

[8] As the Inter-American Court has established that a Peruvian publicly owned enterprise (SEDAPAL) incurred in violations of the rights to property of its workers through a modification of the social security regime to which they are enrolled. See Abrill Alosilla and others v. Peru, Merits, Reparations, and Costs, Judgment, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 223 (Mar 4, 2011).

[9] For instance, by establishing the responsibility of the Minchala Private Health Clinic in violating the right to personal integrity of Ms. Suarez Peralta. See Suárez Peralta v. Ecuador, Preliminary Objections, Merits, Reparations, and Costs, Judgment, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 261, ¶ 154 (May 21, 2013).

[10] “The Court notes that it has insufficient evidence to allow it to conclude that private companies could have been implicated in the facts of this case, and that there had been negligence in investigating this supposed participation. In any case, it is for the competent domestic authorities to continue investigating whether this hypothesis is relevant to the facts of the case and, if so, to take the corresponding decisions”. Afro-Descendant Communities Displaced from the Cacarica River Basin (Operation Genesis) v. Colombia, Preliminary Objections, Merits, Reparations, and Costs, Judgment, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 270, ¶ 378 (Nov. 20, 2013).

[11] See Campesino Leaders of Bajo Aguán, Honduras, Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., Precautionary Measure No. 50/14 (2014).

[12] See Second Report on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders in the Americas, Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., OEA/Ser.L/V/II. doc. 66 ¶ 273 (Dec. 31 2011).

[13] See La Oroya Community v. Peru, Petition 07/270, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Report No. 76/09 (2009); see also Community of San Mateo de Huanchor and its Members v. Peru, Petition 03.504, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Report No. 69/04,(2004).

[14] See Communities of the Sipakepense and Mam Mayan People of the Municipalities of Sipacapa and San Miguel Ixtahuacán v. Guatemala, Petition 07/1566, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Report No. 20/14 (2014).

[15] The Right to Information on Consular Assistance in the Framework of the Guarantees of the Due Process of Law, Advisory Opinion OC-16/99, Inter-Am. Ct of H. R., (ser. A) No. 16, ¶ 114-15 (1999)

[16] See Gerald L. Neuman, Import, Export and Regional Consent in the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, 19 Eur. J. of Int’l L., 1, 101, 109-11 (2008).

[17] For instance, while supervising compliance with its judgment in the Case of Myrna Mack Chang, the Inter-American Court has insisted that the State has the duty to end impunity and capture the responsible of the execution of Ms. Mack. By pushing for this process, the State of Guatemala has had to issue request of coordination with the office of INTERPOL in order to seek for the culprit internationally. See Myrna Mack Chang v. Guatemala, Monitoring Compliance with Judgment, Order of the President of the Court, “Resolves,” (Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. Nov. 16, 2009), http://www.corteidh.or.cr/docs/supervisiones/mack_ 16_11_09_ing.pdf

[18] For instance, the Inter-American Court has established the State duty to regulate the provision of health services by private parties, specifically referring to blood banks. See Gonzales Lluy and others v. Ecuador, Preliminary Objections, Merits, Reparations and Costs, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 298, ¶ 178 (Sept. 1, 2005).

[19] On the reparations issued by the Inter-American System, see Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Principal Guidelines for a Comprehensive Reparations Policy, OEA/Ser/L/V/II.131 Doc. 1 (Feb. 19, 2008).

[20] Such examples include the mechanisms proposed by other contributors to this Online Symposium. See Douglass Cassel & Anita Ramasastry, White Paper: Options for a Treaty on Business and Human Rights 29 (May 2015), http://businesshumanrights.org/sites/default/files/documents/whitepaperfinal%20ABA%20LS% 206%2022%2015.pdf; Maya Steinitz, The Case for an International Court of Civil Justice, 67 Stan. L. Rev. Online 75 (Dec. 2, 2014); Claes Cronstedt, An International Arbitration Tribunal on Business and Human Rights (version 5), Business & Human Rights Resource Center (Apr. 13, 2015), http://www.l4bb.org/news/ TribunalV5B.pdf.

Corporate Impunity for Human Rights Violations in the Americas: The Inter-American System of Human Rights as an Opportunity for Victims to Achieve Justice

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Ana María Mondragón*

The forces of globalization have changed the world and the human rights challenges it faces. States are no longer the exclusive or, in some cases, even the most powerful entities capable of affecting the human rights of individuals. Today, corporations have become prominent actors with the potential to transform the realities faced by communities within their spheres of influence.[1]

Several NGOs have documented corporate-related human rights abuses on the American continent, ranging from the absence of prior consultation processes with indigenous peoples and forced labor practices to the forced displacement of entire communities with grave effects on the right to a healthy environment.[2] Nevertheless, affected communities, human rights litigants, and advocates face enormous legal, economic, and political obstacles in their attempts to prevent the emergence of these problems and in their efforts to end the impunity often associated with them.

On the one hand, the legal systems and institutions of countries in the Americas have proven to be weak in preventing corporate human rights abuses and providing effective remedies to the victims. On the other hand, there are large legal vacuums in the existing international systems of responsibility that impede imposing liability in these cases.[3] Despite the long-standing efforts of civil society[4] to establish a binding international legal framework for corporate human rights abuses,[5] a plethora of disparate interests on the part of states, corporations and civil society have rendered the likelihood of consensus slim.[6]

In the meantime, thousands of individuals continue to be the subjects of egregious corporate-related human rights abuses, deprived of access to justice.[7] Hence, efforts aimed at establishing an international tribunal for corporate atrocities need to be accompanied by novel strategies to pressure existing international mechanisms, such as regional human rights bodies, to combat impunity for corporate human rights violations by using the bodies’ competencies in new and creative ways.[8] Such strategies can expand the available forums for victims to seek justice and contribute to building measures among states to prevent and address corporate human rights abuses within and outside their territories.[9] Additionally, they have the potential to put pressure on states to support the creation of a specific binding international framework capable of addressing corporate human rights violations.[10]

The Inter-American System: Untapped Potential

In the American continent, the ability of the Inter-American System of Human Rights to bring justice for victims of corporate-related human rights abuses offers a powerful opportunity. It is critical that civil society organizations, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), and the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (I/A Court) explore their potential more systematically.[11]

In the past decade, the IACHR and I/A Court have been increasingly compelled to address human rights violations in which corporations have been involved to some degree. The IACHR in particular has held numerous thematic hearings on the threat of corporate activities on human rights,[12] issued thematic reports to address the issue,[13] and granted precautionary measures.[14] However, a review of the Commission’s decisions and the Court’s jurisprudence demonstrates that although these bodies have addressed cases involving human rights violations by businesses, they have rarely analyzed the role played by either the businesses or their complex interactions with the conduct of states.[15] Most importantly, they have not used these opportunities to develop specific state duties with regard to corporations acting in their jurisdiction.[16]

The recent judgment of the I/A Court in the case of the Kaliña and Lokono Peoples v. Suriname illustrates this lack of analysis. The case involved human rights violations against indigenous peoples resulting from the activities of the mining corporation, BHP Billiton-Suralco. This is the first case in which the Court “takes note” of the Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights.[17] However, it is disconcerting that there is no evidence in the judgment of any argument brought by the parties asking the Court to further develop business and human rights principles in this case. Accordingly, the recognition on the part of the court shows the need for civil society to more forcefully advocate for a stronger commitment of the regional human rights bodies so that they might engage in the search of comprehensive approaches to cases related to corporate human rights abuses.

There are some indications that the developing political climate in the Americas will make progress in this area an achievable goal. In 2014, the General Assembly of the Organization of American States (OAS) issued a resolution on the “Promotion and Protection of Human Rights in Business.” In the resolution, the Assembly called on member states to continue promoting the application of the United Nations Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights, urged them to “disseminate these principles as broadly as possible,” and requested “the IACHR […] to continue supporting states in the promotion and application of state and business commitments in the area of human rights and business.”[18] On January 29, 2015, the Committee on Juridical and Political Affairs of the Permanent Council of the OAS held its first special session on business and human rights.[19] For its part, the IACHR has taken concrete institutional steps to include the business and human rights issue in its agenda[20] and held the first thematic hearing explicitly on the issue of “Corporations, Human Rights and Prior Consultation in the Americas.”[21] Finally, in addition to its first recognition of the Principles mentioned above,[22] this year the I/A Court will issue an advisory opinion to clarify whether legal entities, such as businesses, are protected under the American Convention and can exhaust domestic remedies.[23]

A Way Forward 

The civil society of the Americas should take advantage of this important political juncture to propose concrete alternatives to extend the protection offered to victims of corporate-related human rights abuses. There are at least two avenues worth exploring to develop specific standards around states’ obligations of respect and the guarantee of human rights.

First, the Commission and the Court should move to interpret the states’ general obligations enshrined in articles 1 and 2 of the American Convention in the light of specialized soft law standards on business and human rights.[24] There is still work to be done in defining the specific measures states should take to guarantee the full exercise of human rights in the context of corporate activities[25] and to prevent arbitrary interferences on the part of businesses in the territories and the rights of communities.[26] These measures should be defined according to specific corporate activities and the rights of each subject of protection.[27] As such, the fulfillment of state obligations must include specific duties such as i) encouraging business to respect human rights when they operate in conflict areas[28]; ii) denying assistance or access to public services to companies implicated in grave human rights violations; iii) encouraging, and if reasonable, demanding that businesses explain how they will consider the effect of their activities on human rights[29]; and iv) requiring businesses with whom the state is entering into commercial transactions with to follow strict human rights standards.[30] Once these specific obligations are developed in the Inter-American System, the attribution of international responsibility would come to depend on determining the due diligence of the state in fulfilling these standards.[31] Moreover, the Commission and the Court have the ability to pressure states to guarantee the right to provide access to justice for victims of corporate human rights abuses at the domestic level by reforming their domestic legislation, creating specific remedies for these victims, or other means.[32]

Second, it is crucial to determine the scope of the extraterritorial obligations (ETOs) of the home states of corporations. There has been progress in the international legal arena in this regard,[33] which may be used to establish the circumstances under which states could be held internationally responsible for acts of national companies committed outside their jurisdiction.[34] On a continent in which Canadian and Brazilian extractive companies have become major perpetrators of human rights abuses,[35] this is particularly important.

Finally, for these strategies to be feasible, the Inter-American System bodies have to take an active position in the ongoing debate over the ability of regional human rights protection bodies to react to matters allegedly related to states’ economic development policies. The answer to this question remains uncertain in the wake of the major political crisis within the System caused by the issuing of precautionary measures in Belo Monte Dam.[36] In this case, Brazil insisted on furthering its development agenda and refused to protect the rights of indigenous communities of the Xingu River Basin by suspending the construction of what would be the third largest dam in the world.[37] Retaliating against the precautionary measures issued by the Commission, Brazil withdrew its candidate for Commissioner to the IACHR, removed its ambassador to the OAS,[38] and threatened to withhold its annual dues to the OAS, which amount to 6 million U.S. dollars.[39] Moreover, Brazil refused to attend a working meeting at the IACHR on the case.[40]

In conclusion, the role of the Inter-American System of Human Rights in strengthening the principle that corporate activities must necessarily be accompanied by a strong commitment to the fulfillment of human rights has never been more important. Enshrining strong standards of protection against corporate human rights abuses in the Americas and establishing an international tribunal for corporate atrocities might be derided as an elusive panacea. However, these goals need not be idealistic if concrete steps are taken in the interim. To this end, it is essential that civil society continues combining innovative strategies and summoning allies, both to bring justice to the victims of corporate human rights abuses and to strengthen domestic institutions and regulations that will prevent such abuses from occurring.

* Ana María Mondragón holds an LL.M. from Harvard Law School and a law degree from the Javeriana University of Bogotá. She has worked at the Inter-American Association for Environmental Defense (AIDA), the Center for Justice and International Law (CEJIL) and the Inter-American Court of Human Rights. Ana María was a Fulbright Scholar and recipient of the Gary Bellow Public Service Award and the Henigson Human Rights Fellowship at Harvard Law School.

[1] See John Ruggie (Special Representative of the Secretary-General on the Issue of Human Rights and Transnational Corporations and Other Business Enterprises), Clarifying the concepts of “sphere of influence” and “complicity”, U.N. Doc. A/HRC/8/16, (May 15, 2008).

[2] The NGO Business and Human Rights Resource Centre has the broadest database of cases of human rights effects from corporate activities: http://business-humanrights.org/en/search-topics; see also Interamerican Association of Environmental Defense (AIDA) (human rights and the environment issues), http://www.aida-americas.org/.

[3] Corporations are not recognized as subjects of international law and cannot be held accountable for human rights violations under any of the available international legal frameworks.

[4] The concept civil society used in this article includes primarily non-governmental organizations (NGOs), communities, social movements, and academic institutions.

[5] See Movement for a Binding Treaty, http://www.treatymovement.com/.

[6] The difficulties in achieving consensus date back to the intent of approval of the Norms on the Human Rights Responsibilities of Transnational Corporations and Other Business Enterprises proposed by the UN Sub-Commission for the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights in 2003. That proposal failed “due to the resistance of the business community and of capital-exporting countries, and to a certain naïveté in transposing to corporations norms designed to be addressed to states.” Olivier De Shutter, Towards a New Treaty on Business and Human Rights, 1 Bus. and Hum. Rts. J. 41(2016), http://journals.cambridge.org/abstract_S205701981500005X; see also U. N. Subcomm. on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights, Norms on the Responsibilities of Transnational Corporations and Other Business Enterprises with Regard to Human Rights, U.N. Doc. E/CN.4/Sub.2/2003/12/Rev.2 (2003). In June 2014, the United Nations Human Rights Council decided to establish an Intergovernmental Working Group to “elaborate an international legally binding instrument to regulate, in international human rights law, the activities of transnational corporations and other business enterprises.” See Human Rights Council, U.N. Doc. A/HRC Res. 26/9 (26 June 2014) (entitled “Elaboration of an International Legally Binding Instrument on Transnational Corporations and Other Business Enterprises with Respect to Human Rights”). For a summary of the main discussions hold in the first meeting, see Carlos Lopez & Ben Shea, Negotiating a Treaty on Business and Human Rights: A Review of the First Intergovernmental Session, 1 Bus. and Hum. Rts. 111 (2016), http://journals.cambridge.org/abstract_S2057019815000152.

[7] There is no unified data about these effects in Latin America. The amount of information brought to the IACHR is an indicator of the magnitude of the problem. However, the Observatory on Mining Conflicts in Latin America (Observatorio de Conflictos Mineros de América Latina) database provides some important information in this regard. To date, it reports 210 conflicts, 220 extractive projects implicated in these conflicts and 315 communities affected. See Map of mining conflict, projects and mining companies in Latin America, http://mapa.conflictosmineros.net/ocmal_db/.

[8] The African and European regional human rights systems have made important progress in this area. Noteworthy is the recent approval of the Protocol on Amendments to the Protocol on the Statute of the African Court of Justice and Human Rights to the African Court of Justice and Human and Peoples’ Rights, which allows international criminal prosecution, not only of individuals, but also of corporations. See Anita Ramasastry, & Douglass Cassel, White Paper: Options for a Treaty on Business and Human Rights, 6 Notre Dame J. of Int’l & Comp. L. 1, 35 (2015), http://scholarship.law.nd.edu/ndjicl/vol6/iss1/1.

[9] The issue of extraterritorial obligations of home states of corporations has been highly discussed in recent years. This avenue would allow holding states accountable for their failure to regulate corporate activity overseas and to guarantee effective access to justice to the victims. See Int’l Network for Econ., Social and Cultural Rts. (ESCR-Net), Global Economy, Global Rights, A practitioners’ guide for interpreting human rights obligations in the global economy (2014).

[10] If States realize that these international bodies are holding them accountable for their lack of control, supervision and regulation of corporations operating in and outside their territories, and/or for failing in assuring adequate remedies and compensation to victims of corporate abuses, they might find incentives to create a specific jurisdiction in which corporation are held directly accountable.

[11] Under the framework set up by the Inter-American System, the regional human rights bodies are not competent to declare non-state actors liable for human rights violations. However, they still have a role to play in overcoming impunity in these cases and in developing appropriate standards that are consistent with the reality faced by affected communities.

[12] In the past ten years the IACHR has held at least 40 thematic hearings on related topics. See, e.g, Forced Displacement and Development in Colombia, 153 Period of Sessions, (Oct. 27, 2014); Extractive Industries and Human Rights of the Mapuche People in Chile, 154 Period of Sessions; Corporations, Human Rights, and Prior Consultation in the Americas, 154 Period of Sessions; Reports of Destruction of the Biocultural Heritage Due to the Construction of Mega Projects of Development in Mexico, 153 Period of Sessions; Impact of Canadian Mining Activities on Human Rights In Latin America, 153 Period of Sessions; Human Rights Situation of Persons Affected by the Extractive Industries in the Americas, 144 Period of Sessions.

[13] See, e.g., Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., Indigenous and Tribal Peoples’ Rights over their Lands and Natural Resources, OEA/Ser.L/V/II. Doc. 56/09. (Dec. 30, 2009); Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., Captive Communities: Situation of the Guaraní Indigenous People and Contemporary Forms of Slavery in the Bolivian Chaco, OEA/Ser.L/V/II. Doc. 58. (Dec. 24, 2009).

[14] For example, when corporate activities affect the right to health of communities, indigenous sacred zones, or the right to prior consultation of indigenous peoples while implementing large-scale projects. See, e.g., San Mateo de Huanchor community and members, Peru, Precautionary Measures, Case 504/03, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Report No. 69/04, OEA/Ser.L/V/II.122 Doc. 5 rev. 1 (Aug. 17, 2004); La Oroya Community, Peru, Precautionary Measures, Petition 07/270, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Report No. 76/09, OEA/Ser.L/V/II.130, doc. 22, rev. 1 (Aug. 31, 2007); Maya Community – El Rosario – Naranjo, Guatemala, Precautionary Measures, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (July 14, 2006); Maya Community Sipakepense y Mam, Guatemala, Precautionary Measures, Petition 1566/07, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Report No. 20/14, OEA/Ser.L/V/II.150 Doc. 24 (May 20, 2010); Xingu River Indigenous Communities, Pará, Brasil, Precautionary Measures, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., PM 382/10 (Apr. 1, 2011).

[15] A paradigmatic example of this approach can be found in the case of the Santo Domingo Massacre in which neither the IACHR nor the Court addressed the role of Occidental Petroleum Corporation (OXY) in Colombian Air Force bombing of the hamlet of Santo Domingo in the department of Arauca, Colombia. See Santo Domingo Massacre v. Colombia, Preliminary Objections, Merits and Reparations, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R.,(ser. C) No. 259 (Nov. 30, 2012).

[16] See, e.g., Kichwa Indigenous People of Sarayaku v. Ecuador, Merits and Reparations, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., (ser. C) No. 245 ( June 27, 2012); Santo Domingo Massacre v. Colombia, Preliminary Objections, Merits and Reparations, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R.,(ser. C) No. 259 (Nov. 30, 2012); Kaliña and Lokono Peoples v. Suriname, Merits, Reparations and Costs, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 309 (Nov. 25, 2015).

[17] “[T]he Court takes note of the ‘Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights,’ endorsed by the Human Rights Council of the United Nations, which establish that businesses must respect and protect human rights, as well as prevent, mitigate, and accept responsibility for the adverse human rights effects directly linked to their activities. Hence, as reiterated by these principles, ‘States must protect against human rights abuse within their territory and/or jurisdiction by third parties, including business enterprises. This requires taking appropriate steps to prevent, investigate, punish and redress such abuse through effective policies, legislation, regulations and adjudication.’” Kaliña and Lokono Peoples v. Suriname, Merits, Reparations and Costs, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 309, ¶ 224 (Nov. 25, 2015).

[18] See Organization of American States (OAS), General Assembly Res. AG/RES. 2840 (XLIV-O/14), OAS Doc. AG/doc.5452/14 rev. 1(June 4, 2014) (entitled “Promotion and Protection of Human Rights in Business”).

[19] See Organization of American States (OAS) Permanent Council, Rep. on the Inter-American Program for the Dev. of Int’l L., OAS Doc. AG/RES. 2852 (XLIV-O/14), at 40 (2014), http://www.oas.org/en/sla/dil/docs/annual_report_2014_DIL.pdf.

[20] See Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., Memorandum of understanding between the General Secretariat of the OAS through the Inter-Am. Comm’n H. R. and the Danish Inst. for Hum. Rts. (Mar. 16, 2015), http://www.oas.org/es/cidh/mandato/docs/IACHR-DIHR-2015.pdf.

[21] See Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R., Rep. on the 154th Session of the Inter-Am. Comm’n H.R. (2015), http://www.oas.org/en/iachr/media_center/PReleases/2015/037A.asp.

[22] See Kaliña and Lokono Peoples v. Suriname, supra note 17.

[23] See Press Release, Inter-Am Ct. H.R., Inter-American Court Celebrates 109th Ordinary Period of Sessions (June 15, 2015), http://www.corteidh.or.cr/docs/comunicados/cp_16_15.pdf.

[24] See Special Representative of the Secretary-General, Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights: Implementing the United Nations “Protect, Respect and Remedy” Framework, U.N. Doc. A/HRC/17/31 (Mar. 21, 2011); OECD, OECD Guidelines for Multinational Enterprises (2011), and the Voluntary Principles on Security and Human Rights (2000).

[25] For example, one of the most pressing needs is the building of applicable standards for the implementation of development projects. In these cases, the application of principles of business and human rights and international environmental law can be helpful in crafting comprehensive standards. See, e.g., the Precautionary Principle, the Prevention Principle and the Environmental Assessment Principle, Convention on Biological Diversity, June 5, 1992, 1760 U.N.T.S. 79; Rio Declaration on Environment and Development U.N. Doc. A/CONF. 151/5 (1992); Ramsar Convention on Wetlands of International Importance, Feb. 2, 1971, 996 U.N.T.S. 245.

[26] Compare Pueblo Bello Massacre v. Colombia, Merits, Reparations, and Costs, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 140, ¶ 113 (Jan. 31, 2006) with Mapiripán Massacre v. Colombia, Merits, Reparations, and Costs, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 134, ¶ 111 (Sept. 15 2005); see also Special Representative of the Secretary-General, Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights: Implementing the United Nations “Protect, Respect and Remedy” Framework, Principle 1, U.N. Doc. A/HRC/17/31 (Mar. 21, 2011).).

[27] Perozo et al. v. Venezuela, Preliminary Objections, Merits, Reparations, and Costs, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 195, ¶ 298 (Jan. 28, 2009); see also Vargas-Areco v. Paraguay, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 155, ¶ 73 (Sept.26, 2006)..

[28] Special Representative of the Secretary-General, Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights: Implementing the United Nations “Protect, Respect and Remedy” Framework, Principle 7, U.N. Doc. A/HRC/17/31 (Mar. 21, 2011). (including, inter alia, collaboration in the determination, prevention and mitigation of risks, alongside the assurance of the efficiency of all valid policies, legal regulations and coercive measures to prevent the implication of businesses in grave human rights violations).

[29] Id., Principle 3.

[30] Id., Principle 6.

[31] Compare Mapiripán Massacre v. Colombia, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 134, ¶ 123 (Sept. 15, 2005). with González and others (“Campo Algodonero”) v. Mexico, Inter-Am. Ct. H.R. (ser. C) No. 205, ¶ 280 (Nov. 16, 2009).

[32] Given the strong resistance at the international level to recognize human rights obligations for corporations, this is an indirect avenue that is worth exploring; see also Principle 25 of the Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights: Implementing the United Nations “Protect, Respect and Remedy” Framework: “As part of their duty to protect against business-related human rights abuse, States must take appropriate steps to ensure, through judicial, administrative, legislative or other appropriate means, that when such abuses occur within their territory and/or jurisdiction those affected have access to effective remedy.” Special Representative of the Secretary-General, U.N. Doc. A/HRC/17/31 (Mar. 21, 2011).

[33] ETOs related to corporate activities have been applied under the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights (ICESCR); the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR); the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women; the International Convention on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination; and the Convention on the Rights of the Child. See Extraterritorial Obligations (ETOs) for Hum. Rts. Beyond Borders, Maastricht Principles on Extraterritorial Obligations in the area of Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (2013); see also Int’l Network for Econ., Social and Cultural Rts. (ESCR-Net), Global Economy, Global Rights, A practitioners’ guide for interpreting human rights obligations in the global economy (2014); Gwynne Skinner, Robert McCorquodale & Olivier De Schutter, The Third Pillar, Access to Judicial Remedies for Human Rights Violations by Transnational Businesses (Dec., 2013); Ilaşcu and Others v. Moldova and Russia, 2004-VII Eur. Ct. H.R. 1030 (July 8, 2004); Soering v. the United Kingdom, 161 Eur. Ct. H.R. (ser. A) (July 7, 1989).

[34] DPLF and the Human Rights Institute and Education Centre of the Ottawa University have done an interesting work raising this issue in the Americas and particularly, within the Inter-American System. See Due Process of Law Foundation (DPLF), Business and Human Rights, 20 Aportes DPLF (Aug. 2015), http://www.dplf.org/sites/default/files/aportes_20_english_web_nov_10b_1.pdf; Human Rights Institute and Education Centre of Ottawa University, Presentation on Extraterritoriality and Responsibility of Home States in the Protection of Human Rights for the Activities of Extractive Industries in Latin America before the Inter-American Commission, https://cdp-hrc.uottawa.ca/sites/cdp-hrc.uottawa.ca/files/hrrec-_oral_presentation_iachr-_march_17_2015.pdf.

[35] See, e.g., Due Process of Law Foundation (DPLF), The impact of Canadian Mining in Latin America and Canada’s Responsibility: Executive Summary of the Report submitted to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (May 2014); Above Ground, Transnational Lawsuits in Canada against extractive companies: Developments in civil litigation, 1997-2016, http://www.aboveground.ngo/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Cases_Feb2016_LO.pdf.

[36] See Inter-Am. Ct. H.R., Indigenous Communities of the Xingu River Basin, Pará, Brasil, PM-382/10, (Apr. 1 2011).

[37] For more information on this case, see the work of the Interamerican Association for Environmental Defense (AIDA), http://www.aida-americas.org/our-work/human-rights/belo-monte-hydroelectric-dam.

[38] See Folha de São Paulo, Dilma retalia OEA por Belo Monte e suspende recursos, April 30, 2011, available at http://www1.folha.uol.com.br/fsp/mercado/me3004201117.htm.

[39] See O Estado de São Paulo, Brasil não paga OEA por causa de Belo Monte. (Oct. 20, 2011), http://www.estadao.com.br/noticias/impresso,brasil-nao-paga-oea-por-causa-de-belo-monte- ,787892,0.htm

[40] Brazil argued that the Inter-American Commission was interfering with its internal affairs. The Ministry of Foreign Relations on April 5, 2011 publically rejected the resolution as being “unjustifiable” and “rash.” Press Release No. 142, Ministry of Foreign Relations, Brasil considera medidas da OEA sobre Belo Monte “precipitadas e injustificáveis” (Apr. 5, 2011), http://blog.planalto.gov.br/brasil-considera-medidas-da-oea-sobre-belo-monte-precipitadas-einjustificaveis/. For more information, see Report of civil society for the Universal Periodic Review (UPR) Brazil, 2nd Cycle, 13th Session – Human Rights Violations caused by Large Hydropower., http://www.aida-americas.org/sites/default/files/refDocuments/LargeDams_UPR JointSub_Brazil_2nd_Cycle.pdf.

Arbitration for Human Rights: Seeking Civil Redress for Corporate Atrocity Crimes

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By Juan Pablo Calderón-Meza*

There must be a place where victims can actually pursue justice for atrocities indirectly perpetrated by corporate actors.[1] Executives, agents, and contractors often play an important role in human rights abuses that can be characterized as atrocity crimes.[2] Examples of such atrocities include companies relying on the military to summarily execute indigenous leaders opposing extractive projects in their ancestral territories in Nigeria,[3] oil and security companies working closely with local air forces to raid towns, summarily executing and forcibly displacing civilians in Colombia,[4] and companies from the automotive industry promoting torture, summary executions, and forced disappearances perpetrated by the dictatorship in Argentina.[5] The corporations responsible for these atrocities have not yet faced justice. Courts in the “Global South” are generally inadequate for conducting these cases,[6] while courts in the “Global North,” despite being adequate or convenient, are frequently unwilling to do so.[7] It is difficult to adjudicate these cases in domestic fora, and international justice must therefore be made available. Given the absence of domestic accountability, this article aims to find a legal basis for creating a new arbitral tribunal to adjudicate cases seeking civil redress for atrocity crimes.

An international tribunal might result from the current State negotiations on a treaty regulating the operation of transnational corporations.[8] Scholars have proposed an International Court of Civil Justice (“ICCJ”) where victims could seek civil redress unless “the home jurisdiction of the multinational corporation being sued is willing to hear the case and offer the plaintiffs their day in court.”[9] This would require state consent, however, and Professor Maya Steinitz, the pioneer of this idea, anticipates the realist argument that the United States, home to many powerful corporations, “will not join an ICCJ.”[10] The same could be said about China and countries of the Global North where transnational corporations are domiciled.[11] While the ICCJ could obtain jurisdiction from states of the Global South where subsidiaries operate, “[w]hether they could confer jurisdiction on the parent companies of such subsidiaries, however, is a separate question.”[12]

There are those who think that “there is room for another view: that it is not particularly helpful, either intellectually or operationally, to rely on the subject-object dichotomy that runs through so much of the writings.”[13] I propose that areas of domestic law in which corporations could theoretically be liable can be enforced through an international forum under arbitral agreements entered by corporations and victims.

In the absence of state consent, a tribunal where victims have access to civil redress for corporate atrocities could find basis in arbitration agreements separately entered into by corporations of the Global North and their victims in the Global South. As a matter of fact, international tribunals have previously justified their competence by invoking arbitral principles giving them the power to decide whether they have jurisdiction to adjudicate.[14] Indeed, the learned practitioners Claes Cronstedt and Robert Thompson have proposed arbitration as the basis for “an international tribunal on business and human rights,” which “would apply the substantive laws of the jurisdiction(s) selected by agreement of the parties.”[15] This tribunal “would apply tort/delict principles to cases concerning business involvement in human rights abuses throughout the world, irrespective of the locus of the abuses, the nationalities of those involved or whether the perpetrators are legal or natural persons.”[16] Scholars have agreed with this model, but contend that “[m]any issues remain.”[17] This Article will try to address some of these questions.

An initial issue is whether civil redress for atrocity crimes is a “subject matter capable of settlement by arbitration.”[18] Although criminal liability for atrocities may not be capable of settlement as a matter of public policy,[19] different jurisdictions concede that settlement is acceptable for torts and civil redress for crimes.[20]

A second issue is that even if consent from states is irrelevant for arbitration between non-state parties, consent to arbitrate must be expressed by both victims and corporate defendants. Arbitration is “a process that derives its authority directly from the consent of the parties such that any arbitration that occurs outside without such consent is illegitimate and invalid.”[21] To express consent, corporations could separately execute open-ended offers to the public in order to arbitrate tort claims arising from corporate atrocities. Victims willing to enter into these arbitral agreements would simply attach a copy of that offer to their arbitral complaint, expressing their consent by commencing proceedings. Moreover, in the absence of an arbitral agreement, consent could also be inferred, under some domestic laws, when a defendant does not object to the arbitral jurisdiction in its response to an arbitral application.[22] If at least one corporate entity has expressed its consent to arbitrate, before or during the arbitration, its parent companies and subsidiaries could also be joined into the arbitration.[23]

It is worth analyzing, however, why corporations would ever consent to arbitration with victims of atrocity crimes. First, since the goodwill of a company is an important corporate asset,[24] some corporations may want to defend themselves from naming and shaming campaigns against them. They may want to rebut victims’ accusations before a court of law, and arbitration would enable them to furnish evidence and implead direct perpetrators. Second, some corporations may want to bring different suppliers, subcontractors, or other liable parties into the arbitration commenced by the victims.[25] Third, corporations might want to avoid the risk of having to pay punitive damages awarded by U.S. Courts[26] and might prefer to enter into arbitral agreements limiting their liability to the maximum amount of damages awarded under the laws of the country where the atrocities took place. Fourth, by entering into the proposed open-ended arbitral offers, corporations would be providing “grievance mechanisms” as required by the Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights,[27] as long as the arbitration proceedings can be characterized as “legitimate,” “accessible,” “predictable,” “equitable,” “transparent,” “rights-compatible,” “a source of continuous learning,” and “based on engagement and dialogue.”[28] The arbitral tribunal could accomplish this by holding hearings in places reachable to the victims and through arbitral rules jointly drafted by representatives of civil society and corporations. Last but not least, the confidentiality of arbitral proceedings may be another incentive for companies to consent to arbitration seeking civil redress for atrocity crimes.

At any rate, even in the absence of an arbitral agreement with the victims, victims can consider alternative approaches. Arbitral agreements included in contracts among corporations can serve as basis for the victims to join into “second-tier” arbitration.[29] If such contracts have obligations for any of the corporations to comply generally with local laws or other general provisions recognizing rights to the victims, victims could act as third-party beneficiaries.[30]

It is also worth analyzing the reasons why victims would want to enter into arbitral agreements or commence arbitrations under open-ended offers executed by corporations. Victims lacking any forum to pursue justice against state or non-state actors have an obvious incentive. Moreover, the possibility of enforcing an arbitral award in nearly every country in the world is also a compelling reason to prefer an arbitral award over a domestic judgment.[31] Another incentive is the fact that by having consent from just one company, the arbitral agreement is also binding on parent companies and other corporations under a doctrine that allows the extension of arbitral agreements to non-signatories.[32]

We must not overlook, however, some disincentives that victims may find in arbitration. First, arbitration may be perceived with distrust since it is used by corporations for commercial and investment matters. A preliminary solution could be that a commission of companies and victims’ representatives from the civil society draft rules tailored for this type of dispute.[33] Another shortcoming of arbitration is that the party who loses the case has to reimburse the arbitration fees and expenses paid by the opposing party. However, third-party funding may be available for impecunious parties, such as victims of atrocity crimes, and this tribunal could secure funds to cover any expenses of the victims as well as the arbitration fees.[34] Third, the lack of appellate review of the arbitrators’ interlocutory decisions and of the award itself may create a clear disincentive. Then again, this can be changed by agreement, since new arbitration rules have included the possibility for appellate review at the behest of the parties.[35] Finally, while confidentiality of arbitration may be an incentive for corporations, it might be a disincentive for the victims and civil society in general. As a solution, the parties may agree to public arbitral proceedings, thereby contributing to truth and reconciliation in places where atrocity crimes were perpetrated.

The discussion about this novel idea is just beginning. Whether to start obtaining consent from companies or working on rules for this tribunal is a chicken-and-egg problem. There is no doubt that a new forum will be another “important step in the fulfillment of the ageless dream to free all people from brutal violence.”[36] The next step in bringing corporations to justice needs to be taken, whether at the state level in a country like Colombia[37] or in a larger region such as Latin America or Southeast Asia.

* Juan Pablo Calderón-Meza is the Eleanor Roosevelt Visiting Fellow of the Human Rights Program of Harvard Law School. He is a Colombian human rights attorney whose practice specializes in international human rights advocacy and litigation with a particular focus on corporate accountability. He clerked for the Hon. Judges Rowan Downing and Chang-Ho Chung at the United Nations Assistance to the Khmer Rouge Trials in Cambodia. He has also worked with EarthRights International as a fellow and currently assists them in Alien Tort Statute litigation and different submissions at both the Inter-American Court and Commission on Human Rights. He has also counseled the Colombian branch of the International Campaign to Ban Landmines and was a lecturer of civil and international law in Bogota and Phnom Penh. Juan holds an International Human Rights LL.M. (Honors) from the Northwestern University Pritzker School of Law and continues to assist the Bluhm Legal Clinic of this School with different submissions at the UN Human Rights Committee, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, and the Inter-American Court of Human Rights. The author wishes to thank the memomory of his mother, Doris Meza, who was the inspiration for this research and recently passed away.

[1] This Article is part of a wider research about the possibility of creating a new international tribunal on business and human rights as well as the possibility of expanding the personal and subject-matter jurisdiction of the existing international tribunals to conduct cases on business and human rights.

[2] See, e.g., Press Release, U.N. Office of the High Comm’r on Hum. Rts., Argentina dictatorship: UN experts back creation of commission on role business people played (Nov. 10, 2015), http://www.ohchr.org/en/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=16733&LangID=E (last visited Apr. 18, 2016) (citing human rights expert statement that “[e]conomic factors often play a key role in situations where massive and systemic human rights violations are committed, both as incentives and as enabling conditions. However the role of economic players who contributed, benefitted or directly took part in systematic international crimes is often overlooked.”). See also David Scheffer, Genocide and Atrocity Crimes, 1 Genocide Studies and Prevention: An International Journal 229, 230 (2006), http://scholarcommons.usf.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1228&context=gsp (last visited Feb. 6, 2016) (“[W]e need to go even further and describe as ‘‘atrocity crimes’’ a grouping of crimes that includes genocide but is not confined to that particular crime.”)

[3] See Kiobel v. Royal Dutch Petro. Co., 133 S. Ct. 1659, 1662−63 (2013).

[4] See Mujica v. AirScan Inc., 771 F.3d 580 (9th Cir. 2014). The plaintiffs in Mujica alleged that in 1999, Occidental Petroleum Company and its security contractor, AirScan Inc., liaised with the military to raid the Colombian hamlet Santo Domingo. As a result, 17 civilians died, including six children, 25 others were seriously injured, and all survivors left their hometown in Santo Domingo. Id. at 584−85.

[5] See DaimlerChrysler AG v. Bauman, 134 S. Ct. 746 (2014). Plaintiffs alleged that the defendant’s subsidiary, Mercedes Benz Argentina, supported the Argentinean Dictatorship during the Dirty War, from 1976 through 1983. Id. Plaintiffs were kidnaped, detained, tortured, and some of them killed in Mercedes Benz Argentina’s plant, located in Gonzalez Catan, Argentina. Id. at 75152. They brought their claims under the Alien Tort Statute and the Torture Victim Protection Act seeking to hold Daimler liable under a theory of vicarious liability. Id.

[6] See, e.g., Columbia Law School Human Rights Clinic and Harvard Law School International Human Rights Clinic, Righting Wrongs? Barrick Gold’s Remedy Mechanism for Sexual Violence in Papua New Guinea: Key Concerns and Lessons Learned 2 (2015) , (“Significant barriers to remedy and justice in Porgera result from PNG’s weak judicial system, limited local governance, the involvement of local police themselves in a range of abuses, the remote location of the mine, and myriad structural disadvantages (including poverty and illiteracy) faced by local communities and individual rights-holders.”). See also Decl. of Federico Andrés Paulo Andreu Guzman, submitted as Ex. 9 to the Decl. of Marco Simons, In Re Chiquita Brands International, Inc., Plaintiffs’ Memorandum of Law in Opposition to Defendant Chiquita’s Motion to Dismiss Under Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 12(B)(6) and for Forum Non Conveniens, (June 26, 2015) [“Plaintiffs Memorandum on Chiquita’s FNC Motion”]; and Decl. of Senator Claudia López, submitted as Exhibit 4 to the Decl. of Marco Simons, In Re Chiquita Brands International, Inc., Plaintiffs Memorandum on Chiquita’s FNC Motion (on file with author).

[7] See, e.g., Daimler v. Bauman, 134 S. Ct. 746 (2014); Kiobel v. Royal Dutch Petroleum Co., 133 S. Ct. 1659 (2013); Cardona et al. v. Chiquita, 760 F.3d 1185 (11th Cir. 2014). See also Business & Human Rights Resource Centre, Corporate Legal Accountability Annual Briefing 1 (Jan. 2015), http://business-humanrights.org/sites/default/files/documents/BHRRC-Corp-Legal-Acc-Annual-Briefing-Jan-2015-FINAL%20REV.pdf (last visited: Feb. 6, 2016). (“Existing venues for extraterritorial claims are closing, and governments of countries where multinationals are headquartered do not provide sufficient access to judicial remedy for their companies’ abuses.”).

[8] See U.N. General Assembly, Elaboration of an international legally binding instrument on transnational corporations and other business enterprises with respect to human rights, A/HRC/26/L.22/Rev.1 (June 24, 2014), https://documents-dds-ny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/LTD/G14/064/48/PDF/G1406448.pdf? OpenElement; U.N. General Assembly, Human rights and transnational corporations and other business enterprises, A/HRC/26/L.1 (June 23, 2014), https://documents-dds-ny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/LTD/ G14/062/40/PDF/ G1406240.pdf?OpenElement.

[9] Maya Steinitz, The Case for an International Court of Civil Justice, 67 Stan. L. Rev. Online 75, 82 (Dec. 2, 2014), http://www.stanfordlawreview.org/sites/default/files/online/articles/67_Stan_L_Rev_ Online_75_Steinitz.pdf.

[10] Id. at 80.

[11] The general rule under private international law is that jurisdiction is vested to courts where (i) the defendants are domiciled, (ii) the assets in controversy are located, forum rei, or (iii) the wrongdoings took place, forum delicti. See Joseph Story, Jurisdiction and Remedies, in Commentaries on the Conflict of Laws, Foreign and Domestic 909, ¶ 537 (1834).

[12] Douglass Cassel & Anita Ramasastry, Options for a Treaty on Business and Human Rights, 6 Notre Dame J. Int’l & Comp. L. i, 32 (2015), http://scholarship.law.nd.edu/ndjicl/vol6/iss1/1/ (last visited: Feb. 6, 2016).

[13] Rosalyn Higgins, Problems and Process: Int’l Law and How We Use It 50 (Oxford Scholarly Authorities on Int’l Law, 1994).

[14] See, e.g., Prosecutor v. Tadić, Case No. IT-94-1, Decision on the Defence Motion For Interlocutory Appeal on Jurisdiction ¶ 18 (Int’l Crim. Trib for the Former Yugoslavia, Oct. 2, 1995) (ruling on its own jurisdiction on the basis of the Kompetenz-Kompetenz principle). See also Nottebohm, Lichtenstein v. Guatemala, Judgment, 1953 I.C.J. 111, 118−19 (Nov. 18) (applying the Kompetenz-Kompetenz principle to dismiss a preliminary objection raised by Guatemala against the court’s jurisdiction).

[15] Claes Cronstedt, et al., An International Arbitration Tribunal on Business and Human Rights, Bus. & Hum. Rts. Resource Ctr. 7 (June 23, 2014), http://business-humanrights.org/en/pdf-an-international-arbitration-tribunal-on-business-human-rights-reshaping-the-judiciary-version-three (last visited: Feb. 6, 2016).

[16] Id. at 3−4.

[17] Cassel & Ramasastry, supra note 12, at 34. (“For example: How would the tribunal be funded? How would victims’ litigation costs be funded? In view of the controversial track record of investor-state arbitration in matters affecting human rights, would victims and their advocates be willing to use even a tribunal where they would have standing? How would arbitrators be found with the necessary expertise, credibility and objectivity in matters of business and human rights, particularly with respect to the specific concerns of communities and populations affected by corporate conduct? How public would be the arbitral proceedings and awards?”).

[18] Convention on the Recognition and Enforcement of Foreign Arbitral Awards, art. 2, June 10, 1958, 330 U.N.T.S. 38 [“New York Convention”], http://www.uncitral.org/pdf/english/texts/arbitration/NY-conv/XXII_1_e.pdf.

[19] See id. art. V(2)(b) (“Recognition and enforcement of an arbitral award may also be refused if the competent authority in the country where recognition and enforcement is sought finds that: . . . The recognition or enforcement of the award would be contrary to the public policy of that country.”).

[20] See, e.g., Francis McGovern, Settlement of Mass Torts in a Federal System, 36 Wake Forest L. Rev. 871, 887−88 (2001) (concluding that settlement of mass torts can be problematic but possible), http://scholarship.law.duke.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1365&context=faculty_scholarship (last visited: Feb. 6, 2016); Civil Code (1873), art. 2472 (Colom.), http://www.secretariasenado.gov.co/senado/ basedoc/codigo_civil_pr077.html#2472 (“settlements may address a civil action arising from a crime with no prejudice to the [related] criminal action.”). See also Eduardo Zuleta, El arbitraje en razón de la materia: El arbitraje y la responsabilidad civil extractontractual, El Contrato de Arbitraje 221 (2005).

[21] Jaime Dodge Byrnes & Elizabeth Pollman, Arbitration, Consent and Contractual Theory: The Implications of EEOC v. Waffle House, 8 Harv. Negot. L. Rev. 289, 297−98 (2003).

[22] See, e.g., Law 1563 of 2012, July 12, 2012, D.O. 48489 (Colom.), art. 3, http://www.alcaldiabogota.gov.co/sisjur/normas/Norma1.jsp?i=48366 (“If during the period to respond [i] the complaint, [ii] its reply or [iii] any preliminary objections, a party claims existence of an arbitration agreement and the other [party] does not expressly disclaim it, be it before judges or and arbitral tribunal, the existence of the arbitration agreement is validly proven.”).

[23] See, e.g., Thompson-CSF v. American Arbitration Association & Sutherland Computer Corporation, 64 F.3d 773, 776 (2d. Cir. 1994) (describing “five theories for binding nonsignatories to arbitration agreements: 1) incorporation by reference; 2) assumption; 3) agency; 4) veil-piercing/alter ego; and 5) estoppel.”). See also Fisser v. International Bank, 282 F. 231, 233 (2d Cir. 1960) (on the possibility of extending the arbitral agreement to non-signatories).

[24] Claes Cronstedt, supra note 15, at n. 22 (“When Warren Buffet took over as an interim chairman of Salomon Brothers after the Treasury auction scandal in New York in 1991 he told the assembled personnel: ‘Lose money for the firm, I will be very understanding; lose a shred of reputation for the firm, I will be ruthless.’”).

[25] See Roger P. Alford, Arbitrating Human Rights, 83 Notre Dame L. Rev. 505, 527 (2008).

[26] See, e.g., Grimshaw v. Ford Motor Co., 119 Cal. App. 3d. 757.

[27] U.N. Human Rights Council, Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights, HR/PUB/11/04, Principle 29 (2011), http://www.ohchr.org/Documents/Publications/ GuidingPrinciplesBusinessHR_EN.pdf (last visited: Feb. 6, 2016) (“To make it possible for grievances to be addressed early and remediated directly, business enterprises should establish or participate in effective operational-level grievance mechanisms for individuals and communities who may be adversely impacted.”).

[28] Id., Principle 31.

[29] See Alford, supra note 25, at 527.

[30] See, e.g., Robinson Brog Leinwand Greene Genovese & Gluck P.C. v. John M. O’Quinn & Assocs., L.L.P., 523 Fed. App’x 761, 763 (2nd Cir. 2013), citing Am. Bureau of Shipping v. Tencara Shipyard S.P.A., 170 F.3d 349, 353 (2nd Cir. 1999) (“[W]hen a non-signatory plaintiff seeks the benefits of a contract that contains an arbitration provision, it is estopped from ‘denying its obligation to arbitrate.’”).

[31] 153 countries are parties to the New York Convention. See New York Arbitration Convention, Contracting States, http://www.newyorkconvention.org/contracting-states/list-of-contracting-states (last visited: Feb. 6, 2016).

[32] See, e.g., Thomson-CSF, supra note 23, at 776. See also Fisser v. International Bank, 282 F.2d 231, 234 (2d Cir. 1960) (on the possibility of extending the arbitral agreement to non-signatories).

[33] Some domestic laws, for instance, allow arbitration centers to design their own procedural rules. See, e.g., Decree 1829 of 2013, Aug. 27, 2013, D.O. 48895, arts. 7, 8 (Colom.), http://www.minjusticia.gov.co /Portals/0/Normatividad/Funcional/Decretos/DECRETO%201829%2027-08-2013.pdf.

[34] See William Kirtley and Koralie Wietrzykowski, Should an Arbitral Tribunal Order Security for Costs When an Impecunious Claimant Is Relying upon Third-Party Funding?, 30 J. of Int’l Arb. 18 (2013), citing Third-Party Funding: Snapshots from around the Globe, 7 Global Arb. Rev. 5 (2012), http://globalarbitrationreview.com/journal/ article/30371/third-party-funding-snapshots-around-globe. (“IMF (Australia) Ltd is prepared to fund international commercial arbitration and investment treaty claims including those administered on an ad hoc basis and by the principal arbitral institutions (ICC, AAA/ICDR, LCIA, HKIAC, SIAC, ACICA and ICSID) with a claim value in excess of AUD$10 million. IMF offers . . . payment of any adverse costs and provision of security for costs.”). See also Commercial Dispute Resolution, Q4, Issue 2, 16 (2010) (“Harbour is a leading UK funder of commercial litigation. Harbour provides non-recourse, risk-free funding, paid on an on-going basis, throughout the life of the case, for all, or any, of the following: . . . security for costs, including payments into court . . . Harbour will consider funding for any case with a claim value above £3 million.”).

[35] See, e.g., American Arbitration Association, Optional Appellate Arbitration Rules.

[36] Filartiga v. Pena-Irala, 630 F.2d 876, 890 (2d Cir. 1980).

[37] See, e.g., Permanent Peoples’ Tribunal, Sentencia, ¶ 5.3.2 (July 21−23, 2008), http://www.colectivodeabogados.org/?DICTAMEN-FINAL-AUDIENCIA-TRIBUNAL (finding these corporations liable for human rights abuses in Colombia: “Coca Cola, Nestlé, Chiquita Brands, Drummond, Cemex, Holcim, Muriel mining corporation, Glencore-Xtrata, Anglo American, Bhp Billington, Anglo Gold Ashanti, Kedhada, Smurfit Kapa – Cartón de Colombia, Pizano S.A. y su filial Maderas del Darién, Urapalma S.A., Monsanto, Dyncorp, Multifruit S.A. filial de la transnaciona Del Monte, Occidental Petroleum Corporation, British Petroleum, Repsol YPF, Unión Fenosa, Endesa, Aguas de Barcelona, Telefónica, Canal Isabel II, Canal de Suez, Ecopetrol, Petrominerales, Gran Tierra Energy, Brisa S.A., Empresas Públicas de Medellín, B2 Gold—cobre y oro de Colombia S.A”). See also Permanent Peoples’ Tribunal, The European Union and Transnational Corporations in Latin America (2010), http://www.enlazandoalternativas.org/IMG/pdf/TPP-verdict.pdf.

Back to the Basics: Public Adjudication of Corporate Atrocities Torts

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By Maya Steinitz*

The editors of this online symposium invited me to contribute to the subject of an argument I have recently advanced. This argument is that the world needs a permanent International Court of Civil Justice (ICCJ) to adjudicate cross-border mass torts.[1] A common reaction to this proposal has been to suggest that the function of such an international court be assumed by one of the existing arbitration institutions or filled by a new one.[2] I’d like to take this opportunity to argue against that idea.

Corporate atrocities, which are the symposium’s focus, may be crimes, but they also have a tort dimension. If corporations, for example, aid and abet the Argentine state torture apparatus or the Nigerian paramilitary campaign against protesters, they are also engaged in the torts of, respectively, battery and wrongful death.[3] The crime-tort connection in this context in particular provides an opportunity to reflect on why the resolution of corporate international mass torts should be the province of public rather than private adjudication.[4]

The basic argument in favor of the public adjudication of mass torts is a simple one, anchored in basic notions of democratic legitimacy.[5] The adjudication of corporate atrocity torts involves not only the resolution of liability between two private parties but also the public interest in punishing and deterring such torts. The adjudicators of such disputes determine not only extremely high-stakes disputes between classes of victims and corporations, but they also provide persuasive interpretations of the law and, to the extent their decisions are regarded as having any precedential effect (even if only within the arbitral institution), they make the law as well. The fora in which such law-making and interpretation occur, therefore, fulfill the public function of law development as well as the enforcement of public law.

It is difficult to think of a persuasive theory of democratic legitimacy that can support the notion that these functions should be entrusted in the hands of the invisible college of international arbitrators[6] (also referred to sometimes as the international arbitration “mafia”),[7] which is comprised predominantly of litigators in prominent corporate law firms[8] and which is largely devoid of popular participation, public accountability, and electoral supervision. In other words, the call to privatize the public function of adjudicating corporate atrocity torts is a call to entrust it to the private hands of attorneys who compete for work provided by the pool of potential defendants in international corporate atrocity tort cases and who are (properly) immersed in the ethics of private practice and private gain rather than the ethos of public service. The suggested system will also ensure that adjudicators will be drawn exclusively from within the ranks of the richest members of world society.

An example of the democratic legitimacy problems of private arbitration of corporate atrocity torts is the notoriously unrepresentative nature of the invisible college of international arbitrators:

“In 249 known investment treaty cases until May 2010… just 6.5% of all appointments [were of women]. Worse, of the 247 individuals appointed as arbitrators across all cases, only 10 were women. Women thus comprised 4% of those serving as arbitrators. . . The story is also almost entirely that of two women. . . who together captured 75% of appointments of women… [In contrast], women made up 32% of European Court of Human Rights appointees. . . and 19% of Appellate Body members. . . in WTO history. Incidentally, on a perusal of the data, the system’s record on racial and regional representation also appears poor.”[9]

In contrast to the opaque and unaccountable process for appointing arbitrators, basic notions of democracy, legitimacy, and justice demand that private attorneys exercising the public function of judges submit to a basic set of checks and balances. For example, their selection to any given panel should be conducted via a public deliberative process, not unlike the appointment of federal judges. Candidates should be required to allow the public, including journalists and NGOs, to scrutinize their list of current and past clients and matters to ferret out conflicts and generally to carry out the functions of the Fourth Estate vis-à-vis courts of law. Such arbitrators should also be required to disclose their assets and their financial and other ties. Their communications with respect to their public function should be discoverable via FOIA-like[10] procedure. They should be required to make their public arbitration proceedings a top priority so as not to delay justice; private engagement should take a back seat. They should also be required to attend relevant trainings and engage in public outreach to the same extent as does the judiciary. It is hard to see how adjudication of public disputes can comply with basic notions of fairness, justice, and legitimacy without such measures. Private parties can, in their contracts, opt out of such protections ex ante. But victims of crimes and torts should not be forced to forgo them ex post. It is, of course, difficult to envision private practitioners submitting themselves and their firms to such measures of transparency and accountability. Simply stated, the private sector is not set up (nor should it be) to fulfill the public function of adjudicating public law disputes.[11]

The forgoing arguments in favor of adjudication, rather than arbitration, of corporate atrocity torts can be further bolstered by pointing out the public policies behind the core features of the American tort system, which provides a constitutionally enshrined right to a jury trial, extensive truth-finding via discovery, and punitive damages both as a deterrent to would-be tortfeasors and as an incentive for private enforcement of the law.[12] All these would be forgone if corporate atrocity torts were channeled into arbitration.[13]

The inescapable conclusion is that, despite the well-documented problems characteristic of international courts,[14] such courts, just like our flawed domestic court system, remain the most defensible way forward for international mass tort litigation arising from corporate atrocity crimes.

* Maya Steinitz is a Professor of Law at the University of Iowa College of Law, an international arbitrator, and a Member of the Court of the Israeli-Palestinian Jerusalem Arbitration Center. I thank Mark Osiel, Nathan Miller, Paul Gowder, Christopher Drahozal and Juan Calderon-Meza for their comments and to Becky Elliot and Nick Schnell for their research assistance. I also thank Gary Born and Garth Schofield for stimulating conversations on this topic.

[1] See generally Maya Steinitz, The Case for an International Court of Civil Justice, 67 Stan. L. Rev. Online 75 (Dec. 2014) which previews a book by the same name (forthcoming, Cambridge University Press) (presenting both justice-based, and economics-based arguments in favor of an ICCJ as well as a procedural and institutional blueprint for a fair, legitimate, and efficient process for both victims and corporations).

[2] This idea is also reflected in the introductory essay to this symposium, Juan Pablo Calderón-Meza et al., An International Jurisdiction for Corporate Atrocity Crimes, 57 Harv. Int’l L.J. (Online Symposium) 1 (2016). An example of this arbitration-expansionist view can be found in Sebastian Perry, Kiev: BITs, BATs and Buts, 8 Global Arb. Rev. (Jan. 28, 2013) (recounting a speech by Gary Born).

[3] See generally Roger P. Alford, The Future of Human Rights Litigation After Kiobel, 89 Notre Dame L. Rev. 1749, 1751–52 (2014); Nathan J. Miller, Human Rights Abuses as Tort Harms: Losses in Translation, 46 Seton Hall L. Rev. 505 (2016).,itigatioion.orated and deterrin(chicago nocity torts,on)Framework of Analysis,n consumer contracts thusincororated and deterrin

[4] For a comprehensive analysis of mass atrocity accountability mechanisms see Mark J. Osiel, After Atrocity: New Approaches to the Restraint and Redress of Mass Killing (forthcoming).

[5] See, e.g., M. Kumm, The Legitimacy of International Law: A Constitutionalist Framework of Analysis, 15 EJIL 907 (2004). See also, generally, Thomas M. Franck, Fairness in International Law and Institutions, (1998). Similar arguments—which apply a fortiori to mass torts that accompanying atrocity crimes—are part of the growing discourse of discontent ,hould also be required toOrder (chicago nocity torts,on)Framework of Analysis,n consumer contracts thusincororated and deterrinsurrounding the privatization of the adjudication of other public disputes: investment disputes. See e.g, EU Calls for Global Investment Court, Financial Times (May 5, 2015); Elizabeth Warren, The Trans-Pacific Partnership Clause Everyone Should Oppose, Wash. Post (February 25, 2015); Gus Van Harten, Investment Treaty Arbitration and Public Law 5 (Vaughan Lowe ed., 2007).

[6] I am alluding to Oscar Schachter’s famous identification of an ‘invisible college of international lawyers.’ See Oscar Schachter, The Invisible College of International Lawyers, 72 Nw. U. L. Rev. 217 (1977). See also, Santiago Villalpando, The ‘Invisible College of International Lawyers’ Forty Years Later, (ESIL 2013 5th Research Forum: International Law as a Profession Conference Paper No 5/2013), http://ssrn.com/abstract=2363640.

[7] Garth & Dezelay, Dealing in Virtue: International Commercial Arbitration and the Construction of a Transnational Legal Order (1996).

[8] Id. at 34–41 (discussing how “Grand Old Men” of arbitration—European men based in academia—were increasingly supplanted by “young technocrats”—mostly-male, mostly-white American mega-firm partners).

[9] See, e.g., Gus van Harten, The (Lack of) Women Arbitrators in Investment Treaty Arbitration, 59 Columbia FDI Perspectives (Feb. 6, 2012). See also Julianne Hughes-Jennett & Rashida Abdulai, Barriers to Entry—the Lack of Diversity in International Arbitration, Lexis PSL Arbitration (2015) (“There is similarly a lack of ethnic diversity in international arbitration: despite 32.3% of the parties to the International Chamber of Commerce (ICC) arbitration in 2013 being from Africa, Asia and the Pacific, less than 15% of the arbitrators appointed in 2013 were from these geographical regions.”). While China and India comprise 33% of the world’s population and 30.4% of global GDP, they represent less than 3% of arbitrators. Id. Africa represents only 0.4%. Id. Meanwhile, Europe (representing 10.37% of the world’s population but 48.2% of the arbitrators) and the United States and Canada (representing 4.93% of the world’s population but 27.9% of the ICCA arbitrators) are overrepresented. Id. There is also a lack of socioeconomic diversity. Id. at 462 (“none of the ICCA subjects were arbitrators or counsel from Low Income states.”). The public sector, by comparison, has done better. Several European countries have more than 50% female judiciaries. Id. Women represent 40% of judicial positions in Germany and 33% in Canada. Id. 39% of United States federal judgeships are occupied by women. See Philip Rucker, Obama Pushing to Diversify Federal Judiciary Amid GOP Delays, Wash. Post (Mar. 3, 2013).

[10] Freedom of Information Act, 5 U.S.C. § 552.

[11] Whether tort law is private, as traditionally viewed, or public, as many contemporary jurists hold, is a matter of some debate. See, e.g., Benhamin C. Zipursky, Palsgraf, Punitive Damages, and Preemption, 125 Harv. L. Rev. 1757, 1771 (2012) (“state tort law today ha[s] actually taken on a compound nature, often blending private law and public law features).

[12] For a review of the evolution of the American mass tort system and the policy considerations underlying its various features see John Coffee, Entrepreneurial Litigation: Its Rise, Fall and Future 95–118 (2016).

[13] Indeed, arbitration has increasingly—and in the face of great political resistance—been used precisely in this way by a U.S. Supreme Court intent on sending entire categories of cases away from courts, judges, and juries into domestic arbitration. However, even the U.S. Supreme Court has not forced the kind of tort cases contemplated herein into arbitration. See the recent New York Times series of articles on the the rise and misuse of domestic arbitration. See Adam Liptak, Supreme Court Allows Contracts That Prohibit Class-Action Arbitration, NY Times (April 27, 2011); Jessica Silver-Greenberg & Robert Gebeloff, Arbitration Everywhere, Stacking the Deck of Justice, NY Times (Oct. 31, 2015); Michael Corkery & Jessica Silver-Greenberg, In Religious Arbitration, Scripture is the Rule of Law, N.Y. Times, (Nov. 2, 2015).

[14] See generally S. Gozie Ogbodo, An Overview of the Challenges Facing the International Court of Justice in the 21st Century, 18 Ann. Surv. of Int’l and Comp. L. 93 (2012) (arguing the court is ill-equipped to handle international disputes in the 21st century); Michelle Kwon, The Inefficiency of International Justice, Geo. J. Int’l Aff. Blog (Apr. 18, 2012), http:// journal.georgetown.edu/2012/04/18/the-inefficiency-of-international-justice-by-michelle-kwon/ (discussing the failures of post-war, international tribunals); Stuart Ford, Complexity and Efficiency at International Criminal Courts, 29 Emory Int’l L. Rev. 1 (2014) (asserting that international criminal tribunals are not cost or time-efficient).

A Proposal for an International Arbitration Tribunal on Business and Human Rights

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By Claes Cronstedt*  and Robert C. Thompson**

The world has suffered in the last half-century an endless avalanche of repetitious and overlapping rules, cascading from UN conferences and commissions and conventions. It is time to enforce a few of them, with the help of international tribunals sufficiently learned and independent to be accredited with judicial wisdom.
Geoffrey Robertson QC[1]

In the latter part of the twentieth century, globalization gathered momentum and increasingly states became unable to efficiently regulate the growing cross border trade and flow of capital and investment and the accompanying behavior of multinational business enterprises (MNEs) and their supply chains. This created a governance gap that left victims of business-related human rights abuses without access to effective remedies.[2] The present system of legal remedies is patchy, unpredictable, and ineffective. The national courts are often politically influenced or swayed by corruption. Hence, the system is failing victims who are unable to access effective remedies for the abuses they have suffered. And it is failing many MNEs as well, which often are operating in environments of great legal uncertainty and where participants are not competing on anything even close to a level playing field.

There is a historical parallel to which we can turn. Let’s go back to the medieval city-states in Europe, where the merchants traded across borders. The merchants were organized into guilds, often with considerable power. Their trade practices developed out of the needs of the market and created norms through custom. These norms were Lex Mercatoria, the “Law Merchant.” The merchants had their own courts of arbitration and elected their own judges. Using high moral standards, these courts swiftly settled disputes. A merchant who violated these norms or refused to obey an arbitral decision could find that other merchants would not do business with him. Ultimately these practices crystallized into different national laws during the 19th century, and Lex Mercatoria faded away.

To be successful, businesses today must have good relations with other stakeholders in society. In order to address the widespread governance gap that we have witnessed since globalisation has gained traction and created global markets, we see the emergence of a set of private transnational norms and rules outside national laws. This has come to be called “New Lex Mercatoria.”[3] It is comprised of initiatives, such as the ones covering the entire scope of corporate social responsibility (CSR)—for example, the UN Global Compact, the ISO 26000 guidance standard on social responsibility and the Global Reporting Initiative (G4), and certain specific sector initiatives such as the Kimberly Process Initiative (conflict diamonds), the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative, and the Equator Principles (environmental and social risk management for project finance).

These initiatives represent examples of collective self-regulation, norms, or soft laws that have been established after pressure from society at large and are now growing worldwide with minimal intervention by national politics. This development is very encouraging. However, when corporate human rights abuses occur, there is still no effective access to justice for the victims.

We are therefore proposing that the reach of existing international arbitration rules and institutions be broadened to include human rights disputes involving MNEs, their business partners, and victims of abuses.[4] This is an area heretofore largely untouched by arbitration. The first step would be for a team of experts in international and human rights law that represents diverse stakeholders to evaluate existing international arbitration and mediation rules, such as UNCITRAL’s recently adopted rules that make arbitration transparent to the public.[5] They would be asked to determine whether any changes need to be made to ensure that the particular needs of parties in business and human rights matters can be accommodated by them—and if not, to draft appropriate changes. The resulting rules would be administered by one of the most highly regarded arbitral institutions, which would maintain rosters of arbitrators and mediators with recognized expertise in human rights matters. We refer to this new arrangement as “the International Arbitration Tribunal on Business and Human Rights” or “the Tribunal.”

International arbitration under the auspices of the Tribunal would offer these features:

  • Instead of proceedings in overloaded courts which often take five to ten years to reach a decision, the Tribunal could significantly shorten the time (and cost) for resolving a dispute.
  • Instead of having to submit to judges chosen by “the luck of the draw” in national courts, the parties could choose arbitrators who are independent, impartial, and have high levels of expertise related to human rights disputes.
  • The Tribunal would make available skilled mediators specialized in assisting in the resolution of human rights conflicts at an early stage, which would avoid escalation in legal disputes and reduce legal costs.
  • Hearings could take place virtually anywhere in the world and even online.
  • Legal development on business and human rights would be enhanced over time through the publication of a body of reasoned arbitration decisions.
  • Instead of being dependent on existing complex and frail mechanisms for enforcing court judgements, international arbitral awards could benefit from existing mechanisms for enforcement, including the 1958 UN Convention on Recognition and Enforcement of Foreign Arbitral Awards, to which 156 states have acceded.

Arbitration requires the consent of all parties to a dispute. Consent can be obtained in various ways: In the absence of an arbitration agreement signed in advance of the occurrence of a dispute, the parties could choose arbitration rather than a court, owing to the advantages that arbitration offers. If a dispute arises where the victims have no access to a court, an MNE might feel that even in spite of its legal immunity it should voluntarily submit to binding arbitration, motivated, positively, by its sense of corporate social responsibility or, more defensively, by a fear that its refusal to cooperate in a solution could boost negative reactions from the society at large. Moreover, companies that do not agree to refer human rights disputes to the Tribunal may find it difficult to compete in public procurement or to be included in World Bank finance programs. Sooner or later, such outsiders will not be welcome as business partners.

Additionally, MNEs that have an interest in seeing their business partners and supply chains free from human rights abuses could insert human rights clauses into their supply and other contracts along with a so-called “escalation clause” whereby the parties agree to a process for resolving disputes. This process begins with direct negotiations, to be followed by mediation and then, if that does not work, by arbitration. The Tribunal could be named as the provider of both mediation and arbitration services. This arrangement would be a strong incentive for business partners and suppliers to live up to their commitments.

Furthermore, lending to or investing in an MNE that becomes linked to human rights abuses involves the risk that the loan or investment could suffer from any resulting economic impacts on the enterprise. Thus, lenders and investors could add to their lending criteria a requirement that their supply chain and other contracts include human rights and arbitration clauses. Such contracts could even allow potential victims, as third party beneficiaries, to initiate or join the proceedings. Or public agencies that have human rights responsibilities could insist that MNEs utilize such an approach, either as a condition of doing business within the agencies’ jurisdictions or in return for any governmental authorization or assistance.

Arbitration under the auspices of the Tribunal would complement the work of other stakeholders in the effort to improve access to justice. For example, the Tribunal could be an avenue for MNEs to implement their responsibilities under the UN Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights to “prevent,” “mitigate” and “remediate” their adverse human rights impacts and also help to fulfill the need for remedy expressed in the Principles. Also, the OECD National Contact Points, whose role is to urge parties to settle their disputes informally, could recommend that the parties submit cases that do not settle to the Tribunal for arbitration. Additionally, the Tribunal could be referenced in future versions of the Equator Principles.

The Tribunal proposal has attracted international interest and positive responses. NGOs argue that the Tribunal should be tailored to the specific needs of victims of business-related human rights abuses. The business responses indicate a favorable view of arbitration as a potential fast lane for dispute resolution and a way to level the corporate playing field by reducing the use of human rights abuses as a form of unfair competition.

In the growing movement for access to justice, the Tribunal would operate on a parallel or complementary track with the court systems. It would become one of the most effective avenues to rid the world of abuses.

* Claes Cronstedt is a member of the Swedish bar and a former international partner of Baker & McKenzie.

** Robert C. Thompson (Harvard AB 1962, LLB 1967) is a member of the California bar, a former Associate General Counsel of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and a former partner of LeBoeuf, Lamb, Greene & MacRae LLP.

[1] Geoffrey Robertson, Crimes Against Humanity: The Struggle for Global Justice xviii (2000).

[2] John Gerard Ruggie: “…how to close the gaps between the scope and impact of economic forces and actors, and the capacity of societies to manage their adverse consequences. Among other effects, these governance gaps, as I call them, provide the permissive environment for wrongful acts by companies without adequate sanctioning or reparation. How to narrow and ultimately bridge such governance gaps in relation to human rights is the focus of my work.” (Testimony at UN General Assembly, 27 October 2008)

[3] John Gerard Ruggie & John F. Sherman III, Adding Human Rights Punch to the New Lex Mercatoria: The Impact of the UN Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights on Commercial Legal Practice (September 8, 2015), http://ssrn.com/abstract=2657885.

[4] Claes Cronstedt & Robert C. Thompson, An International Arbitration Tribunal on Business and Human Rights – Version 5 (Apr. 14, 2015), http://www.l4bb.org/news/TribunalV5B.pdf.

[5] UNCITRAL Arbitration Rules, United Nations Commission on International Trade Law, http://www.uncitral.org/uncitral/en/uncitral_texts/arbitration/2010Arbitration_rules.html (last visited Apr. 28, 2016)

Legal Innovations for Corporate Accountability under International Law: A Critique

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By Angel Gabriel Cabrera Silva*

The pursuit of morally driven concepts of justice may find a constant struggle to navigate through the maze of institutional arrangements, procedures, political objectives, and techniques of international law. In order to exert an effective influence over social problems, the role of international legal innovators has sometimes relied upon an eclectic approach that reconciles multiple competing interests by encompassing them completely.[1] Thus, the background process of legal innovation necessarily requires some degree of principle bargaining. This particular characteristic is probably the reason why a paradoxical nature underlies several of international law’s sectoral divisions.

For example, a close analysis of international criminal law unveils how the pursuit of historical truth and justice can sometimes lead to the contradictory effect of creating a show trial or turning criminals into martyrs.[2] Similarly, critiques of human rights law demonstrate how the state’s function as the main guarantor of rights consistently collides with the state’s unavoidable role as main violator of human rights.[3] In both examples, the cognitive narrative that is created to set in motion a legalized process or techno-strategic language,[4] turns out to be counter-productive or ineffective to the original intended outcome. Assessing the necessity—or in this case, desirability—of proposing legal innovations to bring justice for corporate actors requires us to consider this possibility.

Through this Article, I will explore the adequacy of creating new law or institutions to hold corporations accountable for human rights violations. I must clarify though, that I do not advocate for impunity or take a critical position against justice. On the contrary, I intend only to assert that any authentic concern for justice demands careful assessment to ensure that the design of any new process or institution takes into account the possible externalities and unintended outcomes it may provoke.

On this matter, I will start by addressing Maya Steinitz’s proposal to create an International Court on Civil Justice. This idea would appeal to international lawyers’ desire for centralizing decision-making and ensuring the completeness and coherence of the legal system. Abstractly proposed, it is also attractive to individuals seeking redress and perhaps even to corporations looking for more legal certainty regarding the consequences of their activities. As Steinitz affirms, it is not far-fetched that corporations may “gain from the vastly more efficient system of dispute”[5] by avoiding indirect costs related to fragmented litigation. Indeed, creating such a court could tilt the balance of power relations between transnational corporations, states, and individuals. However, it might do so in a way that, instead of having a deterrent effect against inappropriate behavior, would merely grant corporations a clear sense of the price they must pay for any particular conduct. In that sense, the uncertainty of the decentralized transnational legal processes may actually allow individuals on the receiving end of power relations to design innovative strategies that would become unavailable if the accountability mechanisms were narrowed to a sole international court conducting its procedures according to a unified set of rules.

Furthermore, the eventual establishment of such a court would forcefully follow—or at the most, it would form part of—a codification initiative. Such a process is, in fact, currently taking place within the Human Rights Council. It is thus timely that we discuss the potential drawbacks of that type of initiative and consider the critiques against the proponents of legalization and their doctrinal positions in particular. In this regard, it is important to note John Ruggie’s warning about the risk of attempting to codify an inherently complex and dynamic subject through an inevitably generalizing and static framework.[6] It is unclear how a body of hard law could respond to the evolving nature of the corporate world and how it could remain compatible with the shifting nature of the global economy while simultaneously offering effective protection to changing humanitarian interests. Proponents of a rigid set of rules may overestimate the reach of legalization and underestimate the unavoidable fragmentation of international law and the costs derived from the future uncertainty of the problems.

This naiveté, as Ruggie suggests, may result from a belief that creating more law translates into bringing more justice, while experience demonstrates that resources could be better allocated in other types of initiatives. According to this perspective, it could be that, while diplomats and NGOs were expending great effort in negotiating such a treaty, they lost sight of how to pursue the desired outcomes through other means, such as on a national or case-by-case basis. The idealization of law as an inherently effective tool for social change may be blinding humanitarians once more. Similarly, extending this critique could also lead us to consider the unfortunate possibility that, even if such a treaty were to be adopted in the future, it would risk becoming outdated in a relatively short period. This has happened before with human rights treaties and institutions that currently struggle to adapt to a globalization process in which nation-states are no longer the only or the main threat to humanitarian interests.

The question remains as to how—and if—international law may increase the accountability of corporations. To address this matter, it is important to look back and draw lessons from previous experiences. On this matter, one analogical analysis can be made about the international codification processes regarding mercenaries (who, like corporations, are private actors capable of committing severe human rights abuses).

The international law on mercenaries presents us with an archetypal case of how the strengthening of norms can sometimes be effective through weak law and how institutionalization can actually damage the content of a norm.[7] The first international anti-mercenary law was adopted as part of the negotiations of the Protocol Additional to the Geneva Convention of 1949.[8] Since then, it became evident that the results of this legalization process, instead of boosting the effectiveness of a widely accepted anti-mercenary social norm, created a law so flawed that “any mercenary who cannot exclude himself from [its] definition deserves to be shot—and his lawyer with him!”[9]

When the legalization of a somewhat solid norm—such as the norm claiming to hold corporations accountable for human rights violations—provokes the collision of harshly opposing interests, the legal precision sought by institutionalization processes requires bargaining. This bargaining process may solidify a compromise that undermines the effectiveness of a social norm that would otherwise have empowered strategic projects and deterred misconduct. As Sarah Percy states, while codification may spread the precise content of a sufficiently developed norm, it also risks curtailing the effectiveness of contested normative propositions by narrowing the scope of their influence, by delegitimizing them if the adopted law goes unenforced, or by creating loopholes that can be exploited.

Defining the type and extent of corporate liability under hard international law, as well as the remedies and processes for their enforcement would require a negotiation process, possibly leading to an overtly ambiguous or overgeneralizing norm that may end up curtailing the possibility of attaining justice.

In spite of these concerns, one final remark is possible in favor of the current projects seeking to increase corporate accountability. By invigorating the discussion, the ongoing deliberative process may spread the normative content of a claim for justice against corporate abuses. This effect should serve to proliferate the internalization of such a norm, thus creating a favorable environment for pursuing projects aimed at holding corporations accountable. As the norm develops, legalization may provoke a normative cascade leading to compliance. However, before proposing such a measure, we should recall Cicero’s advice and remember that sometimes more laws means less justice.

* Angel Gabriel Cabrera Silva is an LLM Candidate at Harvard University. He is currently a Fulbright, CONACYT-Funed and FMH Scholar. He also holds a law degree from the University of Guadalajara, Mexico. The author thanks all these institutions, as well as Harvard University and the University of Guadalajara, for their support allowing him to take part of this initiative.

[1] See, e.g., an interesting assessment of this eclecticism during the creation of modern international institutions. Nathaniel Berman, Modernism, Nationalism and the Rhetoric of Reconstruction, 4 Yale J. of L. and Hum. 351 (1992).

[2] See Marti Koskenniemi, Between Impunity and Show Trials, 6 Max Planck Yearbook for United Nations Law, 1−35 (2002).

[3] See Makau Mutua, Savages, Victims, and Saviors: The Metaphor of Human Rights, 42 Harv. Int’l L. J. 201 (2001).

[4] A techno-strategic language refers to a specialized argot used by professionals within a specific field of knowledge. This concept attempts to describe the way in which technical words used to frame discussions within a professional field, are also influencing the strategic thinking of the professionals actively engaged in the practice. For example, the military jargon will be influencing the way that military officers perceive and engage within a specific circumstance, in a way that deviates from the how a person not using that language would engage. See, e.g., C. Cohn, Sex and Death in the Rational World of Defense Intellectuals, 12 Signs 4, 687−718 (1987).

[5] Maya Steinitz, The Case for an International Court of Civil Justice, 67 Stan. L. Rev. Online 75 (2014).

[6] See John G. Ruggie, The Past as Prologue? A Moment of Truth for UN Business and Human Rights Treaty, Institute for Human Rights and Business (July 08, 2014), http://www.ihrb.org/commentary/board/ past-as-prologue.html.

[7] See Sarah V. Percy, Mercenaries: Strong Norm, Weak Law, 61 International Organization 2 (2007).

[8] Through Article 47 of Protocol I Additional to the Geneva Conventions & the International Convention against the Recruitment, Use, Financing, and Training of Mercenaries.

[9] Geoffrey Best, Humanity in Warfare: The Modern History of the International Law of Armed Conflicts (1980), cited in Sarah V. Percy, Mercenaries: Strong Norm, Weak Law, 61 International Organization 2 (2007)


History in Action: Colombia Prepares for Plebiscite on Peace Deal

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By Kelsey Jost-Creegan*

This article is the first of a series of articles to be published on the Colombian Peace Process over the course of the next weeks. We hope to offer in-depth and substantive analysis to an English-speaking and international audience, reflective of the many rich debates that are currently taking place in Colombia.  

 

This Sunday, Colombian citizens will decide whether to approve the Peace Agreement reached on August 24th between the Colombian government and the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia – People’s Army (FARC). The Agreement was signed on Monday, September 26th in Cartagena, Colombia, but a favorable vote is essential for the Peace Process to move forward.

 

Background: The Colombian Conflict

The Colombian Conflict is the longest-running armed conflict in the Western Hemisphere, and the only one that continues to be active. The conflict has left over 260,000 people dead, 45,000 people disappeared, and 6.6 million people displaced. The conflict is highly complex and involves a number of actors that have evolved over time, including leftist guerrillas, right-wing paramilitaries, and national armed forces.

Atrocious crimes—murder, disappearance, displacement, sexual violence, torture, and massacres—have been committed at different points in the conflict by all parties involved. The Latin America Working Group explains, “[r]ural, impoverished, and marginalized communities—including Afro-Colombians, indigenous, and women—were disproportionately affected by the violence.”

The current conflict has its roots in the formation of armed leftist guerilla movements that spread across Latin America in the 1960s, opposing political elites and extreme socioeconomic and regional inequality. While these movements were in some ways novel, political violence revolving around issues of land rights and rural inequality had been a reoccurring problem since Colombia’s founding. Conflicts in the 1920s between landowners and small-scale farmers in Colombia’s coffee region, the 1948 assassination of presidential candidate Jorge Eliécer Gaitán, and the subsequent ten years of conflict known as “La Violencia” are just a few examples of this unrest.

 

Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia – People’s Army (FARC)

The FARC, formed in 1964, was one of these guerilla groups. It follows a Marxist-Leninist ideology, and has its roots in campesino (peasant farmer) advocacy for land rights. It began as one of a number of campesino groups fostered by the Communist Party (PCC) that declared “independent republics” in the countryside, where the government’s institutional presence had always been weak. The FARC’s campesino forebears declared an independent “Republic of Marquetalia” in 1964. When the government responded with heavy military force—sending nearly 2,000 soldiers to counter a settlement with less than 100 members—the campesinos retreated into the jungle. Two months later, the 48 remaining campesinos signed the Agrarian Program of the Guerrillas, effectively establishing the FARC.

Beginning in the 1970s, and increasing significantly in the 1980s, the FARC became involved in drug trafficking and kidnapping to finance their movement. Their involvement with drugs began by imposing taxes on farms growing drugs, but with time escalated to include direct production and export. Right-wing paramilitary groups also consolidated and expanded during this period, prompting a severe escalation in violence.

Over time, the FARC transformed significantly. In 1982 the organization “transformed . . . from a defensive group to an offensive national entity.” In the 1990s it broke off from the PCC, although it continued to preach Marxist-Leninism. It was around this time that the FARC developed the highly hierarchical structure under which it has operated to this day.

It is estimated that, at its peak, the FARC had nearly 20,000 members, though that number has diminished to between 6,300 and 7,000 active members today. The FARC is also believed to have an affiliated militia; estimates for the number of militia members vary anywhere from 5,800 to 13,000 and there is little consensus as to their role and whether they are armed.

 

The New Peace Agreement: 4 Years of Negotiations, 6 Parts, and 300 Pages

The current Peace Agreement is the result of nearly four years of negotiations held in Havana, Cuba. Formal negotiations, which began on November 19, 2012, followed two years of preliminary negotiations to determine negotiation process.

This is not the first time that the Colombian government has tried to negotiate with the FARC. Presidents Belisario Betancur (1982–1986) and Andrés Pastrana (1998–2001) both oversaw negotiations. However, both attempts failed and the violence continued. This is the first time the groups have reached a full agreement and, accordingly, the first time such an agreement will be put to a vote.

The Final Agreement for the End of the Conflict and the Construction of a Stable and Lasting Peace is lengthy and complex—composed of Six Parts and totaling nearly 300 pages, it covers topics ranging from land reform to drug policy to transitional justice. Later articles in this series will provide a detailed breakdown of each Part.

Given the Agreement’s length and complexity, there have been concerns about the extent to which the voting population will be able to make an informed decision, particularly given the quick turnaround between its release and vote (just over a month). To this end, the Colombian High Commissioner for Peace established a website summarizing the Agreement’s main points in both Spanish and a variety of indigenous languages. Civil society organizations have also made audio recordings, online videos, and Whatsapp groups to cover main takeaways and answer questions.

 

The Approval Process: Where are we now?

A multistep approval process began to unfold once the Agreement was announced.

Developments to Date

  • August 24: The Colombian government and the FARC announce they have reached agreement.
  • September 24: The FARC announces that its members have unanimously approved the deal through a Congress of Block Leaders, each block being a regional unit of the rebel army. The FARC has used similar Congresses to make important decisions since its inception, though most were held earlier in the FARC’s history. This Congress of Block Leaders was held in Llanos de Yarí, and was the first open to civilians and the press.
  • September 26: President Santos and FARC leader Rodrigo Lodoño—alias Timochenko—sign the Agreements in Cartagena, the first formal part of the Peace Process to take place on Colombian soil. Note that President Santos signed the Agreement before the Plebiscite, likely a political decision made in the hopes of building momentum going into Sunday’s vote.

 

The Plebiscite

The Plebiscite will ask: Do you support the agreement to end the conflict and construct a stable and lasting peace? A simple majority of at least 13% of registered voters is needed to pass the agreement (approximately 4.4 million votes).

The Plebiscite’s legal standing is complex. In Colombia, a plebiscite is a form of political participation similar but not identical to a referendum; while a referendum generates a binding decision about a piece of legislation, a plebiscite aims to gauge whether there is support for presidential action. According to the Colombian Constitutional Court, the Plebiscite has three goals: (1) obtain democratic legitimacy; (2) make the Agreement more lasting (on the theory that future politicians would be more likely to uphold it); and (3) accordingly, offer the parties guarantees in moving forward with the Agreement’s terms. Officially, it is only binding on the President, meaning that, in theory, Congress could independently move forward with the deal even if voters turn it down, and may even be able to restore the President’s power to implement the Agreement. Conversely, a majority vote in favor of the agreement would also not be legally binding—the government will still need to pass its ‘Legislative Act for Peace,’ which includes amendments to five Constitutional articles. However, it seems unlikely that other government organs will move forward if the Agreement is not approved by the Plebiscite, as it would lack a public mandate. Theoretically the President could also negotiate another agreement, but the parties have said that they would not return to negotiations if this one doesn’t pass, potentially pushing the possibility for peace further into the future.

 

The Political Landscape: Support and Opposition

The weeks leading up to the Plebiscite have been rife with political tensions as political leaders on both sides of the issue press their case to the public.

Public polling on the agreement have been mixed, but several recent surveys suggest that the agreement will pass. When asking how citizens would vote if the Plebiscite were tomorrow, Cifras & Conceptos found that 54% would vote yes and 34% no, Opinómetro found that 55.3% would vote yes and 38.3% would vote no, and Ipsos found that 72% would vote yes and 28% no. However, even these three most recent polls indicate that the gap has narrowed since July.

The government has been campaigning in favor of the agreement, claiming that the deal represents a critical opportunity for peace and the best deal possible in light of four years of intensive negotiation. Americas Society/Council of the Americas argues that, “the burden of proof is on the Yes campaign, which some say has the burden of convincing us to choose peace—a hypothetical concept for many of the country’s 48 million who’ve lived their own lives under the 52-year conflict.” The government has also emphasized that the Agreement prohibits amnesty for crimes against humanity and war crimes and provides a process for victim rights.

Opposition to the Agreement continues to be voiced by important political leaders, including Presidents Álvaro Uribe (2002–2010) and Andrés Pastrana (1998–2002) and former Inspector General Alejandro Ordóñez. The opposition has focused on crimes committed by the FARC and argues that the FARC would effectively be granted impunity for those crimes. They also argue against provisions that would allow FARC members to participate in the political process.

 

International Involvement

The international community has been heavily involved in the lead-up to the Plebiscite.

On Tuesday, September 13th the United Nations Security Council approved the creation of a political mission, composed of “450 observers and a number of civilian,” to monitor and verify a future ceasefire. That mission is already on the ground, ahead of schedule. The U.N. Mission also supported a seven-day training session on monitoring the ceasefire in early September.

A number of international organizations, including UNICEF and the International Organization for Migration, are also participating in coordinated action agreed upon in Havana to oversee the demobilization of minors recruited by the FARC.

 

Looking forward

While most media coverage has framed this Agreement as the end of Colombia’s internal armed conflict, in reality it is only an essential first step towards achieving an end to the war and constructing a lasting peace. The demobilization of the FARC and the implementation of other measures outlined by the Peace Agreement would be an enormous achievement in deescalating the conflict. However if the Agreement passes it will be necessary to stay alert to the power vacuum that dismantling the FARC would create and the different actors that could be waiting to fill that vacuum. Ultimately, achieving peace with the remaining leftist guerrilla group—the National Liberation Army (ELN)—and dismantling successor paramilitary groups and other criminal organizations will be essential to building peace. Later articles in this series will explore these dynamics.

 


* Kelsey Jost-Creegan is a 3L at Harvard Law School and a former Article Editor with the Harvard International Law Journal. During law school she completed a semester exchange at the Universidad de Los Andes in Bogotá and interned at the Centro de Estudios de Derecho, Justicia y Sociedad – Dejusticia and the Centro de Estudios para la Justicia Social – Tierra Digna.

The Framing of International Adjudication for Corporate Misconduct

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By Daniel Litwin & Elsa Savourey

International courts and arbitral tribunals, the mechanisms we identify with international adjudication as binding third-party dispute settlement, do not have a universal and fixed meaning. In today’s increasingly diverse landscape of international adjudication, these mechanisms are described and classified according to different and often competing frames that stem from lawyers’ assumptions and views about international courts and arbitral tribunals.[1] The meaning of these mechanisms is framed in terms of, inter alia, lawyers’ expertise in a specialized regime (such as trade law, human rights law, or environmental law) and, more broadly, their background in domestic legal systems.

A discussion about international jurisdiction for corporate misconduct, either as a jurisdiction using existing mechanisms or through the creation of new mechanisms, requires that we understand these frames. The frames lawyers use to understand international courts and arbitral tribunals condition how they are structured and institutionalized, and what criteria are used to determine whether these mechanisms are, for example, legitimate, working for the public interest, and effective. Thus, recognizing and identifying these frames should precede any discussion about an international jurisdiction for corporate misconduct.

In this brief contribution, we review a number of the proposals for an international jurisdiction for corporate misconduct that have been put forward in a recent Harvard International Law Journal online symposium (“ILJ online symposium”) and draw attention to the possible frames that may shape their analysis.[2] We begin by looking at one of the most widely shared frames: the background of international lawyers as domestic lawyers. Subsequently, we consider the frames that stem from specialized international legal regimes and take the example of investment arbitration and its influence on proposals for arbitral tribunals for corporate misconduct. Further, we review the effect of these frames on non-juridical mechanisms including the complex sanctions-regime that already exists for corporate misconduct. We conclude with a call for moving beyond these existing frames in order to open space for self-reflection and new thinking.[3]

  1. Thinking in Terms of the Domestic Context

Proposals for an international court to address corporate misconduct may be framed with presumptions and perceptions from the domestic legal training that forms the basic legal education of most international lawyers.[4] This background serves the longstanding assumption that the international legal system should contain the judicial branch that is characteristic of domestic systems.[5] Thus, according to this view, international courts form an innate part of the international legal system, and the domestic judiciary is a benchmark for its international counterpart.

The rise of specialized international legal regimes, self-contained and fragmented,[6] has challenged the idea of a hierarchical system of international courts with the International Court of Justice (“ICJ”) analogous to a domestic supreme court. Yet this has not been followed by inquiries into the internal structure and practices of international courts as traditionally conceived in terms of analogy to the domestic context.[7] Debating the relevance of this sort of analogy could contribute to creative thinking. In that sense, it opens the possibility of considering the various challenges and practices specific to the implementation of an international jurisdiction for corporate misconduct on its own terms.

Recognizing the differences between international courts and domestic courts also opens room for a discussion on the increased significance of domestic jurisdictions in constraining transnational corporate misconduct. If international courts are distinct as to structure and practices from their domestic counterparts, each with their specific rationalities, then it is easier to see domestic and international mechanisms as complementary rather than in perpetual struggle for authority and hegemony. Thinking in terms of complementarity is all the more important as, for example, domestic and European legal instruments increasingly require companies to respect human rights in the course of their activities and their supply chains. As a result, corporate misconduct can increasingly be brought before domestic civil and criminal courts.[8]

Thus, in an increasingly globalized world, are international courts not simply one key piece amongst others in the creation of a new era of global corporate accountability? From this perspective, international and domestic mechanisms each have a reasonable claim to authority. This dismissal of hegemony and recognition of complementarity, leads to a complex series of possible judicial configurations. Action may be taken by domestic courts at the host state or home state level,[9] and at the international level by existing or new mechanisms. To address the complexity of these possible configurations, we need to move away from ready-made solutions that are imported from existing frames.

  1. Thinking in Terms of Specialization

Discussions about international jurisdiction are also framed by specialized international legal regimes. These specializations, such as trade law or human rights law, lead to an understanding of international courts and arbitral tribunals as they are implemented in a specialized regime. As a result, although the term “court” appears to retain a general and objective meaning, it means very different things when it is assimilated to, for instance, the International Criminal Court or the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea, as they prioritize distinct concerns.

Take the example of international arbitration and investment arbitration. The perceived success of investment arbitration, at least in terms of case-load and effectiveness, has seen it advanced frequently in this Symposium as a model or tool for arbitrating corporate misconduct. Yet this approach by analogy risks putting forward or giving precedence to the specialization of investment arbitration as a “best practice” although arbitration in this specialization is structured to pursue objectives different from corporate misconduct.

Thinking along specialized frames aligns the design of an eventual arbitral tribunal for corporate misconduct with that of a system designed for the significantly different purpose of investment protection. This framing risks inhibiting the conception of international arbitration for corporate misconduct in new terms or at least terms aligned with concerns raised by corporate misconduct. For instance, considerations of statist consent are important in investment arbitration, but these considerations may obfuscate a rethink of alternative means of conceiving consent in a post-Westphalian international arbitration turned to victims of corporate misconduct.[10]

Along similar lines, criticisms of arbitration that refer nearly exclusively to the inadequacies and shortcomings of investment arbitration on the grounds that it lacks of legitimacy and public accountability[11] run the risk of framing the possible structure and practices of international arbitration in terms exclusively developed by the investment context. By equating investment arbitration with international arbitration more generally, these criticisms, paradoxically, serve to frame international arbitration in terms of the very investment regime they criticize. This confusion limits the possibilities of international arbitration to those developed in the investment context.

  1. Thinking Beyond Adjudication?

The same caution with analogic thinking to the domestic legal system can be extended more broadly to the perceived need for international jurisdiction in the first place—the topic of the ILJ online symposium. If analogies to the domestic context require that we envision some form of international jurisdiction, then existing non-judicial means to address corporate misconduct are necessarily perceived as insufficient and incomplete. As a result, the achievements of non-judicial mechanisms can lose their luster in the process.

The United Nations Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights and the OECD Guidelines on Multinational Enterprises have created impetus for the development of non-judicial mechanisms. These mechanisms are being developed by private and public entities, at the domestic or international level. They are opening new avenues of redress for victims whose human rights were adversely impacted by corporate misconduct.

For example, a number of companies have developed grievance mechanisms as a means to identify potential and actual adverse impacts on human rights and means of redress for victims. Similarly, the OECD National Contact Points offer stakeholders and members of civil society a means to resolve human rights based conflicts between affected communities and companies. Admittedly, these mechanisms are still in development; the perceived requirement for international jurisdiction, however, could take attention away from their continued development and articulation with existing international and domestic judicial mechanisms.

Besides, a focus on a single international jurisdiction mechanism may overshadow the complex sanctions-regime that already exists for corporate misconduct. These sanctions can be reputational (when misconduct affects a company’s reputation), they can be operational (when the continuation of a project is put in jeopardy because some fundamental rights of local communities have not been respected), and they can be financial (when the multilateral development banks and private banks withdraw funding for a project found to be non-compliant with human rights). This sanctions-regime deserves more scrutiny. It could be more amenable and adaptable to the complexities of corporate misconduct than international jurisdiction, and it could be further accompanied by the development of more accessible remedies for victims of corporate misconduct than judicial proceedings.

Afterword

This contribution has sought to query how decisions about the internal structure and practices of international mechanisms for corporate misconduct could be framed by lawyers according to the terms of domestic legal systems or specialized legal regimes. Emphasizing frames raises a new set of questions and places a different focus on the question formulated in the ILJ online symposium. Instead of speaking in terms of the possibility of international adjudication for corporate misconduct, we suggest speaking in terms of its possibility but according to which frame.

Our observations and questions are not meant to close the door to international courts or arbitral tribunals as jurisdictions for corporate misconduct. However, if we consider action against corporate misconduct to be a legitimate pursuit, then we need to move beyond discussions confined solely to the creation of these mechanisms in order to critically engage with how international adjudication is described and re-described.[12]

In particular, focus should be placed on the assumptions and background beliefs behind the terms “international court” and “international arbitration”:[13] What should these terms mean in the context of corporate misconduct, and what do these meanings entail? Discussions should not be limited to narratives that portray the mere act of creation, in this case an international court or arbitral tribunal for corporate misconduct, as the means to normalize complicated tensions among competing frames. Identifying the multiple frames that can be used to describe international courts and tribunals provides a map of consensus and dissensus. This map allows us to reveal current assumptions and existing boundaries so that we may knowingly account for them or move beyond them when debating the development of international jurisdiction for corporate misconduct.


* Daniel is a graduate from McGill University (B.C.L./LL.B.) and the University of Cambridge (LL.M.). He is a Legal Adviser at the Iran-United States Claims Tribunal. Elsa is an attorney-at-law and a graduate from Harvard Law School (LL.M.) and from Sciences Po Law School and Pantheon-Sorbonne (Masters). She is part of the Business and Human Rights practice group of Herbert Smith Freehills.

[1] We understand frames as the predispositions (or principles of organization) that delimit our perception of the real. See generally Erving Goffman, Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience (1974).

[2] We speak only in terms of “frames” due to the limited scope of this contribution. We have not engaged with similar ideas such as “interpretive communities,” “structural bias,” “expertise”, or “unreliable narration.” For a recent overview, see Matthew Windsor, Narrative Kill or Capture: Unreliable Narration in International Law, 28 Leiden J. Int’l L. 743 (2015).

[3] The need for innovation and new thinking has been noted by several contributors to the ILJ online symposium. See, e.g., Ana Maria Mondragón, Corporate Impunity for Human Rights Violations in the Americas: The Inter-American System of Human Rights as an Opportunity for Victims to Achieve Justice, Harvard Int’l L. J. Online (July 7, 2016) and Angel Gabriel Cabrera Silva, Legal Innovations for Corporate Accountability under International Law: A Critique, Harvard Int’l L. J. Online (July 7, 2016).

[4] See, e.g., James Crawford, Chance, Order, Change: The Course of International, General Course on Public International Law 152−53 (2014).

[5] See Martti Koskenniemi, The Fate of Public International Law: Between Technique and Politics, 70 Modern L. Rev. 1, 1−2 (2007).

[6] See UN International Law Commission, Fragmentation of International Law: Difficulties Arising from the Diversification and Expansion of International Law, A/CN.4/L.682 (Apr. 13, 2006).

[7] For a discussion on this method of inquiry, see Mikael Rask Madsen, Sociological Approaches to International Courts, in Cesare P. R. Romano, Karen J. Alter & Chrisanthi Avgerou, eds., Oxford Handbook on International Adjudication (2014).

[8] See, e.g., U.K. Modern Slavery Act 2015 (c. 30), art. 54; Directive 2014/95/EU of 22 October 2014 amending Directive 2013/34/EU as regards disclosure of non-financial and diversity information (L330/1); Regulation (EU) 2016/679 of 27 April 2016 on the protection of natural persons with regard to the processing of personal data and on the free movement of such data, and repealing Directive 95/46/EC (General Data Protection Regulation) (L119/1)

[9] In the ILJ online symposium, see, e.g., Gabriela Quijano, Where Can Victims of Corporate Human Rights Atrocities Turn for Justice?, Harvard Int’l L. J. Online (July 7, 2016).

[10] See the various approaches to obtaining consent suggested in the ILJ online symposium by Juan Pablo Calderón-Meza, Arbitration for Human Rights: Seeking Civil Redress for Corporate Atrocity Crimes, Harvard Int’l L. J. Online (July 7, 2016).

[11] In the ILJ online symposium, see Amb. David Scheffer, Corporate Liability under the Rome Statute, Harvard Int’l L. J. Online (July 7, 2016).

[12] On this process in international law, see, e.g., Koskenniemi, supra note 5, at 7.

[13] On changes in the meaning of international adjudication from the perspective of its paraphernalia, see Daniel Litwin, Stained Glass Windows in the Peace Palace: Constructing International Adjudication’s Identity, in Objects of International Law, Jessie Hohmann & Daniel Joyce, eds. (forthcoming 2016).

Did the Creation of the United Nations Human Rights Council Produce a Better “Jury”?

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By Adam S. Chilton & Robert Golan-Vilella*

Abstract

In 1946, the United Nations (UN) created a body comprised of member states known as the Commission on Human Rights (CHR) to promote international human rights. The CHR was consistently plagued with accusations that it was a bad “jury” because its members frequently had abhorrent human rights records. To remedy this problem, in 2006 a reform eliminated the CHR and replaced it with a new body with modified membership rules known as the Human Rights Council (HRC). It is not clear, however, whether the 2006 reform was effective. Using data on the human rights practices of all members of the UN and the relevant bodies from 1998 to 2013, we evaluate whether the 2006 reform helped fix the CHR’s membership problem. We find that the human rights records of the members of the HRC are better on average than the records of the CHR’s members were, but that the human rights records of the members of the HRC still are worse than the average UN member not on the HRC.

Introduction

One of the primary goals of the United Nations (UN) is advancing human rights around the world. To accomplish this goal, the UN has created two successive bodies, comprised of member states, charged with promoting and protecting human rights.

The first of these bodies, the Commission on Human Rights (CHR), was established in 1946 as a subsidiary body of the Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC). Initially created with eighteen member states, the CHR expanded to fifty-three members over the course of its existence.[1] Those members were chosen according to regional groupings, with a certain number of seats assigned to each region.

Many states elected to the CHR, however, were notorious human rights violators. This, critics argued, made the CHR an ineffective vehicle for promoting human rights. For instance, Human Rights Watch Executive Director Kenneth Roth vividly compared the CHR to “a jury that includes murderers and rapists, or a police force run in large part by suspected murderers and rapists who are determined to stymie investigation of their crimes.”[2] Similarly, UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan wrote, “States have sought membership of the [CHR] not to strengthen human rights but to protect themselves against criticism or to criticize others.”[3]

In large part to address the problem that the CHR’s members were among the worst human rights violators, the UN undertook a major reform in 2006 (the “2006 reform”) that eliminated the CHR and replaced it with a new UN body called the Human Rights Council (HRC).[4] The HRC had several new rules regarding how its members would be selected. These included: First, the HRC’s members are chosen by all of the UN’s 193 member states, rather than by the fifty-four countries that make up the ECOSOC. Second, there was a reduction in the body’s number of members, from fifty-three to forty-seven. Third, unlike in the CHR, members of the HRC are not eligible for immediate reelection after serving two consecutive terms. Fourth, states must be elected individually to the HRC. By contrast, in the CHR, regional groups often followed the practice of putting forward “clean slates” of potential candidates that the ECOSOC would practically have to rubber-stamp.[5] One thing that did not change, however, is that the HRC still has a fixed number of seats allocated to each regional group.

Although this was a major change to the UN human rights system, it is still unclear whether the 2006 reform actually produced a better jury. To empirically assess this question, we built a dataset that combines information on all members of the UN, the CHR and the HRC from 1998 to 2013 with a recently developed measure of human rights practices. Using this data, we found that the human rights records of the HRC’s members are better on average than they were previously under the CHR, but that the average HRC member still has a worse human rights record than the average UN member not on the council.

I.  Background

The few commentators to discuss the effect of the reforms on the HRC’s membership have largely based their assessments on qualitative observations. For example, Katherine Short, looking at “the first election for membership of the council,” contended that it “showed significant improvements in comparison to the Commission.”[6] Five years later, Conall Mallory argued that the new membership provisions have “thus far yielded only moderate success.”[7] Meanwhile, some of the HRC’s critics, such as U.S. Representative Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, argue that because “some of the world’s worst human rights violators” are on the HRC, it remains fundamentally flawed and needs to be reformed or dissolved.[8]

To our knowledge, the only attempt to empirically examine the effect of the 2006 reform on human rights records of the members was made by Eric Cox in 2010.[9] Cox used data from Freedom House’s rankings for “Political Rights and Civil Liberties” to count the number of “free,” “partially free,” and “not free” states in each body in the three years before and four years after the 2006 reform. Cox found that there was a very modest level of overall improvement in the records of members of the HRC as compared to those of the CHR.

However, Cox’s work had several limitations. Because it was written in 2010, there were only four years of data on HRC membership available. Additionally, Cox did not compare the countries that made up the CHR or the HRC to other UN members. Finally, Cox did not look at the ratings for the losing candidates in any of the HRC elections.

Here, we provide a more complete picture of the effects of the transition from the CHR to the HRC. To do so, we have compiled data on the members of the UN and these two human rights bodies from 1998 to 2013—eight years under the CHR and eight years under the HRC. We have also compiled information on the UN regional groups[10] that each country belongs to and the candidates that have stood for election to the HRC since the 2006 reform.

The data on human rights records that we use for this analysis are the “Human Rights Scores” created by Christopher Fariss.[11] The Human Rights Scores are a latent measure of repression that combines information from thirteen other data sources on human rights. The Human Rights Scores range from roughly -3 to 3; a score of 0 represents an average human rights record based on all of the years contained in the dataset, and a score of 1 represents a Human Rights Score that is one standard deviation better than average.[12] This measure has the advantage of correcting for changes in reporting standards that potentially bias other sources of human rights data. Given this advantage, this measure has already been widely used in the human rights literature.[13]

II.  Results

Figure 1 presents our primary results. It plots the average Human Rights Score of UN Members that were not on the relevant human rights body (“Other UN Members”) as well as the average Human Rights Score of UN members that were on the CHR before 2006 or the HRC after 2006 (“HR Members”). Consistent with other research using the Fariss 2014 data,[14] Figure 1 shows that the Human Rights Scores of both groups improved between 1998 and 2013.

There are two noteworthy results in Figure 1. First, HR Members consistently have worse Human Rights Scores than Other UN Members. This is true both before and after the 2006 reform. Over the entire 16 years of data, the average Human Rights Score for HR Members is 0.45 and the average for Other UN Members is 0.92—a difference of 0.47. To put this in perspective, this is roughly the same as the difference between Moldova (0.46) and Greece (0.97) in 2010.

Second, the 2006 reform has helped to close the gap between HR Members and Other UN Members. From 1998 to 2005, the average difference between these two groups was 0.57. After the 2006 reform, however, this difference closed to 0.37. In other words, the 2006 reform does appear to have made some progress towards the goal of creating a “jury” with better human rights records.

 

Figure 1: Members’ Human Rights Records Before & After 2006 Reform

screen-shot-2016-10-27-at-9-12-14-pm

 

But, as previously noted, despite the progress since 2006, the Human Rights Scores of HR Members are still worse than the records of Other UN Members. Since both bodies’ members are chosen by region, Figure 2 explores why this gap persists by disaggregating the results by region (the top left panel recreates Figure 1 and the other 5 panels show the data for each of the regional groups).

 

Figure 2: Members’ Human Rights Records Before & After 2006 Reform By Region

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As Figure 2 shows, since the 2006 reform there has been considerable regional variation in the differences between the human rights records of HR Members and Other UN Members. Within the Africa region, for example, the HR Members have actually had better Human Rights Scores than Other UN Members on average since 2006 (0.24 compared to 0.11). For both the Asia-Pacific and Western Europe and Others region, however, the Human Rights Scores of the HR Members still lag behind those of the Other UN Members from those same regions. Since 2006, in the Asia-Pacific region the Human Rights Scores for HR Members have been 0.93 lower than Other UN Members from the region, and in the Western Europe and Others region the Human Rights Scores for HR Members have been 0.48 lower than Other UN Members from the region.

 

Figure 3: Human Rights Records of Candidates in Human Rights Council Elections

 

The large discrepancies in these two regions raise the question of whether the states chosen for the HRC are the best available candidates in any given year or region. To further explore this issue, Figure 3 plots the average Human Rights Scores for the winning and losing candidates for the Asia-Pacific and Western Europe and Others seats in HRC elections between 2006 and 2012. The gray bars represent contested elections. As the figure illustrates, in many years elections to the HRC simply are not contested. When they were contested, the candidates that won the elections typically had higher average Human Rights Scores than candidates that lost the elections. In short, the gap in Human Rights Scores between HR Members and Other UN Members cannot be closed further unless members with better records contest the elections.

 

Table 1: Open Seats & Candidates for HRC Elections by Regions

Table 1
Other regions frequently had uncontested elections as well. Indeed, HRC elections for all regions frequently go uncontested. Table 1 illustrates this by presenting information on the number of open seats and candidates by region for HRC elections from 2006 to 2012. As the results show, in twenty-one of thirty-five regional elections—a full sixty percent of regional elections—the number of candidates was identical to the number of open seats. Given the available candidates, in many cases countries simply do not have the option of electing countries with better human rights records. Of course, countries with better human rights records might not win if they stood for election. These countries may be opting not to run because they have reason to believe they will lose. But the results do demonstrate that there is a significant connection between the remaining gap in human rights records between HR Members and Other UN Members and the lack of competitive regional elections for the HRC in many years.

III.  Conclusion

Our research suggests that the 2006 reform that eliminated the CHR and replaced it with the HRC did result in members with better human rights records. Nonetheless, the gap in human rights records between HR Members and Other UN Members was not eliminated by the reform; on average, Other UN Members still have better records than the members of the HRC. This gap varies across regions and is in part driven by the fact that uncontested elections are still quite common.

It is important to note, however, that human rights records are not the only measure of a country’s fitness to be on the HRC. For example, some small countries with excellent human rights records may lack the diplomatic capacity to serve effectively as council members, and some large countries with poor human rights records may be valuable members because of the perspectives they bring. Considerations such as these suggest that completely eliminating the gap in human rights records between the HR Members and Other UN Members may not be possible or even desirable.

 


Adam S. Chilton is an Assistant Professor of Law at the University of Chicago Law School. Robert Golan-Vilella is a 2018 J.D. Candidate at the University of Chicago Law School.

[1] Paul Gordon Lauren, “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 Hum. Rts. Q. 307, 326 (2007).

[2] Kenneth Roth, Despots Pretending to Spot and Shame Despots, Int’l Herald Trib. (Apr. 17, 2001), http://www.nytimes.com/2001/04/17/opinion/despots-pretending-to-spot-and-shame-despots.html.

[3] U.N. Secretary-General, In Larger Freedom: Towards Development, Security and Human Rights for All, ¶ 182, U.N. Doc. A/59/2005 (Mar. 21, 2005).

[4] See Steven Seligman, Politics and Principle at the UN Human Rights Commission and Council (1992­–2008), 17 Isr. Aff. 520, 520–21 (2011).

[5] Conall Mallory, Membership and the UN Human Rights Council, 2 Can. J. Hum. Rts. 1, 30 (2013); see also Lauren, supra note 1, at 326.

[6] Katherine Short, From Commission to Council: Has the United Nations Succeeded in Creating a Credible Human Rights Body?, 9 Sur – Int’l J. on Hum. Rts. 147, 156 (2008).

[7] Mallory, supra note 5, at 1.

[8] Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, A Human Rights Council Worthy of the Name, Wash. Times (Dec. 9, 2015), http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2015/dec/9/ileana-ros-lehtinen-un-human-rights-council-must-b/.

[9] See Eric Cox, State Interests and the Creation and Functioning of the United Nations Human Rights Council, 6 J. Int’l L. & Int’l Rel. 87 (2010).

[10] The data on UN regional groupings is available at: United Nations Regional Groups of Member States, United Nations, http://www.un.org/depts/DGACM/RegionalGroups.shtml (last visited Aug. 5, 2016).

[11] The Human Rights Scores are presented and explained in Christopher J. Fariss, Respect for Human Rights Has Improved over Time: Modeling the Changing Standard of Accountability, 108 Am. Pol. Sci. Rev. 297 (2014).

[12] For an extended discussion of Fariss’s Human Rights Scores, see Adam S. Chilton & Mila Versteeg, The Failure of Constitutional Torture Prohibitions, 44 J. Legal Stud. 417 (2015).

[13] See, e.g., id.; Christopher J. Fariss, The Changing Standard of Accountability and the Positive Relationship between Human Rights Treaty Ratification and Compliance, Brit. J. Pol. Sci. (forthcoming), http://ssrn.com/abstract=2517457.

[14] See, e.g., Fariss, supra note 13.

Georgia’s Long Path to Europe Leads to New Human Rights Laws

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By Phillip Takhar

Georgia has hoped, for some time, to join the European Union (EU). While progress towards this goal has been slow, Georgia has been working with the EU on a visa free travel agreement that is seen as an important step toward further integration with Europe. At the same time, the European Commission has used these negotiations to push for significant changes in certain areas of Georgian law. Specifically, the Visa Liberalisation Dialogue and Action Plan for Visa Liberalisation has led to significant liberalization of laws relating to stateless individuals and antidiscrimination. These legal changes, however, are only likely to last if the EU is willing to keep its side of the bargain and extend visa free travel to Georgians in a timely manner.

Background

Georgia, like other former Soviet Republics, is in a difficult geopolitical position. While the country would like to join the EU (although popular support is less strongly in favor than in the past), Russia vigorously opposes integration and has used propaganda, and other forms of soft power, to further diminish the idea’s popularity. For its part, Europe has been cautious about developing its relationship with Georgia so as to avoid provoking Russia. Some have argued that this may lead Georgia to move closer to the Kremlin. Pro-Russian groups have formed in Georgia over the last few years and, in 2016, even gained some seats in parliament. Still, the country’s reelection of the Georgia Dream, a pro-EU membership party, is an indication that pro-Russian sentiments have not yet met with widespread approval.

Georgia sees visa free travel status as a concrete step towards developing a stronger economic bond with Europe that will hopefully be part of its path to eventual EU membership. Georgia and the EU have been negotiating visa liberalisation since June 2012. As part of these negotiations, Georgia was required to implement an Action Plan for Visa Liberalisation (VLAP) which consisted of numerous legal, political, and bureaucratic reforms that needed to be undertaken in order for a visa agreement to be reached. Compliance with the VLAP has been assessed through four progress reports and focused on four areas: passport and travel document security, border management, internal security, and fundamental rights for its residents. Areas that have been of particular note include the status of stateless individuals and anti-discrimination against minorities in Georgia.

The Status of Stateless Individuals

In 1961 the United Nations signed the Convention on the Reduction of Statelessness to give stateless individuals certain rights to establish nationality. Most European Union member states are signatories of the Convention and the European Commission used the Convention as a standard for Georgian reform in the VLAP.

Given that Georgia shares a border with Turkey, it receives around one hundred asylum seeking applications every year. There are currently an estimated 770 stateless individuals in the country, a number that has been reduced from around 1670 over the past seven years. While the issue of statelessness is clearly important in Georgia, prior to the VLAP the President would only grant asylum to stateless individuals in “exceptional cases.”

In the first VLAP progress report, the Commission noted approvingly that Georgia’s Commission on Migration Issues Working Group on the Reduction of Statelessness had prepared a draft law on Georgian citizenship that used the 1961 UN Convention as a benchmark. Georgia had not yet signed the 1961 UN Convention, but it was considering doing so.

In the second progress report the Commission reported that Georgia had passed the Law on the Legal Status of Aliens and Stateless Persons, which recognized rights and established legal guarantees for stateless individuals in compliance with the VLAP. In particular, this legislation created a process for stateless individuals to obtain residence permits and temporary identification cards. It also guaranteed equal legal protection for stateless individuals. In addition to these domestic reforms, Georgia also resolved to ratify the 1961 United Nations Convention on the Reduction of Statelessness and passed a Law on Georgian Citizenship to match the Convention’s principles.

The third and fourth progress reports noted that these reforms fulfilled Georgia’s VLAP benchmark for freedom of movement for aliens and stateless individuals.

Anti-Discrimination against Minorities

The European Commission also used the VLAP to change Georgian anti-discrimination law. Georgia has long had issues with protection of minority rights. After the Soviet Union fell, feelings of nationalism, a lack of political representation and protection for ethnic minorities, and massive poverty created a dire situation for the Kurdish, Armenian, Azeri, and other minorities in Georgia. Unfortunately, employment and education discrimination, as well as more general public xenophobia, has historically been acceptable in Georgia. While the country did eventually create anti-discrimination laws, they did not apply to private parties. In a 2010 report, the European Commission against Racism and Intolerance stated that there were no recorded cases in which an individual was legally compensated for suffering racial discrimination.

In the first VLAP progress report, the European Commission noted that Georgia was working on a new piece of legislation intended to combat discrimination based on several categories in line with Council of Europe recommendations, including race, sex, citizenship, nationality, and religion. The Commission noted, however, that it was unclear whether the law would apply only to the public sector.

In the second progress report, the Commission reported that the Law on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination had been passed. This law implemented the previously noted features and was very broad in scope. It contained protections for both direct and indirect discrimination and introduced proactive measures to enhance gender equality. Despite concern that the law might only apply to government action, these protections were also extended to the private sector. In addition, this law gave the Public Defender of Georgia the responsibility to monitor issues related to discrimination for the purpose of eliminating it. The Public Defender has a number of enumerated duties, including working with international organizations and increasing awareness of the anti-discrimination law amongst those who could use it to protect their rights.

While the third progress report noted that the Anti-Discrimination law was an important step, it asserted that more work had to be done. It particularly recommended continued efforts to raise awareness of the law among its citizenry and civil servants and train legal professionals in the new law’s provisions.

In the fourth progress report, the Commission noted that the Public Defender had started an information campaign to fulfill part of its responsibility under the Anti-Discrimination Law. This campaign used a variety of media to educate the public about diversity and equality, in line with the Commission’s third progress report recommendations. Additionally, Georgia adopted a Strategy for Civic Equality and Integration that aimed to politically empower ethnic minorities.  Assessing these developments as a whole, the Commission concluded  that Georgia’s anti-discrimination benchmark had been achieved.

Aftermath of the Visa Liberalisation Action Plan

The fourth VLAP progress concluded that Georgia had met its benchmarks in every area of concern. It remarked that, while there would still be a need to continually monitor implementation of new laws and policies, Georgia had made remarkable progress in the areas of rule of law and justice reform.

However, despite achieving these benchmarks, Germany, France, and Italy voted against granting Georgia visa free travel status at an EU ambassador’s meeting in June of this year. Germany argued that the number of burglaries in Georgia needed to be investigated further before allowing unrestricted travel into the EU and requested that a suspension mechanism be put into any visa free agreement with Georgia, allowing the EU to freeze the agreement if it were abused by individuals staying in EU member states pass the 90-day limit.

This vote was a disappointing delay for Georgia, which had met the EU Commission’s legal requirements and hoped for a positive resolution of the issue this summer. Nevertheless, Georgian Prime Minister Kvirikashvili stated that Georgia had made impressive progress and was still committed to the visa liberalisation process and, more generally, eventual EU membership. In September, the European Parliament Committee on Civil Liberties, Justice and Home Affairs, approved visa free travel liberalisation, and this past month the European Commission approved Georgia’s bid. Georgia now must wait for the European Parliament to agree on an appropriate suspension mechanism before the visa agreement can take effect. It is expected that the plan will be approved by the end of the year.

Conclusion

The Law on the Legal status of Aliens and Stateless Persons and the Law on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination are both major developments in Georgian law. However, these changes are resisted by some Georgians who would prefer to turn back towards Russia. Progressive laws can only be maintained in the face of this opposition if there is stability in Georgia’s regional partnership with the EU. The EU’s goal of promoting human rights in the region would be well served by encouraging the continuation of these Georgian laws. Though Georgia has been in compliance with VLAP benchmarks since last December, implementation of the visa liberalisation agreement has already been delayed by four months. Hopefully, the EU won’t delay much more in rewarding Georgia for its efforts.

 


Phillip Takhar is a 2019 J.D. candidate at Harvard Law School and a Feature Editor of the Harvard International Law Journal.

Cross-Border Energy Transit: Legal Considerations

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Oil pipeline in Austria (available here).

[PDF]


Book Review: Treaties on Transit of Energy via Pipelines and Countermeasures. By Danae Azaria. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2015. Pp. 336. Hardback $120.

Pascal Laffont[1] & Madelaine Clifford[2]

Bilateral and multilateral treaties are critical to ensuring vital energy transit between states. However, frequent and ongoing interruptions to cross-border energy transit highlight the inherent geopolitical difficulties in securing transit—an essential element in the security of energy supply to consumers down the energy chain, which is as strong only as its weakest link. Because of the strategic and geopolitical importance of free and unhindered transit, the international norm applicable today places the burden of proving the legality of any interruption on the party who initiated it. However, this primary consideration gives rise to a secondary consideration, one that has thus far been rarely considered and that has escaped academic rigour entirely: can interruptions to transit qualify as countermeasures under international law? Countermeasures constitute bilateral action taken by one state against another because “the latter has violated an obligation owed to the former” (p. 22). Therefore, the question is, can an injured state lawfully interrupt transit as an action or reprisal taken to respond to a prior wrong when such action would, in other circumstances, violate international law? In Treaties on Transit of Energy via Pipelines and Countermeasures, Dr. Danae Azaria seeks to address the interface between energy transit and countermeasures against the background of the frequency and intensity of transit disputes.

The central point of Azaria’s detailed analysis is simple and well executed: the relationship between global energy demand and domestic economic growth means states have a vested interest in governing transit through their territories. This creates international power dynamics between states, which are essentially two-fold: first, the dependence of importers on energy exports places the exporter and transit states in a position with enforcement leverage against the importer; and second, exporters reliant on transit are in a vulnerable position vis-à-vis the transit state, which can again utilize its geographic position as a “considerable weapon” (p. 251). The disputes to date have largely occurred in a “‘commercial’, political or technical” vacuum (p. 5). For the most part, they have escaped legal recourse, and, without exception, have attracted no in-depth analysis or academic debate as to their relationship with the broader principles of customary international law. Azaria identifies this gap and persuasively explains its practical significance, adhering to a logical structure and referencing numerous “real world” examples.

The starting point for Azaria’s monograph is the large number of relevant treaty provisions governing transit through the pipelines included in her study. Despite what Azaria terms the increasing “treatification” of this area of law (p. 7), the interpretation of the various provisions governing transit is potentially subject to a multitude of jurisdictions as might be defined in their respective host agreement. This is one of Azaria’s key justifications for embarking on a study that seeks to address the relationship between such treaty provisions and the unilateral measures states can lawfully employ as a form of self-help when vital energy transit is interrupted.

Azaria’s analysis focuses on the two key multilateral agreements governing energy transit among states: the Energy Charter Treaty (“ECT”) and the World Trade Organisation Agreement (“WTO Agreement”). She also includes sixteen bespoke pipeline agreements, which provide useful points of comparison throughout the various layers of her analysis. The commonalities between the agreements assist in providing a complete analysis, and as the inaugural legal text on the topic, this aspect could easily be leveraged as one of the book’s key strengths.

The opening chapters of Azaria’s substantive analysis unpick the obligations at the very heart of the treaties themselves. Azaria argues that an understanding of the scope and content of each of the treaty obligations pertaining to transit is pivotal to all the questions she then sets out to answer. The basic distinction between primary and secondary rules is an important one for Azaria, recalling that primary rules prescribe the ways in which states must conduct themselves, whereas secondary rules contain the consequences for breaches of these rules. Importantly, states may contract out of customary secondary rules through the express provisions of a treaty, but the provisions of a treaty must be clear and unambiguous in attempting to displace customary rules.

Azaria also dedicates a considerable amount of her legal analysis to an in-depth, technical examination of the nature of the different obligations created by the treaties. She adheres to the criteria for classification adopted in the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties[3] (and similar to that followed in the Draft Articles on the Responsibility of States[4] and the Draft Articles on the Responsibility of International Organizations[5]). Understanding whether treaty obligations are “bilateralizable” or indivisible is key to answering Azaria’s two fundamental questions (pp. 101−102): To which parties are transit obligations owed? And further, which parties can invoke the responsibility of the transit state? Bilateralizable obligations are those that can be reduced to a reciprocal relationship between two states, even where they exist as part of a multilateral treaty (p. 104). Conversely, indivisible obligations are those which are owed to groups of states and which seek to protect “collective interests” (p. 110).

Azaria ultimately concludes that the main provisions establishing freedom of transit in the key multilateral agreements on energy transit (the WTO Agreement and the ECT) are bilateralizable—that is, reducible to obligations owed between two member states only. However, questions remain as to (1) the multilateral nature of the instruments and (2) the increasing interconnectedness of the global economy and the flow on effects interruption to energy transit may have further down the customer chain (for example, the position of some EU members in the Russia-Ukraine transit disputes). Indeed, Azaria appears to struggle when trying to reconcile her conclusion that the majority of ECT obligations are bilateralizable with the observations of a WTO Panel Report confirming that “[m]embers have a greater stake in enforcing WTO rules than in the past since any deviation from the negotiated balance of rights and obligations is more likely than ever to affect them, directly or indirectly.”[6] All things being equal, this report also shows that the members of a trade-based treaty (such as ECT or WTO Agreement) can be individually, and potentially collectively, affected by the non-compliance of one member. This is perhaps more so for ECT members than for WTO members due to the particularity of cross-border energy trade (see introduction above). Therefore, members are equally interested in seeing each member comply with their obligations.

Azaria does accept, however, that bilateralism of obligations “cannot be considered the norm” (p. 103). She remains true to this stance when later analyzing the lawfulness of unilateral responses to interrupted transit. Azaria contends that the bespoke plurilateral agreements, such as the Nabucco Agreement,[7] create indivisible obligations, either interdependent because they operate on the basis of global reciprocity, or erga omnes partes because they represent interests owed to states collectively. Such a classification immediately presents issues for states under these agreements because it means recourse to countermeasures will generally be prohibited despite not being expressly precluded within the treaties themselves. Azaria aptly observes that countermeasures would be disproportionate on the grounds that they target commonalities as opposed to individual interests and would therefore be prohibited under customary international law.

Perhaps an effective way to circumvent this issue—and indeed what Azaria proposes—is to frame larger pipeline “projects” as a series of bilateralizable agreements, as opposed to one plurilateral agreement. In relation to the China-Central Asia Pipeline, for example, China (destination state) has concluded separate bilateral agreements with Turkmenistan (state of origin), Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan (transit states). Azaria argues “the vehicle of bilateral agreements is an effort to ensure the bilateralisation of transit obligations, which are (separately) owed to China” (p. 126). The bilateralization of obligations would allow a destination state to specifically invoke the responsibility of one transit state, for example, without it affecting the interests of the other states within the broader umbrella agreement. However, one should also bear in mind the preventive, even cathartic nature, of the multilateral agreement which, while serving as overarching framework for the various bilateral relations, also often serves to positively address the natural imbalance of interests of the producer, transit, and consumer countries along the transit chain.

The final chapters of Azaria’s book are wholly a consideration of the remedies available to injured states when transit of vital energy flows is interrupted. Although they present the same depth of legal analysis as the first half of the book, these chapters are more focused on practical applications, which allow the reader to better grapple with the significance of her conclusions. Aside from those grounded in the express provisions of the treaties, such as dispute resolution mechanisms, Azaria argues that states have two primary forms of recourse when transit obligations are breached: remedies available under the law of treaties, and remedies available under the law of international responsibility, with a specific focus on countermeasures. Importantly, as Azaria clearly explains, remedies under the law of treaties and countermeasures serve entirely different purposes. Responses under treaty law are intended to re-establish the balance between the parties, whereas countermeasures are “intended to induce compliance with the secondary obligations . . . to cease the wrongful act and to make reparation” (p. 187).[8] It is for this reason, she posits, that they should not be viewed as mutually exclusive and can, in fact, be complementary.

Azaria then sequentially deals with the different types of responses available to injured states. Under treaty law, Articles 60 and 72 of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties confer a right of suspension upon the occurrence of a material breach and provide for consequences of suspension, respectively. Azaria argues that any breach of a transit provision is a breach of a provision “essential to the accomplishment of the object or purpose of the treaty”[9] and would, therefore, amount to a material breach. However, the classification of obligations is paramount to how this right can be exercised. She goes on to discuss the relationship between express treaty provisions providing for dispute resolution or compliance mechanisms and countermeasures under the law of responsibility. Although this entails further legal analysis of the specific provisions included in each of the agreements, Azaria does so to effectively draw out commonalities. First, she argues that clauses which specifically provide for the peaceful settlement of disputes do not ipso facto exclude countermeasures, although where the language indicates that the mechanisms within the treaty were intended to be exclusive, she concludes that it is likely countermeasures have been displaced. In contrast, Azaria argues that “[o]bligations to negotiate do not exclude countermeasures as a means of implementing responsibility” (p. 193). Further, when the treaties provide for particular implementation committees, Azaria argues the better approach is to understand that countermeasures can exist concurrently until such a time that an ad hoc tribunal is constituted and the wrongful act ceases (pp. 187−188).

Throughout Azaria’s monograph she clearly unpacks her hypotheses, with each chapter building on the findings of the previous until she reaches the capstone in Chapter 8—an analysis of whether, despite her preliminary legal conclusions, countermeasures would satisfy the general conditions of lawfulness under customary international law. The most salient criteria in Azaria’s study are the need for countermeasures to be reduced to bilateral measures taken by an injured state against a responsible state and to be proportionate to the harm suffered (pp. 210–212). In light of Azaria’s findings that many of the plurilateral treaties contain indivisible obligations, the ability for states to comply with the former of these requirements is nullified, and consequently so too with the latter—a countermeasure taken against the responsible state that has the effect of targeting all parties to the agreement will inevitably be incommensurate with the original harm.

Azaria’s academic legal analysis tends to find its limits when attempting to validate the relevance of these legal findings in a real world context—a context where the range of considerations and geopolitics governing relations between states is broader and more delicate than those found in the Draft Articles on State Responsibility. However, this by no means undermines the significance or strength of her monograph, which analyzes substantially unexplored territory and is a solid reference for academics and practitioners alike. As the first legal scholarship on this subject, the extent to which Azaria thoroughly records each aspect of her analysis is likely to be respected as a necessary trade-off.

The parting reader is left with one unanswered question: will these legal solutions ever find real world footing? This is the very question subsequent studies should embrace, and there is no doubt that Azaria’s monograph provides an excellent foundation for such an undertaking.


[1] Chief Legal Counsel, International Energy Agency. Mr. Laffont writes in his personal capacity. As such, the views expressed in this review do not necessarily reflect the views or policy of the IEA or of the individual IEA member countries.

[2] Final semester LLB/BA (International Relations and French) candidate at Bond University, Australia.

[3] Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, arts. 31 and 32, May 23, 1969, 1155 U.N.T.S 331 [hereinafter Vienna Convention on Law of Treaties].

[4] U.N. Int’l Law Comm’n, Report of the International Law Commission, Draft Articles on Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts, U.N. GAOR, 53rd Sess., Supp. No. 10, arts. 42 and 48, U.N. Doc. A/56/10 (2001) [hereinafter Draft Articles on State Responsibility].

[5] U.N. Int’l Law Comm’n, Draft Articles on Responsibility of International Organizations, arts. 43 and 49, U.N. Doc. A/66/10 (2011) [hereinafter Draft Articles on the Responsibility of International Organizations].

[6] Panel Report, European Communities – Regime for the Importation, Sale and Distribution of Bananas, WT/DS27/R/MEX (May 22, 1997) ¶ 7.50.

[7] The Nabucco Agreement was created to govern the Nabucco pipeline, which was initially planned to carry gas from the Caspian Sea through to Austria. The agreement was ratified by Austria, Bulgaria, Hungary, Romania, and Turkey.

[8] Draft Articles on State Responsibility, art. 49.

[9] Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, art. 60.

Volume 57, Issue 2

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Decision of the International Court of Justice in the Nuclear Arms Race Case

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By: Maitê de Souza Schmitz

In the period of twenty months that I have served on this Court, I have been privileged to consider the interpretation and application of five treaties in cases before the Court. But I dare say that, were I to examine another fifty treaties in the rest of my term, none would be, by virtue of the existential threat to mankind posed by nuclear weapons, as critically important for the work of the Court and the interests of the international community as the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT) that is the subject of the Marshall Islands v. United Kingdom case. (Judge Robinson, Dissenting Opinion)

 

Earlier this month, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) dismissed the cases submitted by the Marshall Islands on the Obligations Concerning Negotiations Relating to Cessation of the Nuclear Arms Race and to Nuclear Disarmament. With the narrowest possible majority (8-8, with the President’s casting vote), the ICJ concluded that there was no legal dispute between the Marshall Islands and the United Kingdom. The cases against India and Pakistan, which are not parties to the NPT, had slightly different voting patterns, but the same result and similar arguments and reasoning.

To dismiss the case, the majority departed from the Court’s previous case law on the definition of a legal dispute by introducing a new element to its analysis: the respondent’s “awareness” that “its views were positively opposed by the applicant”. What appears to be a simple technicality has in fact at least two systemic implications. Legally, it raises the bar for accessing the ICJ. Politically, it makes advancing the nuclear disarmament agenda through international litigation more unlikely.

The Case

In April 2014, the Republic of the Marshall Islands instituted proceedings against nine states for their alleged breach of obligations regarding the cessation of the nuclear arms race and nuclear disarmament. Of these nine states, three (India, Pakistan and the United Kingdom) had recognized the compulsory jurisdiction of the ICJ.

The Marshall Islands claimed that the United Kingdom was in breach of Art. VI of the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT), which states that Parties have an obligation to negotiate in good faith “on effective measures” for the “cessation of the nuclear arms race at an early date” and nuclear disarmament. It added that India and Pakistan, though not party to the NPT, were bound by similar obligations as a matter of customary international law. The NPT is not new for the ICJ. In its Advisory Opinion on the Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons (1996), the Court recognized the importance of Art VI and interpreted it as containing an “obligation to achieve a precise result – nuclear disarmament in all its aspects.” In the Marshall Islands cases, the ICJ had an opportunity to effectuate its prior dictum and revisit its position on nuclear weapons in light of developments in international law.

The dispute about having a dispute

Respondents converged on four major arguments in their preliminary objections to the case: i) the non-existence of a legal dispute; ii) the absence of “indispensable parties” in the proceedings; iii) reservations in their respective declarations accepting the Court’s jurisdiction; and iv) the lack of a practical consequence of a judgment on the merits. Pakistan also made an argument on the Marshall Islands’ lack of standing to pursue the claims.

It was unsurprising that respondents challenged the Court’s jurisdiction. It is a common litigation strategy, particularly in cases founded on optional declarations and compromissory clauses. The surprise, instead, was the reasoning adopted to dismiss the claim: non-existence of a dispute. The ICJ has well-established jurisprudence on the criteria for determining the existence of a legal dispute. In his Separate Opinion, Judge Owada refers to 19 Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ) and ICJ cases where the matter has been discussed. For those familiar with the Court’s jurisprudence on jurisdiction, it is a well-trodden path: start with the Mavrommatis definition of a dispute as being “a disagreement on a point of law or fact a conflict of legal views or of interests”, then add that a Party’s claim must be “positively opposed by the other” (South West Africa cases, 1962), and finally stress that this is “a matter for objective determination” (Interpretation of Peace Treaties with Bulgaria, Hungary and Romania, 1950). More recently, the ICJ has also clarified that the existence of a dispute is a matter of substance and not of form (Application of the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination, 2011).

The ICJ went a step further in the present case by introducing a subjective criterion: the respondent’s awareness of the existence of a disagreement. This is a major departure from previous case law, which focused solely on objective criteria. As Vice-President Yusuf points out, “the function of the Court is to determine the existence of a conflict of legal views on the basis of the evidence placed before it and not to delve into the consciousness, perception and other mental processes of States (provided they do possess such cerebral qualities) in order to find out about their state of awareness”. He adds that this “formalistic requirement” actually defeats the purpose of judicial economy, because it requires the applicant to file a new case now that the respondent is certainly aware of the dispute.

Though the majority does not give a detailed legal reasoning for this change, it mentions that “awareness” is “reflected in previous decisions of the Court” and cites two cases to support its view: Alleged Violations of Sovereign Rights and Maritime Spaces in the Caribbean Sea (2016) and Application of the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (2011). However, the references of the latter case do not contain any articulation of subjective awareness as they were essentially dealing with evidence to prove the existence of a dispute as traditionally understood by the ICJ – a disagreement on a point of law or fact with respect to the issue of the proceedings on the date of the Application (Paragraph 31). The same was true in the former case; the excerpt relied upon by the majority mentions “the specific circumstances” of the case and affirms that “[g]iven the public statements made by the highest representatives of the Parties, Colombia could not have misunderstood the position of Nicaragua over such differences” (Paragraph 73).

The majority argues that declarations cited by the Marshall Islands to support its claim are of “general content”, and not directed to the specific respondents. Hence, they conclude that none of the statements articulate an alleged breach by each of the respondents “of the obligation enshrined in Article VI of the NPT”. In the majority’s view, the respondent states could not be aware that the Marshall Islands were making a claim on their potential breach of obligations towards nuclear disarmament. Statements from Marshall Islands’ representatives in multilateral conferences, e.g., saying that “States possessing nuclear arsenals are failing to fulfill their legal obligations,” were not deemed sufficient. Nor was the fact that the parties held opposite views on the legality of the United Kingdom’s improvement and extension of its nuclear weapons system sufficient. In fact, regarding the United Kingdom, the majority disregarded one of the Marshall Island’s declarations because it was made in a conference on the humanitarian impact of nuclear weapons at which no British representative was present. It seems hard to believe that in a globalized world, with easy access of information, the United Kingdom would not become aware of this statement.

It is understandable that courts will be cautious about frivolous litigations. At the same time, they must balance this concern against the international community’s interest in providing access to justice and promoting the peaceful settlement of disputes. This is all the more important at the ICJ given how difficult it is to seize its jurisdiction. After this case, the Court has shifted from a “tradition of flexibility” (Judge Crawford, dissenting opinion) to a “formalistic approach” (Judge Cançado Trindade, dissenting opinion), adding another obstacle to accessing international adjudication.

The ICJ and nuclear weapons

One of the critiques made in the dissenting opinions is that the judgments failed to give persuasive reasons for departing from the ICJ’s jurisprudence on the characterization of a dispute. Some might wonder whether the subject matter of the case played any role in this shift.

The relationship between the ICJ and issues pertaining to nuclear weapons appears to be marked by firsts. In the Nuclear Test cases (1974), the Court for the first time gave binding effect to unilateral declarations made outside of a specific context (e.g., negotiation or litigation).[1] As a consequence, the ICJ refrained from deciding whether France’s nuclear tests in the South Pacific Ocean were consistent with international law following French public declarations stating its intention to abstain from future tests.

Some twenty years later, in another first, the World Court refrained from providing a definite answer on a crucial aspect of a legal question submitted to it by the UN General Assembly. In the Advisory Opinion on the Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons (1996), the ICJ affirmed that it could not “conclude definitively whether the threat or use of nuclear weapons would be lawful or unlawful in an extreme circumstance of self-defense” (operative paragraph 2E). This controversial statement is the only declaration on non-liquet to date (i.e., the ICJ implied that there is no applicable law on the question).

Now, after another two decades, the ICJ again had the opportunity to decide on issues pertaining to nuclear weapons. And, again, the ICJ evaded the question. This majority’s novelty in assessing the existence of a dispute did not pass unnoticed by other judges. As highlighted by Judge Tomka in his Separate Opinion, “for the first time in almost a century of adjudication of inter-State disputes in the Peace Palace, the “World” Court (the Permanent Court of International Justice and the International Court of Justice) has dismissed a case on the ground that no dispute existed between the Applicant and the Respondent prior to the filing of the Application instituting proceedings”.

Just as the Nuclear Tests case is associated with the doctrine on unilateral declarations, so does the present dispute run the risk of being known solely for new requirements in determining the existence of a dispute. However, a more accurate reading might be to see the Marshall Islands cases as another instance in which the ICJ was asked to address the question of nuclear disarmament but found new technical arguments to avoid dealing with its substance.

In an enlightening post about the decision, Nico Krisch points out that six out of the eight judges who dismissed the case against the UK were nationals of nuclear weapons States, while the other two were nationals of countries that benefited from the cooperation of a nuclear weapon State. Could it then be that the dismissal of the cases resulted not from the willingness of the majority to reinterpret what a legal dispute is, but rather from their views on nuclear disarmament?

In 1927, the Committee of the PCIJ, while reviewing its Rules, made a strong argument on the powerful influence of nationality. In fact, debates as to whether nationality could influence a judge’s opinion feature prominently in the travaux preparatoires of the PCIJ Statute. The Procès-Verbaux of the meetings show that the need for each party to have a national judge on the bench was extremely controversial.

This controversy continued in the process of creating the ICJ. In the end, however, the Statute retained the traditional rules on this matter. The ICJ is composed of a body of independent judges who vow that they will act impartially and conscientiously. This does not necessarily mean that nationality will be irrelevant in considering a judge’s position. Previous empirical research indicated that national and ad hoc judges voted in favor of their own countries in 80% to 82% of the cases.[2]

In the ICJ’s 1996 Advisory Opinion, the distribution of votes on the most controversial holding (OP 2E) did not show a clear division between possessor and non-possessor states. In the view of the ICJ President at the time, this was “a mark of the independence of the Members of the Court” (Separate Opinion, Judge Bedjaoui). A reading of the individual opinions might give a different impression. Nationals of nuclear weapon states disagreed on the best approach for the Court to deal with the issue, not on the legality of the use of nuclear weapons.

It might be said that the split in the Court merely reflected divergent views of States on nuclear disarmament. However, if the ICJ’s composition proportionally reflected State positions on this matter, the vote would likely have tended against the legality of nuclear weapons and in favor of effective disarmament.

Given consistent failed attempts to seize the ICJ on this relevant and urgent matter, one might question whether international litigation is a viable strategy for nuclear disarmament. The Marshall Islands judgment provides insight about the majority’s views on this topic. When tracing the historic background and role of the United Nations in disarmament, the judgment enumerates three bodies with “a role in international disarmament efforts”: the UNGA, the UNSC, and the Military Staff Committee. Notably missing from this list: the ICJ itself.

Although the foregoing judgments expose serious limitations to addressing nuclear disarmament at the ICJ, resort to international tribunals could remain a viable option in the long run. A slightly different composition of the Court could have led to different results, as the votes were evenly split both in the 1996 Advisory Opinion (for OP2E) and in the case between the Marshall Islands and the UK. Nevertheless, international litigation should not be regarded as the main avenue to secure progress for nuclear disarmament. Instead, it should be seen as complimentary to multilateral negotiations. Since the ICJ decision, UN Member States adopted a landmark resolution to convene a multilateral conference in 2017 to negotiate a treaty that would prohibit nuclear weapons. This significant step in multilateral negotiations may have a much more far-reaching impact on disarmament than bilateral litigation.

 


* Maitê de Souza Schmitz is a 2017 LL.M. candidate at Harvard Law School and an Article Editor for the Harvard International Law Journal.

[1] The previous case on unilateral declarations (Eastern Greenland, PCIJ) was specific about declarations made in the context of a negotiation. See also Rubin, Alfred P., The International Legal Effects of Unilateral Declarations. The American Journal of International Law, 1 January 1977, Vol.71(1), pp.1-30. P. 4-7

[2] SAMORE, William. National Origins v. Impartial Decisions: A Study of World Court Holdings, Chicago-Kent Law Review, v. 34, 1956. p. 193; SUH, Il Ro. Voting Behavior of National Judges in International Courts. American Journal of International Law, v. 63, 1969, p. 224-236. p. 230.


Force-Feeding Prisoners on a Hunger Strike: Israel as a Case Study in International Law

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By Jesse Lempel

International law speaks softly on the question of force-feeding prisoners who deliberately starve their bodies for the sake of protest. Feeding them against their will is neither banned outright as a form of torture nor mandated for the preservation of life: in fact, states across Europe and North America come out on opposite sides as to whether it is a legitimate practice altogether. On an issue plagued by such disagreement and ambivalence, one might expect that the force of international law—a shaky proposition in any context—would be terrifically meek.

Yet a September decision of the Israeli Supreme Court upholding a law permitting authorities to force-feed hunger-striking prisoners demonstrates the unlikely avenues through which even fuzzy international law can bend a country’s legal landscape, entering the Court’s constitutional jurisprudence through the backdoor and clearing the way for creative reshaping of a legislative act.

This influence of international law on the Court’s decision may be seen as an instance of what Professor Anne-Marie Slaughter has branded “transjudicial communication”—a term that encompasses dialogue in horizontal channels, between courts of different nations, as well as vertical channels, between national and international courts.[1]

The ruling also offers a fascinating glimpse into the workings of Israel’s highest court as it seeks to weave the law through the web of fears over security and terrorism, respect for human rights and dignity, medical ethics, the norms of international law, and the nation’s own constitutional values as a “Jewish and democratic” state.

I will first analyze the international legal precedents on the topic, then discuss how the Court situates Israeli law in that context and applies the weight of international law to shift its own constitutional interpretation.

The CPT and the European Court of Human Rights

On the European continent, the norms of international human rights law are promulgated and policed by two distinct yet related bodies emanating from the Council of Europe: The Committee for the Prevention of Torture (CPT) and the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR).

The CPT, in its 1993 3rd General Report, acknowledged that European states have divergent approaches toward a hunger-striking prisoner: “In the event of a hunger strike, public authorities or professional organisations in some countries will require the doctor to intervene to prevent death as soon as the patient’s consciousness becomes seriously impaired. In other countries, the rule is to leave clinical decisions to the doctor in charge, after he has sought advice and weighed up all the relevant facts” (para. 47).

In Germany, for example, Section 101 of the 1976 Prison Act explicitly permits force-feeding prisoners even when they refuse nutrition of their own free will, provided there is a serious danger to the prisoner’s life or health. The same is true in France (Code of Penal Procedure, Art. D.364) (link in French) and several other countries.

By contrast, England has adopted a stance of deference to the prisoner’s autonomy, even at the cost of her own death by starvation. In a landmark 1994 ruling, the Family Division of the High Court held that Derek Robb, a 27-year-old prisoner, was within his rights to starve himself to death (Secretary of State for the Home Department v. Robb [1995] 1 All ER 677). Despite having received a diagnosis of “disorder of personality,” including having declared himself a “master manipulator” to the doctor and suffering from what the court described as “heroin dependence, a history of self-injury and ambivalence as to his sexual orientation,” Robb was deemed to be of sound mind. As such, the court ruled, the “right of the defendant to determine his future is plain.” (The decision reversed a nearly century-old precedent, Leigh v. Gladstone [1909], in which the court held that a suffragette who was force-fed while on a hunger strike in prison could not sue for assault, since the Crown had a duty “to preserve the lives and health of the prisoners.”)

The European Court of Human Rights took up this issue in Nevmerzhitsky v. Ukraine (2005). Nevmerzhitsky was detained on suspicion of financial fraud, and after passing a year in prison awaiting trial he began a series of hunger strikes. The Ukrainian authorities force-fed him, citing a local law permitting the practice when the prisoner’s life is in danger. Nevmerzhitsky later sued the government in the ECtHR, alleging that he was subjected to “inhuman and degrading treatment” in violation of Article 3 of the European Convention of Human Rights.

The ECtHR, after citing both the CPT’s language and the WMA’s Declaration of Malta, held that force-feeding is not torture, provided there is genuine medical necessity: “The Court reiterates that a measure which is of therapeutic necessity from the point of view of established principles of medicine cannot in principle be regarded as inhuman and degrading. The same can be said about force-feeding that is aimed at saving the life of a particular detainee who consciously refuses to take food” (id. para. 94).

The ECtHR held that the decision to force-feed Nevmerzhitsky was “arbitrary,” not being based on any specific medical assessment, but in so doing established the principle that international law allows a state to force-feed a hunger-striking prisoner whose life is in jeopardy, provided other procedural safeguards are in place and the treatment is not too severe.

This holding was reiterated several years later in Rappaz v. Switzerland (2013) (link to case in French; official press release in English). Bernard Rappaz was incarcerated for a variety of marijuana-related offenses, and embarked on a widely publicized hunger strike. During a long saga in which he was repeatedly released from prison temporarily only to renew his hunger strike upon his return, the Swiss court ordered the doctor to feed him against his will or face criminal proceedings, an order the doctor fought in court. Although the force-feeding never materialized, Rappaz sued the Swiss government in the ECtHR for allegedly endangering his life by not releasing him during his hunger strike.

The ECtHR dismissed the suit and, relying on its precedent in Nevmerzhitsky, reaffirmed that the Swiss court’s order to force-feed the hunger-striking prisoner was legitimate in a case of medical necessity. As for the doctor’s ethical objections, the Court noted that the various professional declarations of medical ethics eschewing the practice of force-feeding prisoners, such as those of the WMA, “do not by themselves create legal norms” (id. para. 74).

Guantanamo Bay and International Norms

In the U.S., much like in Europe, jurisdictions are divided on the question of force-feeding prisoners on a hunger strike.[2] Despite the difference of opinion, however, the decisive majority of courts permits the practice under certain conditions.

A three-judge panel of the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals recently weighed in on this topic in Aamer v. Obama (D.C. Cir. 2014). Shaker Aamer, a detainee in Camp Delta at the U.S. naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, is a Saudi national and British resident who organized several mass hunger strikes of Guantanamo prisoners over the years—as a leader among incarcerated comrades and a fluent English speaker, the guards nicknamed him “the Professor.” Although Aamer was cleared for release even before President Obama took office, he was still being held in 2013 (he was finally released in late 2015, following advocacy campaigns from the likes of then-British Prime Minister David Cameron and Sting, the English rock icon). Aamer launched a hunger strike in protest of his confinement and was subsequently force-fed.

Aamer sued President Obama and other government entities seeking an injunction against his continued force-feeding. The D.C. Circuit declined to intervene, however, explaining that force-feeding is “reasonably related to legitimate penological interests” and may therefore abridge a prisoner’s rights. The government’s legitimate interests here, the Court reasoned, are “preserving the lives of those in its custody and maintaining security and discipline in the detention facility.”

The D.C. Circuit acknowledged a June 2013 letter by Sen. Diane Feinstein, then-Chairwoman of the Senate Intelligence Committee, to then-Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel imploring him to end force-feeding at Guantanamo. Feinstein’s letter cited both the particular harshness of its application at the U.S. base and the various declarations of international medical and ethical bodies decrying the practice in all circumstances, from which Feinstein concluded that force-feeding is “out of sync with international norms.” (Just two days after receiving Feinstein’s letter, a lawyer for the Defense Department wrote in an internal memo, leaked to Vice News, that the force-feeding of prisoners at Guantanamo is “solidly supported” by U.S. law but contravenes “international law and certain medical ethical standards.”)

Nevertheless, the D.C. Circuit waved away these scruples. “This is a court of law,” the Court announced, echoing the ECtHR in Rappaz, “not an arbiter of medical ethics.” And the law as it stands does not recognize force-feeding a prisoner on a hunger strike as inhuman or degrading. This same logic would likewise prevail in the Israeli Supreme Court.

The Israeli Law

Turning now to Israel, the 2015 law “Prevention of Hunger-Strike Injuries” is the Israeli government’s response to a series of mass hunger strikes by Palestinian prisoners, notably in 2012 when over 2,000 Palestinian prisoners went on a month-long hunger strike protesting the conditions of their confinement—including the fact that many were held without trial as threats to public safety, a practice Israel calls “administrative detention.” The strike attracted intense, and very unwelcome, international political pressure toward the Israeli government, and was viewed by many politicians as a threat to Israel’s ability to hold dangerous individuals and effectively combat terrorism. The law passed in the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, by a vote of 46-40, supported by the right-wing coalition led by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s Likud party.

Technically, the legislation is an amendment to the prison code that permits feeding a hunger-striking prisoner against her will, including via insertion of a nasal feeding tube if necessary. But that extreme measure may only be invoked under a strict set of conditions that include a medical assessment of imminent danger to the prisoner’s life or a risk of irreversible harm, a hearing before the district court with input from the detainee’s representative and a special medical ethics committee, and a decision by a judge subject to appeal.

Most controversially, § 19d(e) of the statute further instructs the court, in determining whether to permit the force-feeding, to “weigh considerations of a tangible concern of severe harm to national security, inasmuch as relevant evidence has been presented.”

According to the statute, no doctor may be ordered to perform the force-feeding. It is also noteworthy that despite being on the books for over a year, during which there were multiple incidents of near-death hunger strikers, the law has never been applied in practice. All cases have been resolved by other means.

The International Law and Constitutional Questions

In the case recently decided, Israel Medical Association et. al. v. Knesset et. al., HCJ 5304/15 (Sep. 11, 2016) (link in Hebrew), petitioners were the Israel Medical Association and various human rights NGO’s who sued a host of state actors seeking an injunction striking down the force-feeding law as unconstitutional and in violation of international law. The case was heard by a panel of three Supreme Court Justices, sitting as the High Court of Justice, in which the Supreme Court hears cases of original jurisdiction typically involving suits against the government.

The Israel Medical Association (IMA) argued that the statute violated international laws against torture, such as the United Nations’ 1984 Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment and Article 7 of the 1966 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, stating: “No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.” Israel is a signatory to both of these UN agreements.

The World Medical Association (WMA), in both the 1975 Declaration of Tokyo (revised Oct. 2016) and the 1991 Declaration of Malta on Hunger Strikers, declared force-feeding “a form of inhuman and degrading treatment,” clearly implicating the UN’s Convention Against Torture and Article 7 of the International Covenant. The law permitting force-feeding prisoners, according to the IMA, is therefore at odds with international law against torture that Israel itself adopted.

Furthermore, the IMA alleged (link in Hebrew), the law thwarts Israel’s own constitutional principles. Although Israel lacks a formal constitution, the Knesset has enacted a series of Basic Laws that serve a constitutional role. One such law is the Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty (1992), which forbids, among other things, “violation of the life, body, or dignity of any person as such” (Art. 2). Any law that conflicts with this Basic Law may be struck down by the Supreme Court as unconstitutional.

This Basic Law does, however, acknowledge exceptions: it explicitly allows for a person’s dignity and liberty rights to be curtailed by “a law befitting the values of the State of Israel, enacted for a proper purpose, and to an extent no greater than is required” (Art. 8).

The IMA and other petitioners challenged the statute as unconstitutional because its purpose is not “proper,” and therefore not within the scope of the Basic Law’s exception. “The amendment portrays itself as legislation concerned with saving the life of a sick person on a hunger strike,” the IMA argued (link in Hebrew) in its brief to the Court, “but its essence and ra[ison] d’etre is to break the hunger strike and silence their protest.”

In support of this claim, the IMA pointed to numerous explicit statements to that effect by prominent Israeli legislators and ministers who supported the law, as well as the statutory provision instructing the court to weigh concerns of national security in determining whether to allow the force-feeding. What does national security have to do with the well-being of the prisoner, and why is that provision included in an ostensibly humanitarian-minded law? Rather, the IMA insisted, the law was essentially political, not humanitarian, and as such “this purpose in no way justifies a severe infringement of the prisoner’s human dignity.”

The Decision

The Court unanimously rejected the petitioners’ arguments and upheld the law as both constitutional and in compliance with international law. In a lengthy opinion by Justice Elyakim Rubinstein, the Court held that the force-feeding law passes the tripartite constitutional test set out in the Basic Law for a law that curtails human dignity.

Furthermore, the Court relied on precedents in international case law establishing that feeding a hunger-striking prisoner against her will is neither inhuman nor degrading.

The National Security Wrinkle

Justice Rubinstein, in his IMA v. Knesset opinion, surveyed the international and comparative law and finds ample precedent in the CPT and the ECtHR holdings to establish that force-feeding prisoners on a hunger strike does not amount to torture. Nevertheless, he noted a striking anomaly in Israel’s statute: wherever force-feeding prisoners is allowed in democratic countries, Justice Rubinstein observed, the exclusive consideration is the prisoner’s well-being. Whereas in Israel, alone among the nations, the statute instructs the court to also consider “severe harm to national security.”

This is a curious observation for two reasons.

First, it seemingly ignores the U.S. case law, embodied in Aamer v. Obama, that explicitly authorizes force-feeding prisoners in part on the grounds of “maintaining security and discipline in the detention facility.” This would suggest that Israel is not quite as alone on the matter as the Israeli Supreme Court fears.

Second, and far more interesting, Justice Rubinstein did not treat this anomalous statute as a problem of international law on its own terms. Rather, he folded the issue into his analysis of Israeli constitutional law, granting the international norm a certain gravitational pull on the Court’s constitutional interpretation. To appreciate this maneuver it is necessary to briefly dive into the substantive constitutional question before the Court.

“Proper Purpose” and International Norms

Israel’s Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty, Art. 8, allows for another law to curtail an individual’s dignity rights only if it meets a tripartite test: 1) the law is “befitting the values of the State of Israel,” articulated earlier in the Basic Law as the values of a “Jewish and democratic state”; 2) it was “enacted for a proper purpose”; 3) the curtailment of rights is proportionate to the need.

The major challenge here centers around the “proper purpose” prong. Is it proper to consider national security when deciding whether to force-feed the prisoner, or must the sole consideration be preserving the prisoner’s life? This, it turns out, is a complex question—and one in which the Court allowed international law to encroach upon its constitutional jurisprudence.

The Supreme Court had previously adopted the view of its celebrated former President, Justice Aharon Barak, that a law’s purpose should be judged proper or not on its own terms, without regard to the means taken or the right with which it conflicts—weighing the value of the purpose against the right infringed is left to the proportionality prong.[3] But in IMA v. Knesset Justice Rubinstein cited a law review article by Professor Barak Medina (link in Hebrew), former dean of the Hebrew University Faculty of Law, critiquing Justice Barak’s standard.[4]

Professor Medina advocated for a stricter threshold, arguing that the Proper Purpose clause sets “‘red lines’ denying from the outset the legitimacy of certain arrangements that infringe constitutional rights.” In other words, a purpose may be proper in the abstract, but not under specific conditions and therefore out of bounds. For example, it is unconstitutional to imprison a terrorist’s family as a means of applying pressure on the terrorist, even though pressuring a terrorist may well be a proper purpose in the abstract. This, Professor Medina argued, is not primarily because the cost outweighs the benefits in the third-prong proportionality calculus (as Justice Barak might maintain), but rather because applying pressure on a third party is not the kind of purpose that justifies violating an individual’s constitutional right to liberty. “The inquiry must be,” Professor Medina claimed, “whether the purpose in violating this right is the kind of purpose recognized as proper in a democratic society.”

Well, is national security recognized in democratic societies as a proper purpose for which to force-feed prisoners on a hunger strike? The Court held it is not. The reason for this, Justice Rubinstein suggested, is twofold.

In the first place, there must be constitutional limits on what national security can permit. “National security is not a magic phrase,” he wrote, invoking the words of former-Justice Tova Strasberg-Cohen from a 1995 opinion. Justice Rubinstein alluded to a history of serious mistakes and abuses by the country’s security and intelligence agencies, a history he described as flashing a “red light” of “caution” before blindly following their recommendations to trample constitutional rights (para. 124).

Second, Justice Rubinstein unhappily noted that Israel’s law is “quite unique” on the world stage in basing the decision whether to force-feed in part on non-health concerns of national security. (It’s worth repeating that the U.S. law, which also recognizes security concerns as legitimate factors in the decision to force-feed, is peculiarly absent from this discussion and might have eased the Court’s anxiety about Israel’s “unique” law.) Justifying the law primarily on the basis of national security would place Israel awkwardly at the far edge of the world stage—and that, Justice Rubinstein reasoned, indicates that national security should not by itself constitute a “proper purpose” in the context of violating a prisoner’s human dignity.

The Statutory Summersault

The security rationale would not do. Yet the Court upheld the force-feeding law anyway, finding that its “dominant purpose” was the humanitarian one, not the national security one. In order to survive the constitutional test, then, the legislation originally conceived and crafted as a national security measure must be reimagined as a humanitarian health law. And that’s exactly the summersault that the Court performed, or at least understood the Knesset to have performed.

This interpretation of the law likely puzzled not only the petitioners, but also many of the legislators and ministers who sponsored and voted for the bill primarily as a means of neutralizing the political weapon of a mass hunger strike by Palestinian prisoners. As Justice Noam Sohlberg wrote in his concurrence, “the security consideration was among the primary factors driving the legislation of the amendment; an examination of the law’s Commentary and transcripts of the various debates throughout the legislative process leave no room for doubt about that” (para. 3).

Nevertheless, Justice Sohlberg maintained that the factors which the law takes into account virtually all pertain to the prisoner’s health: the doctor’s assessment begins the process, and the judge’s determination is based primarily on the risk to the prisoner’s life. These humanitarian considerations, Justice Sohlberg argued, “‘overtook’ the security considerations during the legislative ‘journey’ and outweighed them” (id.). Indeed, Justice Rubinstein made much of the fact that in the bill’s original draft the security concerns were an integral part of the judge’s consideration—whereas according to the bill’s final form, passed by the legislature, the judge would consider them only if specific evidence is presented. This proves, the Justices reasoned, that the humanitarian purpose ultimately carried the day.

Conclusion

The current international law, as expressed in the CPT and ECtHR case law, does not unequivocally ban force-feeding a prisoner on a hunger strike who is at risk of death or lasting harm. It accepts that democratic countries have different views on the matter. Yet the recent Israeli law goes further than that of the European countries, joining the prevailing U.S. doctrine in considering not only the prisoner’s well-being but also security concerns in deciding whether to force-feed the protesting detainee. Before upholding the law, the Israeli Supreme Court had to rework it: the “dominant” purpose, it held, must be preserving the prisoner’s life, with worries of national security playing only a supporting role.

The upshot is that, while the Court felt comfortable enough to tiptoe beyond the ECtHR precedent of allowing force-feeding of prisoners on exclusively humanitarian grounds, it did so uneasily. Unsettled by incongruous international norms, the Court was nudged toward a narrower reading of its own constitutional text—as though the Justices parsed the law with one eye on the Israeli code and the other on the rest of the world.

 


* Jesse Lempel is a 2019 J.D. candidate at Harvard Law School and a Feature Editor of the Harvard International Law Journal.

[1] See generally Anne-Marie Slaughter, A Typology of Transjudicial Communication, 29 U. Rich. L. Rev. 99 (1994); Y. Shany, How Supreme is the Supreme Law of the Land?: Comparative Analysis of the Influence of International Human Rights Treaties upon the Interpretation of Constitutional Texts by Domestic Courts, 31 Brook. J. Int’l L. 341 (2006). On Israel specifically, see Aharon Barak, International Human Rights Law and the Israeli Supreme Court, 47 Isr. L. Rev. 181 (2014); Markus Wagner, Transnational Legal Communication: A Partial Legacy of Supreme Court President Aharon Barak, 47 Tulsa L. Rev. 437 (2011).

[2] See, e.g., Mara Silver, Note, Testing Cruzan: Prisoners and the Constitutional Question of Self-Starvation, 58 Stan. L. Rev. 631, 642-61 (2005).

[3] See, e.g., Aharon Barak, Proportionality: Constitutional Rights and their Limitations 248-49 (2012).

[4] See B. Medina, On ‘Infringement’ of Constitutional Rights and on ‘Proper Purpose’, 15 Mishpatim v’Asakim [Law and Business] 281, 311 (2012).

 

Aligning Judicial Accountability in Mexico with International Standards

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By Julio Manuel Rivera Ríos

“¡Todo mundo tiene su precio!” (“Everyone has his price!”) If you ask most people in Mexico about the judiciary, this is what you’ll hear. The prevalent opinion is that cash equals justice. Under these circumstances, we attorneys must heed the call to action. To that end, we need robust and efficient institutions to discourage and fight corruption, and we have the very particular duty of reestablishing and reinforcing people’s trust in our noble profession and in the judicial system.

Since 1994, the management, supervision and discipline of Judicial Power in Mexico, with the exception of the Supreme Court of Justice, have been entrusted to the Federal Judicial Council, but its performance has left much to be desired.

From May 13th-23rd, 2001, a Special Rapporteur from the United Nations Commission on Human Rights undertook a mission in Mexico after receiving several complaints, pointing out the impunity of judicial misconduct. As a result of the visit, an alarming report was presented, part of which is stated here:

From 1995 to 1999 the Disciplinary Commission of the Federal Judicial Council attended to 2,274 complaints, resulting in 327 sanctions of magistrates, judges or secretaries, ranging from warnings to dismissal (an average of seven sanctions per month).

The Special Rapporteur was given estimates of 50 to 70 per cent of all judges at the federal level being corrupt. However, no federal judge has ever been sanctioned for corruption by the Judicial Council.” [1]

Little has changed since then. The Federal Judicial Council has failed to investigate judicial corruption effectively, which has resulted in its disrepute. The reason is simple: the Federal Judicial Council is part of the Judicial Power, lacking impartiality and independence. Here is the big question. Who should supervise and investigate judicial misconduct?

The Council of Europe’s Recommendation on the Independence, Efficiency and Role of Judges has established the requirements for the judicial disciplinary mechanisms, including the existence of a special body other than a court:

“Where measures [on discipline] need to be taken, states should consider setting up, by law, a special competent body which has as its task to apply any disciplinary sanctions and measures, where they are not dealt with by a court . . . .” [2]

In addition, the European Charter on the statute for judges establishes the right of individuals to easily file a complaint against judicial misconduct before an independent body:

“5.3. Each individual must have the possibility of submitting without specific formality a complaint relating to the miscarriage of justice in a given case to an independent body.” [3]

Moreover, when the United Nations Human Rights Committee analyzed a judicial corruption case in Georgia, it stated that the investigation and supervision of judicial misconduct should be handled by an independent agency:

“The State party should also ensure that documented complaints of judicial corruption are investigated by an independent agency and that the appropriate disciplinary or penal measures are taken.” [4]

In light of the aforementioned, the Federal Judicial Council should be dissolved to make way for an autonomous, specialized, impartial, collegiate body with operational, budgeting and decision-making autonomy, in charge of the management, supervision and discipline of Judicial Power.

In conjunction, a law should be issued based on the international principles of judicial independence and accountability,[5] where the new entity would be responsible for implementation and enforcement. The purpose of this law would be to ensure that disciplinary proceedings for investigation and adjudication on complaints are fair, transparent and impartial.

It is my conviction that through a body with these characteristics, judicial accountability would have a good chance to succeed in Mexico. Disciplinary procedures would be conducted in accordance with requisite high standards, respecting procedural guarantees. There would be nowhere to conceal unethical behavior. The public confidence in the judicial system and, more importantly, in the integrity and moral authority of the judiciary, would be greatly restored. Constitutionalism and the rule of law would be upheld, while strengthening Mexican democracy.

 


* Julio Manuel Rivera Ríos is a 2017 L.LM. Candidate at Harvard Law School and a Feature Editor for the Harvard International Law Journal.

[1] Commission on Human Rights, Civil and Political Rights, Including Questions of: Independence of the Judiciary, Administration of Justice, Impunity. United Nations document E/CN.4/2002/72/Add.1, 24 January 2002.

[2] Council of Europe, Recommendation No. R (94) 12 of the Committee of Ministers to Member States on the Independence, Efficiency and Role of Judges, 13 October 1994.

[3] Council of Europe, European Charter on the statute for judges, DAJ/DOC (98) 23, 10 July 1998. See also Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee on Georgia, United Nations document CCPR/CO/74/GEO, paragraph 12, 19 April 2012.

[4] Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee on Georgia, United Nations document CCPR/CO/74/GEO, 19 April 2012.

[5] See the Bangalore Principles of Judicial Conduct, adopted by the Judicial Group on Strengthening Judicial Integrity, as revised at the Round Table Meeting of Chief Justices at The Hague, 2002. See also Basic Principles on the Independence of the Judiciary, adopted by the Seventh United Nations Congress on the Prevention of Crime and the Treatment of Offenders held at Milan from 26 August to 6 September 1985 and endorsed by General Assembly resolutions 40/32 of 29 November 1985 and 40/146 of 13 December 1985.

Beyond the Horizon of Banking Regulation: What to Expect from Basel IV

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[PDF]

By Luca Amorello*

I. The Basel III Framework Six Years Later

The formalization in 2010 of the Basel III regulatory framework,[1] aimed at strengthening the resilience of internationally active banks, was one of the major accomplishments of the Basel Committee on Banking Supervision (“BCBS”) and its national participants.[2] Basel III amply satisfied the promise of G20 leaders to catalyze their policy efforts in order to establish a multi-dimensional regulatory regime for global banks.[3]

For the first time, the microeconomic dimension of prudential rules came to be surrounded by a macro-prudential layer intended to target systemic risks,[4] while concerns over liquidity shortages in bad times led regulators to establish standards for liquidity coverage[5] and stable funding.[6] Moreover, the deployment of a leverage ratio,[7] along with the implementation of extended disclosure requirements,[8] set the stage for limiting risk-taking behaviors and empowering market discipline.

Over the last few years, G20 countries have sought to implement the whole banking reform at the national level and have hailed the structural changes of banks’ capital and liquidity as a great achievement.[9] The expansion of the regulatory boundaries pursued by Basel III has been regarded, in fact, as a decisive step toward establishing a well functioning, level playing field for banks,[10] which can now compete at the global level, having internalized the costs of their risk-related misbehaviors.

Certainly, the implementation of the Basel III framework came at a significant price. Compliance with the new prudential provisions required banks to sustain tremendous costs for recapitalization and risk management improvements. Some banks preferred to re-size their balance sheets, cutting billions of dollars of assets and rebalancing their portfolios.[11] Over time, this structural transformation has had an impact for the whole economy, resulting in a decline in credit availability for the real economy.[12]

One may wonder whether the overall benefits provided by Basel III in terms of stability of the financial system and resilience of its components outweigh these costs. Several studies sought to make this analysis by forecasting the overall impact of Basel III on the banking industry and the real economy.[13] The results of these studies have not always been consistent, and they have produced several different answers.

What is certain, however, is that today the Basel III framework is under international pressure. Only a few years after the enactment of Basel III, critics have highlighted concerns about the fundamental underpinnings of its prudential rules. And, more importantly, international policymakers are already at work to reframe some of its most significant components in response to these criticisms.

II. The Limits of Basel III

Despite general support from the global community, Basel III has not been free of criticism. Immediately after its introduction, a number of scholars and officers started questioning its effectiveness in addressing idiosyncratic and systemic risks.[14] The main arguments against the effectiveness of Basel III framework move along four lines: (a) the extreme complexity of the Basel III requirements; (b) the continuing reliance on internal model-based regulation to calculate capital requirements; (c) the failure to fully capture a number of off-balance sheet risks; and (d) the incompleteness of the disclosure requirements.

A. The complexity of the Basel III framework

In a notable speech, Andrew Haldane, Bank of England Executive Director, described the intricate structure of Basel III, arguing that the new prudential provisions resulted in:

“a ballooning in the number of estimated risk weights. For a large, complex bank, this has meant a rise in the number of calculations required from single figures a generation ago to several million today (Haldane (2011)).

That increases opacity. It also raises questions about regulatory robustness since it places reliance on a large number of estimated parameters. Across the banking book, a large bank might need to estimate several thousand default probability and loss-given-default parameters . . . To turn these into regulatory capital requirements, the number of parameters increases by another order of magnitude. . . .

This degree of complexity complicates greatly the task for investors pricing banks’ financial instruments. For example, serious concerns have been expressed about the opacity of the Basel risk weights and their consistency across firms (Haldane (2011), Le Leslé and Avramova (2012)). Their granularity makes it close to impossible to account for differences across banks. It also provides near-limitless scope for arbitrage.

This degree of complexity also raises serious questions about the robustness of the regulatory framework given its degree of over-parameterisation. This million-dimension parameter set is based on the in-sample statistical fit of models drawn from short historical samples. If previous studies tell us it may take 250 years of data for a complex asset pricing model to beat a simple one, it is difficult to imagine how long a sample would be needed to justify a million-digit parameter set.[15]

Against this backdrop, the massive structure of Basel III can hardly be seen as an efficient and rational framework.

B. The continuing reliance on internal model-based regulation to calculate capital requirements

Since Basel II became effective in 2008, banks have been allowed to use their own internal models for the calculation of their funds and capital requirements, subject to approval by the competent authorities.[16] Banks that use their own models instead of the standardized approach uniformly set by the BCBS are permitted to estimate fundamental credit risk parameters—such as exposure at default (“ED”), loss given default (“LGD”), probability of default (“PD”), and maturity (“M”)—relying on their own assessment of exposures and counterparties’ creditworthiness.

The use of internal models by global banks, permitted under and incentivized by the Basel II framework, has resulted in a number of negative spillover effects. A number of analytical studies show how banks using these models can easily play with their own estimates in order to reduce the amount of capital required to be put aside.[17] These internal models, in fact, do not always reflect the underlying credit risks of different exposures and may foster regulatory capital arbitrage on a massive scale.

The Basel III framework does not significantly question the reliability of the internal risk model approach to capital regulation. Internationally active banks are therefore incentivized, even under Basel III, to use their own risk models for the purpose of calculating their prudential requirements, in view of the inherent capital savings and competitive advantages.[18]

C. The inability to fully capture a number of on- and off-balance sheet risks

The calculation of capital requirements is basically constructed around three typologies of idiosyncratic risks, namely credit risk, market risk, and operational risk. The Basel III standards—under either the standardized or the internal risk model approach—seek to provide sensitive methodologies for the determination of each of these risks.

In order to enhance risk coverage of off-balance sheet activities, the Basel III framework introduced specific metrics for measuring counterparty credit risk related to trading book and complex securitization exposures, along with derivatives, repurchase agreements, and securities financing transactions.[19]

However, although Basel III represents a praiseworthy effort to better detect the potential build-up of these risks, its provisions have fallen short of fully capturing residual risks,[20] such as interest rate risk arising from non-trading activities.[21] The failure to provide a consistent picture of these residual risks under the current framework challenges the overall reliability of the risk-weighted capital requirements as set out by the BCBS.[22]

D. The incompleteness of the disclosure requirements

To provide a common set of data on the capital and liquidity adequacy of banks to market participants and thus enhance market discipline, Basel III included the Pillar 3 disclosure requirements. For a banking entity of any risk profile, the Basel Committee set out common principles and templates that allow stakeholders to conduct cross-jurisdictional comparisons among banks on business models, prudential metrics, risk management, and governance performance.[23]

Basel III’s disclosure requirements define clear reporting methodologies and disclosure frequencies, aiming in particular at improving the granularity of the prudential data to be released and the transparency of relevant banking activities. However, critics have raised concerns about the lack of disclosure requirements for certain pivotal information.[24] The absence of information on banks’ internal risk models and on the validation of their risk metrics, along with the lack of disclosure of a number of ratios concerning their performance and profitability, may leave room for market uncertainty among financial analysts and investors.

III. The Rise of the “Basel IV Momentum”

In one of his keynote speeches, William Coen, Secretary General of the Basel Committee, compared the Basel III framework to a bridge, which requires not only solid construction, but also regular maintenance. In particular:

“Bridges are complex to design and build. They must be sympathetic to their surroundings and their design and construction rely on the expertise of many parties. […] As strong bridges bring prosperity, weak bridges can undermine it. A weak bridge jeopardises the safety of those crossing it, and may create wider problems for society at large. A loss of confidence in a structure or its builders shakes confidence in every similar structure. These knock-on effects can be severe and persistent. So it is essential that a bridge, like the Basel framework, is built to last. We must also not forget the importance of regular maintenance. The Harbour Bridge opened with four traffic lanes but now has eight, together with a complementary tunnel. Some parts are repainted every five years, while others last as long as 30 years. We face the same imperatives with the Basel framework. Maintenance does not imply re-opening every previous decision; we understand the importance of stability and certainty. But it does mean staying vigilant to market developments and keeping in mind the increasingly widespread use of the Basel framework.”[25]

The significance of this statement is twofold. On one hand, a complex regulatory architecture, such as the one of Basel III, requires continuing adjustments over time due to market innovations and industry developments. On the other hand, the BCBS recognizes its policy limitations and seems to suggest that Basel III should not appear as a complete regulatory framework. Rather, it represents, in essence, an ever-evolving system[26] that should balance the stability of its normative content with evolving understanding of its policy foundations. In other words, there is no certainty about the right methodology for capturing idiosyncratic and systemic risks and, thus, for assessing banks’ capital and liquidity adequacy. When gaps and weaknesses are found in the application of the prudential framework, international policymakers should re-discuss the premises of their previous work and, accordingly, lay down new regulatory proposals that might better capture the externalities of market behaviors.

Over the last two years, in acknowledging its past policy-making limitations, the BCBS has followed this path. As of 2014, several regulatory adjustments to the Basel III framework have been made, and public consultations by BCBS on these new proposals have been carried out to gauge market reactions.

Some examples are worth noting. In December 2015, the BCBS consulted on revisions to the standardized approach for credit risk.[27] Additionally, in January 2016, the BCBS published a revised market risk framework which is intended to supersede the one laid down in Basel III.[28]

For the same purpose, in March 2016, the BCBS launched an effort to revise the standardized approach for calculating operational risk[29] and proposed changes to the Basel III internal ratings-based approaches[30] in order to reduce variations in credit risk-weighted assets. In the same month, the BCBS published its consultative document on consolidated and enhanced Pillar 3 disclosure requirements[31] aimed at addressing disclosure shortcomings found in the Basel III framework.

In April 2016, the BCBS also issued a revised version of the leverage ratio requirement[32] and new standards regarding the management and supervision of interest rate risk in the banking book.[33] Moreover, in July 2016 the same Committee published updated standards for the regulatory treatment of securitization exposures.[34]

Against this newly emerging effort by international regulators, financial markets have begun to wonder whether these regulatory revisions are not just ordinary maintenance of the Basel III framework, but rather the foundation of a new, complex prudential package—a “Basel IV” framework.[35]

Rumors about this “Basel IV package” are gaining momentum, and market expectations seem to suggest that Basel IV is likely to come.[36] Due to the number of reform proposals published already by the BCBS, there are considerable reasons to believe that the new Basel IV package, once implemented, will overturn the main components of Basel III framework and shake the global banking industry at its foundations.

IV. Selected Elements of the Basel IV Package

If these indications about a future Basel IV package are accurate, it is of outmost importance to figure out what are likely to be its main components. In view of the criticisms of the Basel III framework, and considering some of the reform proposals issued over the last few years by the BCBS, the following elements are likely to be considered in the future prudential package: (A) the total loss-absorbing capacity requirements; (B) standardized and internal model-based approaches; (C) operational, interest rate, and step-in risks; (D) sovereign risk; (E) large exposures and concentration; (F) securitization; (G) additional macroprudential instruments; and (H) enhanced disclosure requirements.

A. G-SIIs and TLAC

The primary focus of Basel IV is most likely to be on the quantitative and qualitative re-modulation of capital requirements for Global Systemically Important Institutions (“G-SIIs”). Not only will banks be required to hold an increased minimum of their own funds and additional capital buffers,[37] but G-SIIs will also be required to adopt prudential rules implementing at the international level the principles of “total loss-absorbing capacity” (“TLAC”), as developed by the Financial Stability Board (“FSB”), in consultation with the BCBS, at the end of 2014.[38]

These principles are meant to enhance the recapitalization capacity of G-SII banks in periods of severe stress and resolution, re-shape banks’ going concern capital base, and constrain leverage.[39] To this end, banks will be required to hold a quantitatively and qualitatively prescribed set of long-term debt instruments, which are expected to be written down or converted into equity during the resolution of a failed institution. Along with the issuance of these new instruments, banks will have to comply with minimum capital ratios based on the group level’s consolidated risk-weighted assets.[40]

Although TLAC cannot be considered a revised version of the Basel III capital requirements—as it is supposed to constitute an add-on requirement for G-SIIs already subject to the Basel III prudential standards—the actual implementation of these provisions will require consistency in the calibration of both frameworks. In view of this, Basel IV will need to align a number of Basel III provisions with the TLAC regulatory package, particularly with regard to the eligibility of capital instruments, deduction approaches, and holdings restrictions.[41]

B. Standardized Approach vs. Internal Rating-Based Approach

As noted above, one of the main criticisms of Basel III framework has been the level of complexity underlying the capital requirements calculation. Banks’ use of internal rating-based models to arbitrage away minimum capital requirements has highlighted the excessive parameterization of risk variables.

Against this backdrop, Basel IV is expected to revisit the scope of internal model-based rules in the calculation of risk-weights. The new prudential package will likely limit banks’ use of internal models to estimate risk variables, giving preference instead to an augmented standardized approach that may better capture the vast array of exposure risks and improve comparability among banks.[42]

To further this purpose, future proposals will introduce floors for credit risk parameters to reduce distortions on the determination of the EAD, LGD, and PD.[43] In addition, credit risk mitigation techniques are likely to be reformulated in order to avoid excessive capital deductions.

Credit counterparty risk and market risk frameworks will probably be revisited along the same lines. For a number of derivatives classes and long settlement transactions, the credit counterparty risk will be measured primarily by relying on the standardized approach developed by the BCBS in March 2014.[44]

For market risk, minimum capital requirements will be calculated by either a revised internal model approach or a revised standardized approach, which would permit a more sensitive capitalization of material risk factors across banks while limiting the capital-reducing effects of hedging and diversification.[45] In addition, market risk will no longer be based on a Value at Risk (“VaR”) methodology, but rather on an Expected Shortfalls (“ES”) approach, which will help banks capture tail risks and capital adequacy in periods of severe market stress.[46]

Finally, in order to clarify the regulatory boundaries between the trading book and banking book of credit institutions and to reduce the related risk of arbitrage, the BCBS will implement new definitions for the instruments deemed to be held either on the banking book or the trading book.[47]

C. Operational, Interest Rate, and Step-in Risk

The BCBS has advocated revisions to the operational risk framework laid down in Basel III, since that framework is considered relatively ineffective.[48] Modeling practices used for operational risk measurement are excessively complex and provide for wide variability in capital results, which undermines the comparability of capital results among banks.

To address this concern, the BCBS revealed a revised operational risk framework in March 2016, and its principles are likely to constitute a prominent component of the Basel IV package.[49] The innovative feature of this proposal lies in the use of a single, non-model-based standardized measurement approach (“SMA”) for calculating operational risk capital.

The newly-founded methodology will introduce a Business Indicator (“BI”) and an Internal Loss Multiplier (“ILM”), which are deemed to reflect individual firms’ past operational losses as a proxy for operational capital needs.[50] This simplified methodology is intended to enhance banks’ risk management practices and help build extra cushions of capital against subsets of operational risks, such as legal,[51] misconduct,[52] and climate risks,[53] which may easily endanger the viability of credit institutions.

By the same token, Basel IV is expected to revisit the framework for capturing interest rate risk. As a foundation for this, in April 2016 the BCBS updated its principles on interest rate risk in the banking book, setting out methods that banks should use for measuring, managing, monitoring, and controlling this risk typology.[54] In addition, further BCBS proposals on market risk are expected in the near future.

Finally, it is worth noting that the BCBS has published a conceptual framework that could form the theoretical background for setting up a prudential approach aiming at identifying, assessing, and addressing so-called “step-in risk.”[55] Step-in-Risk is the risk underlying the relationship between a bank and shadow banking entities for which the bank may provide financial support beyond or in the absence of any contractual obligations in periods of financial distress.[56]

The BCBS proposal focuses on identifying unconsolidated entities that could generate significant step-in risk for banks. For this purpose, it sets out potential approaches that could be used to reflect step-in risk in banks’ prudential requirements. Although the development of such framework is at an early stage and its basic contours are only preliminary,[57] it is easy to assume that the Basel IV package will incorporate this risk category as one of its innovative prudential profiles.

D. Sovereign Risk

The Basel IV framework is also likely to reflect the outcome of the ongoing policy discussions on special prudential treatment of sovereign bonds.[58] In particular, a number of national policymakers are urging the BCBS to remove the zero risk-weight exemptions for sovereign exposures currently permitted under Basel III.[59]

The magnitude of sovereign risk and its spillover effects have been at the center of policy attention following the severe deterioration of Greek, Irish, Portuguese, Spanish, and Italian government bonds during the Euro zone debt crisis.[60] In the meantime, a number of proposals have been laid out to restructure the regulatory benefits that banks enjoy in investing in these assets, especially in terms of concentration limits and the securitization of sovereign bond pools.[61]

At this stage it is not possible to determine what might be the likely outcome of this policy debate due to the variety of options available. However, a BCBS consultation paper on this subject is expected in the upcoming months.[62] Although the concrete implementation of these rules may take years, this proposal will certainly advocate for a non-risk-free approach to sovereign exposures, with tremendous consequences for countries’ financing, banks’ purchase incentives, and wholesale funding.[63]       

E. Large Exposures and Concentration

In April 2014 the BCBS published its final supervisory framework on measuring and controlling large exposures as a backstop to risk-weighted capital requirements.[64] These new provisions are intended to provide a common minimum standard to capture and mitigate concentration risk, including a general cap on exposures to single counterparties set at 25% of bank’s Tier 1 capital. For G-SIIs this limit is set at 15% for exposures to other G-SIIs.[65]

This large exposure framework is expected to be applied as of 2019 and will overrule the previous standards on large exposures set out in 1991.[66] More importantly, the new focus on concentration risk will supplement the revisions of the prudential framework expected under Basel IV, serving as a simple backstop to risk-weighted capital requirements. 

F. Securitization

Another notable element of the likely Basel IV package relates to securitization. In order to refine the Basel III provisions on securitization, which date back to the Basel II era, in July 2016 the BCBS published a final paper setting out the regulatory treatment for capitalizing securitization exposures.[67]

Based on this paper, a number of innovations are expected to be introduced for the purpose of calculating capital requirements. The framework aims at reducing complexity by limiting the number of approaches accepted for determining securitization capital. To this end, it favors the internal ratings-based approach in order to reduce the mechanistic reliance on external ratings.[68]

Although this new framework is considered to be part of Basel III, given the number of substantial changes proposed and the timeframe for implementation (January 2018),[69] it is more appropriate to conceptualize it as a complementary element of the Basel IV credit risk revisions described above.

G. Macroprudential Miscellanea

Beyond the microprudential proposals outlined thus far, the Basel IV package could incorporate a number of new macroprudential instruments, which would complete the countercyclical regulatory dimension introduced with Basel III.

As part of such an effort, not only can exposure-based capital surcharges for G-SIIs and other credit institutions be implemented, but real estate tools, such as loan-to-value and debt-to-income caps, could also be developed in the near future by the BCBS.[70] In view of the concerns expressed about global real estate market dynamics,[71] a number of proposals are likely to focus on curbing excessive growth in commercial and residential real estate and limiting excessive credit incentives for both lenders and borrowers.

In addition, the Basel IV framework could incorporate a macroprudential stress testing framework for liquidity and solvency risks.[72] The outcome of these macro stress tests—either on single banks or on the entire financial system—could then be used by competent authorities to impose additional liquidity surcharges or solvency requirements.[73]

H. Enhanced Disclosure

Finally, in order to reflect the number of regulatory changes proposed under the Basel IV package, it is likely that the Basel III disclosure framework will be amended accordingly. The new disclosure requirements are expected to provide deeper insights into capital and liquidity ratios to inform the market about any given bank’s risk profile.

As a result, additional disclosure rules will seek to provide more granular data on, in particular, banks’ loss-absorbing capacity and operational and market risk management at both the individual and aggregate level. The foundations of this enhanced disclosure regime can be found in the consultative document on Pillar 3 disclosure requirements published by the Basel Committee in March 2016.[74]

V. Conclusions: A Disruptive Impact for the Global Banking Industry?

If all these proposals were implemented, what would remain of the Basel III framework? Not much. The adoption of these proposals as supplementary prudential standards would override the core components of Basel III, setting the stage for a radical reformulation of banking law throughout the world. If this holds true, market participants need to ponder the implications of these regulatory reforms on the banking industry as a whole.[75]

Compliance with Basel III imposed substantial costs on credit institutions. The array of regulatory changes introduced by the BCBS in 2011 required banks to adjust not only their capital and liquidity structure, but also their business models, governance structure, and investment strategies.[76] Although compliance with these requirements has provided certain benefits in terms of resilience and stability of the financial system, the associated regulatory costs have, no doubt, weakened the lending capacity of individual banks.[77] And, along with an environment of low interest rates, the reduced lending capacity may have, in turn, negative spillover effects on banks’ profitability.[78]

In this evolving scenario, the implications of a future Basel IV package might be overwhelming. One the one hand, the likely simplification of risk-weighting and parameter calculations could provide some compliance cost savings to banks. On the other hand, limitations on the use of internal risk models for the purpose of capital requirements, along with the general increase of prudential buffers, could further undercut the viability of banking activities.[79] In such a regulatory environment, further costly adjustments on risk management and the governance structure will follow in the upcoming years, while the current rise of new lending providers, such as peer-to-peer landing platforms[80] and lending companies, might pose additional burdens to banks’ competitiveness.

For now, whether the future macroeconomic benefits of the Basel IV package for society as a whole are likely to outweigh the microeconomic costs for individual institutions is a matter of speculation.[81] Nevertheless, shedding some light on the ongoing debate concerning the premises of Basel IV is certainly instrumental in understanding what lies beyond the horizon of banking regulation.


* Luca Amorello is a 2017 LLM Candidate at Harvard Law School and Doctoral Candidate in Law and Economics of Money and Finance at Goethe University of Frankfurt.

[1] BCBS, Basel III: A Global Regulatory Framework for More Resilient Banks and Banking Systems (rev. 2011) [hereinafter BCBS, Basel III: A Global Regulatory Framework]. For a thorough analysis of Basel III capital and liquidity standards, see Basel III and Beyond: A Guide to Banking Regulation After the Crisis (Francesco Cannata & Mario Quagliariello, eds., 2011); Michael S. Barr, Howell E. Jackson & Margaret E. Tahyar, Financial Regulation: Law and Policy (2016), 307–332. For a discussion on the implementation of Basel III prudential framework, inter alia, see Peter King & Heath Tarbert, Basel III: An Overview, Banking & Fin. Serv. Pol. Rep. (May 2011), at 1–18.

[2] The institutions represented in the BCBS are the Central Bank of Argentina (Argentina), the Reserve Bank of Australia and Australian Prudential Regulation Authority (Australia), the National Bank of Belgium (Belgium), the Central Bank of Brazil (Brazil), the Bank of Canada and Office of the Superintendent of Financial Institutions (Canada), the People’s Bank of China and China Banking Regulatory Commission (China), the European Central Bank (EU), the Bank of France and the Prudential Supervision and Resolution Authority (France), the Deutsche Bundesbank and Federal Financial Supervisory Authority (BaFin) (Germany), the Hong Kong Monetary Authority (Hong Kong), the Reserve Bank of India (India), the Bank Indonesia and Indonesia Financial Services Authority (Indonesia), the Bank of Italy (Italy), the Bank of Japan and Financial Services Agency (Japan), the Bank of Korea and Financial Supervisory Service (Korea), the Surveillance Commission for the Financial Sector (Luxembourg), the Bank of Mexico and Comisión Nacional Bancaria y de Valores (Mexico), the Netherlands Bank (Netherlands), the Central Bank of the Russian Federation (Russia), the Saudi Arabian Monetary Agency (Saudi Arabia), the Monetary Authority of Singapore (Singapore), South African Reserve Bank (South Africa), the Bank of Spain (Spain), the Sveriges Riksbank and Finansinspektionen (Sweden), the Swiss National Bank and Swiss Financial Market Supervisory Authority (FINMA) (Switzerland), the Central Bank of the Republic of Turkey and Banking Regulation and Supervision Agency (Turkey), the Bank of England and Prudential Regulation Authority (UK), the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System, Federal Reserve Bank of New York, Office of the Comptroller of the Currency, and Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (USA). The observers are the Central Bank of Chile and Banking and Financial Institutions Supervisory Agency (Chile), the Central Bank of Malaysia (Malaysia), the Central Bank of the United Arab Emirates (UAE), the Bank for International Settlement, the Basel Consultative Group, the European Commission (EU), the European Banking Authority (EU), and the International Monetary Fund.

[3] See Daniel K. Tarullo, Speech at the Clearing House Business Meeting and Conference: The Evolution of Capital Regulation (Nov. 9, 2011) (arguing that prudential regulation must be multi-dimensional and rigorous in each of its constituent parts).

[4] BCBS, Basel III: A Global Regulatory Framework, supra note 1, at 2. For an overview of the macroprudential dimension of Basel III framework, see Andrew Baker, The Gradual Transformation? The Incremental Dynamics of Macroprudential Regulation, 7 Reg. & Governance 417, 426–28 (2013). For a wider discussion on macroprudential approach to banking regulation, see Samuel G. Hanson, Anil K. Kashyap & Jeremy C. Stein, A Macroprudential Approach to Financial Regulation, 25 J. of Econ. Perspectives 3, 3–28 (2011).

[5] See BCBS, Liquidity Coverage Ratio and Liquidity Risk Monitoring Tools (Jan. 2013). For an in-depth legal analysis of the Basel III liquidity coverage requirement, see Andrew W. Hartlage, The Basel III Liquidity Coverage Ratio and Financial Stability, 111 Mich. L. Rev. 453 (2012).

[6] See BCBS, Basel III: The Net Stable Funding Ratio (Oct. 2014). For a discussion of the Basel III net stable funding ratio, see Jeanne Gobat, Mamoru Yanase & Joseph Maloney, The Net Stable Funding Ratio: Impact and Issues for Consideration (Intl. Monetary Fund, Working Paper No. 14/106, 2014); Michael R. King, The Basel III Net Stable Funding Ratio and Bank Net Interest Margins, 37 J. of Banking & Fin. 4144 (2013).

[7] See BCBS, Basel III Leverage Ratio Framework and Disclosure Requirements (Jan. 2014).

[8] See BCBS, Revised Pillar 3 Disclosure Requirements (Jan. 2015).

[9] In particular, G20 leaders endorsed the Basel III regulatory framework at their 2010 Summit in Seoul. For more details, see G20 Seoul Summit Document, Seoul, South Korea (Nov. 12, 2010), at point 29: “We endorsed the landmark agreement reached by the BCBS on the new bank capital and liquidity framework, which increases the resilience of the global banking system by raising the quality, quantity and international consistency of bank capital and liquidity, constrains the build-up of leverage and maturity mismatches, and introduces capital buffers above the minimum requirements that can be drawn upon in bad times.”

[10] The establishment of a global level playing field for banks has been one of the main drivers of Basel reforms on prudential regulation since the adoption of the Basel I Accord. See BCBS, International Convergence of Capital Measurement and Capital Standards (July 1988) (stating that the “framework should be in fair and have a high degree of consistency in its application to banks in different countries with a view to diminishing an existing source of competitive inequality among international banks”). However, to what extent this level playing field has been actually achieved is debatable. For a critical analysis of the desirability of a level playing fields in international financial regulation, see Alan D. Morrison & Lucy White, Level Playing Fields in International Financial Regulation, 64 J. of Fin. 1099 (2009).

[11] For an overview of how Wall Street banks are changing their capital structure and business in view of Basel III prudential reforms, see Victoria McGrane & Julie Steinberg, Wall Street Adapts to New Regulatory Regime, Wall Street J. (July 21, 2014), http://www.wsj.com/articles/wall-street-adapts-to-new-regulatory-regime-1405951482 (last visited Oct. 12, 2016). For example, Goldman Sachs decided to cut its business ties to hedge funds and moved to less profitable clients in order to adjust its balance sheet structure to the new prudential framework. See Justin Baer & Juliet Chung, Goldman Sachs Cuts Roster of Hedge-Fund Clients, Wall Street J. (Aug. 4, 2014), http://www.wsj.com/articles/goldman-rethinks-services-it-provides-hedge-funds-1407194493 (last visited Oct. 13, 2016). For the same reasons, since 2013 Deutsche Bank has taken steps to reduce the size of its balance sheet. For a detailed explanation of the prudential adjustment that Deutsche Bank is intended to pursue in the upcoming years to comply with the Basel III requirements, see Press Release, Deutsche Bank, Deutsche Bank Announces Details of Strategy 2020 (Oct. 29, 2015), https://www.db.com/newsroom_news/2015/medien/deutsche-bank-announces-details-of-strategy-2020-en-11247.htm.

[12] Since 2010, the BCBS has conducted a number of comprehensive quantitative studies on the impact of Basel III on banks, finding a substantial decrease in credit availability for the real economy due to the higher capital and liquidity requirements. See, e.g., BCBS, Results of the Comprehensive Quantitative Impact Study (Dec. 2010).

[13] A number of empirical studies have found a consistent relationship between higher capital requirements and lower economic growth. For a survey, see Natalya Martynova, Effect of Bank Capital Requirements on Economic Growth: A Survey (De Nederlandsche Bank, Working Paper No. 467, 2015); Paolo Angelini et al., Basel III: Long-term Impact on Economic Performance and Fluctuations, 83 The Manchester School 217 (2015); Patrick Slovik & Boris Cournède, Macroeconomic Impact of Basel III (Org. for Econ. Cooperation & Dev. Econ. Dept., Working Paper No. 844, 2011).

[14] See, e.g., Bill Allen Kai Ke Chan & Alistair Milne, Basel III: Is the Cure Worse Than the Disease?, 25 Intl. Rev. of Fin. Analysis 159 (2012); Ahmed Al-Darwish et al., Possible Unintended Consequences of Basel III and Solvency II (Intl. Monetary Fund, Working Paper No. 187, Aug. 2011); Thomas M. Hoenig, Vice Chairman, Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, Remarks at the International Association of Deposit Insurers 2013 Research Conference: Basel III Capital: A Well-Intended Illusion (Apr. 9, 2013).

[15] Andrew G. Haldane, Speech at the Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City’s 36th Economic Policy Symposium: The Dog and the Frisbee (Aug. 31, 2012).

[16] See BCBS, International Convergence of Capital Measurement and Capital Standards: A Revised Framework ¶¶ 48–49 (June 2004). For an analytical explanation of the internal-ratings based models allowed by the Basel II framework, see Hugh Thomas & Zhiqiang Wang, Interpreting the Internal Ratings-Based Capital Requirements in Basel II, 6 J. of Banking Reg., 274 (2005).

[17] See, e.g., Markus Behn, Rainer Haselmann & Vikrant Vig, The Limits of Model-Based Regulation (Eur. Central Bank, Working Paper No. 1928, 2016); Matthew C. Plosser & João A. C. Santos, Banks’ Incentives and the Quality of Internal Risk Models (Fed. Res. Bank of New York, Staff Report No. 704, 2014).

[18] For an overview of the competitive advantages provided by the internal ratings-based models, see BCBS, Results of the Fifth Quantitative Impact Study (QIS 5) §§ 2.1 & 2.2 (June 2006) (showing a substantial decline in minimum required capital in aggregate for banks using this regulatory approach).

[19] See BCBS, supra note 1, at 29–51.

[20] For details, see Wayne Byres, Remarks at the Financial Stability Institute’s 6th Biennial Conference on Risk Management and Supervision: Basel III: Necessary, but Not Sufficient 6–7 (Nov. 6, 2012).

[21] For this reason the BCBS proposed a consultation on new regulatory standards to manage interest rate risk in the banking book. See BCBS, Interest Rate Risk in the Banking Book – Consultative Document (June 2015).

[22] See Connel Fullenkamp & Céline Rochon, Reconsidering Bank Capital Regulation: A New Combination of Rules, Regulators, and Market Discipline 3–9 (Intl. Monetary Fund, Working Paper No. 169, 2014) (raising doubts on the overall effectiveness of the Basel III risk-weighting framework in capturing risks).

[23] See BCBS, Revised Pillar 3 Disclosure Requirements, supra note 8.

[24] From the industry side, in particular see Wilfried Wilms, Remarks at the XBRL Week in Brussels, National Bank of Belgium: The Dark Side of the Basel Committee’s Pillar 3 Framework, (Nov. 25, 2014). See also Constantinos Stephanou, Rethinking Market Discipline in Banking Lessons from the Financial Crisis (World Bank, Policy Research Paper No. 5227, 2013). It is interesting to note that the criticisms of the Basel III disclosure framework do not seem to be addressed by the last reform of disclosure standards proposed by the BCBS in 2016 and briefly discussed in the next few sections. For an analysis of the proposed reforms, see Comment Letter Submitted by the Global Financial Market Association, the Institute of International Finance, and the International Swaps and Derivatives Association to the BCBS, Re: BCBS Consultative Document: Pillar 3 disclosure requirements – consolidated and enhanced framework (June 10, 2016), http://www.gfma.org/correspondence/item.aspx?id=825.

[25] William Coen, Secretary General of the Basel Committee, Keynote Speech at the Australian Financial Review’s Banking and Wealth Summit: The Global Policy Reform Agenda: Completing the Job (Apr. 5, 2016).

[26] To better understand, from an historical perspective, the ever-evolving nature of the Basel prudential requirements, see Damiano Guadalupi, The Ever-Evolving Basel Accord, in Retail Credit Risk Management 13–58 (Mario Anolli et al., eds., 2013).

[27] See BCBS, Revisions to the Standardised Approach for Credit RiskSecond Consultative Document (Dec. 2015).

[28] See BCBS, Minimum Capital Requirements for Market Risk (Jan. 2016).

[29] See BCBS, Standardised Measurement Approach for Operational Risk – Consultative Document (Mar. 2016).

[30]See BCBS, Reducing Variation in Credit Risk-Weighted Assets – Constraints on the Use of Internal Model Approaches (Mar. 2016).

[31] See BCBS, Pillar 3 Disclosure Requirements – Consolidated and Enhanced Framework – Consultative Document (Mar. 2016).

[32] See BCBS, Revisions to the Basel III Leverage Ratio Framework – Consultative Document (Apr. 2016).

[33] See BCBS, Interest Rate Risk in the Banking Book (Apr. 2016).

[34] See BCBS, Revisions to the Securitisation Framework (July 2016).

[35] However, there is a current debate on whether these new proposals will set the stage for a new Basel IV package. Officers from different national and international authorities tend to downsize the prudential implications of these proposals, arguing that the idea of a Basel IV regulatory framework is just speculative. See Boris Groendahl, Carney Says News of Basel’s Next Big Wave Isn’t Fit to Print, Bloomberg (Dec. 1, 2015), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2015-12-01/carney-dismisses-basel-iv-talk-as-regulator-meets-in-new-york (last visited Oct. 14, 2016). However, in view of the number of proposals published by the BCBS, it seems rather difficult to support these claims.

[36] The reality of a proper Basel IV framework is fueled by market expectations, which see in the regulatory moves of the BCBS the incoming architecture of this new prudential package. For example, see Laura Noonan, Basel IV Spectre Looms for Battle-Worn Bankers, Fin. Times (Mar. 14, 2016), https://www.ft.com/content/a9d6eb94-ce5d-11e5-831d-09f7778e7377 (last visited Oct. 14, 2016).

[37] For an estimate of this capital increase, see KPMG, Banks’ Strategies and Business Models: Capital Myths and Realities 6–7 (July 2016).

[38] FSB, Principles on Loss-Absorbing and Recapitalisation Capacity of G-SIBs in Resolution: Total Loss Absorbing Capacity (TLAC) Term Sheet (Nov. 9, 2015). To this end, the BCBS has recently launched a consultation on TLAC holdings. For details, see BCBS, TLAC Holdings – Consultative Document (Nov. 2015).

[39] For a quantitative study on the impact of TLAC reform on GSIIs’ capital base and leverage, see BCBS, TLAC Quantitative Impact Study (QIS) Report (Nov. 2015).

[40] FSB, supra note 38, at 10. For an overview of the TLAC implementing proposal in US, see Total Loss-Absorbing Capacity, Long-Term Debt, and Clean Holding Company Requirements, 80 Fed. Reg. 74,925 (proposed Nov. 30, 2015) (to be codified at 12 C.F.R. pts. 217 & 252). For a discussion of the implementation of the TLAC reform in EU, see Benoit Mesnard, Briefing, Loss Absorbing Capacity in the Banking Union: TLAC Implementation and MREL Review, European Parliament, PE 574.408 (July 7, 2016).

[41] For this purpose, in November 2015 the BCBS published a document on TLAC that proposes changes in the calculation of regulatory capital for all G-SIIs. See BCBS, TLAC Holdings – Consultative Document (Nov. 2015).

[42] See BCBS, Revisions to the Standardised Approach for Credit Risk, supra note 27, at 3–4.

[43] On the issue, see BCBS, Capital Floors: the Design of a Framework based on Standardised ApproachesConsultative Document (Dec. 2014).

[44] This framework is developed in BCBS, The Standardised Approach for Measuring Counterparty Credit Risk Exposures (Mar. 2014).

[45] For details, see BCBS, Minimum Capital Requirements, supra note 28, at 3–4.

[46] Id. at 1.

[47] Id. at 6–10.

[48] See BCBS, Operational risk – Revisions to the Simpler Approaches – Consultative Document (Oct. 2014), at 5–6.

[49] For details, see BCBS, Standardised Measurement Approach for Operational Risk, supra note 29.

[50] Id. at 3–7.

[51] The legal risk is the risk arising from the potential of negative lawsuits, unenforceable contracts, or adverse judgments on the viability of credit institutions. As the cases of Deutsche Bank and other major banks over the last few years demonstrate, this risk can be substantial and can erode the resilience of regulatory capital. For example, in the case of the penalty issued by the Federal Reserve against Deutsche Bank over its mortgage backed-securities and how the full amount of the penalty may affect the bank’s capital requirements, see Fabio Benedetti Valentini, French Lawmakers Say Deutsche Bank U.S. Fine Could Cause Crisis, Bloomberg (Oct. 5, 2016), available at http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2016-10-05/french-lawmakers-say-deutsche-bank-u-s-fine-could-cause-crisis (last visited Oct. 14, 2016).

[52] It is important to note that the FSB published a report on misconduct risk in November 2015 that sets forth a number of principles for mitigating this risk that might become part of the Basel IV framework. FSB, Measure to Reduce Misconduct Risk, Second Report (Sept. 1, 2016).

[53] In the Internal Capital Adequacy Assessment Process (“ICAAP”), credit institutions are already required to consider non-quantifiable risks related to environmental and climate externalities. However, the need to improve the understanding of climate risk and its related management is today a cornerstone of risk management practice developments. For this reason, a number of studies have been published at the international level on how to deal with this operational risk problem and how to measure it for the purpose of capital requirements. See, e.g., Eur. Sys. Risk Bd., Too Late, Too Sudden: Transition to a Low-Carbon Economy and Systemic Risk (Report of the Advisory Scientific Committee, No. 6, Feb. 2016); Taskforce on Climate-Related Financial Disclosures, Phase I Report (Mar. 31, 2016). For the insurance sector, a relevant survey is Prudential Regulatory Authority, The Impact of Climate Change on the UK Insurance Sector (Sept. 2015).

[54] See BCBS, Interest Rate Risk in the Banking Book, supra note 33.

[55] See BCBS, Identification and Measurement of Step-In RiskConsultative Document (Dec. 2015).

[56] Id. at 1.

[57] The consultative document, in fact, proposes a number of potential approaches that could be used to reflect step-in risk in banks’ prudential measures. The BCBS will decide what proposal is to be incorporated in the Basel prudential requirements at a later stage.

[58] For a general overview of this current debate, along with the related counterparties, see Christian Castro & Javier Mencía, Sovereign Risk and Financial Stability, Estabilidad Financiera, May 2014, at 73–108.

[59] For example, see Danièle Nouy, Is Sovereign Risk Properly Addressed by Financial Regulation?, Banque de Fr. Fin. Stability Rev., Apr. 2012, at 95–106 (arguing that the “current regulatory framework does not require from [sic] financial institutions to hold significant regulatory capital against sovereign risk, inadequately assuming sovereign debt as a low-risk and even a risk-free asset class”). Similarly, see Jens Weidmann, Stop Encouraging Banks to Load up on State Debt, Fin. Times (Oct. 1, 2013) (“The financial and sovereign debt crisis have underpinned the importance of breaking the disastrous sovereign-banking nexus – in which shaky bank balance sheets degrade the solvency of their sovereigns, and vice versa.”)

[60] See, e.g., Andreja Lenarčič et al., Tackling Sovereign Risk in European Banks (Eur. Stability Mechanism, Discussion Paper Series No. 1, Mar. 2016); Luca Guerrieri et al., Banks, Sovereign Debt and the International Transmission of Business Cycles (Bd. of Gov. of the Fed. Res. Sys., International Finance Discussion Papers No. 1067, Dec. 2012).

[61] For an overview of these proposals, see Eur. Sys. Risk Bd., ESRB Report on the Regulatory Treatment of Sovereign Exposures 106–47 (Mar. 2015).

[62] According to the Basel Committee’s work program for 2015 and 2016, the BCBS is currently undertaking a review of regulatory treatment of sovereign risk. Bank for Intl. Settlements, The Basel Committee’s Work Programme for 2015 and 2016, http://www.bis.org/bcbs/about/work_programme.htm (last visited Dec. 5, 2016).

[63] An interesting analysis of the detrimental effects that may arise from implementing a non-risk free approach to sovereign bonds prudential treatment can be found in Michele Lanotte et al., Easier Said Than Done? Reforming the Prudential Treatment of Banks’ Sovereign Exposures 19–31 (Bank of Italy, Occasional Paper No. 326, Apr. 2016).

[64] See BCBS, Supervisory Framework for Measuring and Controlling Large Exposures (Apr. 2014).

[65] Id. at 4, 16–17.

[66] The 1991 supervisory standard is set out in BCBS, Measuring and Controlling Large Credit Exposures (Jan. 1991).

[67] See BCBS, Revisions to the Securitisation Framework, supra note 34.

[68] Id., at 2–3.

[69] Id. at 1.

[70] For a more detailed survey on these macroprudential instruments, see Michel Dietsch & Cécile Welter-Nicol, Do LTV and DSTI Caps Make Banks More Resilient? (Débats Économiques et Financiers, No. 13, Aug. 2014) (demonstrating the efficiency of these tools in dampening households’ indebtedness and ensuring stronger resilience to the general macroeconomic environment). For similar results, see also Luis I. Jácome & Srobona Mitra, LTV and DTI Limits—Going Granular (Intl. Monetary Fund, Working Paper No. 154, July 2015).

[71] For example, at European level concerns have been ultimately expressed by the European Systemic Risk Board. For detailed reports, see Eur. Sys. Risk Bd., Report on Residential Real Estate and Financial Stability in the EU (Dec. 2015). Specific concerns have been raised also by the Federal Reserve due to the current run-up of commercial real estate prices in US. For details, see Eric S. Rosengren, President & CEO, Federal Reserve Bank of Boston, Speech at Shanghai Advanced Institute of Finance, Beijing: Observations on Financial Stability Concerns for Monetary Policymakers (Aug. 31, 2016) (highlighting how commercial real estate prices are inflating in US due to the actual macroeconomic environment and noting that in this scenario, “should prevailing economic conditions change in response to a large negative economic shock, commercial real estate prices could decline relatively quickly, leading to large losses at leveraged firms”). See also Craig Torres & Jeanna Smialek, Fed Warns of Vulnerabilities Building in Commercial Real Estate, Bloomberg (June 21, 2016), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2016-06-21/fed-warns-of-vulnerabilities-building-in-   commercial-real-estate.

[72] The premises of this macroprudential shift in stress testing are laid down in BCBS, Making Supervisory Stress Tests More Macroprudential: Considering Liquidity and Solvency Interactions and Systemic Risk (BCBS, Working Paper No. 29, Nov. 2015). See also Dimitri G. Demekas, Designing Effective Macroprudential Stress Tests: Progress So Far and the Way Forward (Intl. Monetary Fund, Working Paper No. 15/146, June 2015).

[73] For a discussion of this regulatory hypothesis, see Daniel K. Tarullo, Speech at the Yale University School of Management Leaders Forum: Next Steps in the Evolution of Stress Testing, (Sept. 26, 2016).

[74] See BCBS, Pillar 3 Disclosure Requirements – Consolidated and Enhanced Framework – Consultative Document (Mar. 2016).

[75] For an in-depth overview of the main components of Basel IV and how these rules are likely to change the current existing Basel III framework and affect the global banking industry, see PWC, Quo Vadis “Basel IV”, (July 2016), http://www.pwc.com/gx/en/issues/the-economy/assets/basel-iv-toolbox.pdf; KPMG, Basel IV Revisited – The Fog Begins to Clear (Sept. 2015).

[76] A quantitative study on banks’ structural changes driven by the Basel III package is laid down in İnci Ötker-Robe et al., Impact of Regulatory Reforms on Large and Complex Financial Institutions (Intl. Monetary Fund, Staff Position Note No. 16, Nov. 2010).

[77] For a cost/benefit analysis of Basel III prudential requirements, see, e.g., Meilan Yan et al., A Cost–Benefit Analysis of Basel III: Some Evidence from the UK, 25 Intl. Rev. of Fin. Analysis 73 (2012). In addition, for a quantitative analysis of the overall costs borne by banks in US, Europe, and Japan in complying with the Basel III reform, see Douglas Elliott et al., Assessing the Cost of Financial Regulation (Intl. Monetary Fund, Working Paper No. 233, Sept. 2012).

[78] For example, see Eur. Banking Auth., Overview of the Potential Implications of Regulatory Measures for Banks’ Business Models 9 (Feb. 2015) (stating that Basel III structural reforms, as implemented in EU, are likely to have an adverse influence on the profitability of banks due to an increase in funding costs and operational complexity).

[79] According to financial analysts and bankers, the impact of these measures is likely to be dramatic for the whole industry, as the new rules will further penalize the core lending activities of credit institutions. Against this backdrop, Basel IV could easily become a game changer for the whole lending market. For details, see John Glover & Nicholas Comfort, Banks Push Back Against Basel’s ‘Surreal’ Plans, Bloomberg (Aug. 8, 2016), http://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2016-08-08/banks-look-to-g20-vow-as-bulwark-against-basel-s-surreal-plans.

[80] For a literature overview on peer-to-peer lending market, see Alexander Bachmann et al., Online Peer-to-Peer Lending? A Literature Review, J. of Internet Banking and Commerce (Aug. 2011).

[81] However, a preliminary attempt to quantify the potential impact of Basel IV with respect to the European banking industry is made in Rainer Masera, The Emerging Basel 4: Critical Points for Banks and the Economy, Bancaria (Jan. 2016), at 6–14.

A New International Legal Regime for a New Reality in the War Against Drugs

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By Guillermo J. Garcia Sanchez*

We are only asking coherence: you cannot criminalize and legalize at the same time.” – Felipe Calderon, Former President of Mexico

It is confusing for our people to see that, while we are loosing lives and investing resources in the fight against drug dealers, in the consuming countries people are promoting initiatives like the one in California to legalize the production, the selling and the consumption of marijuana.” – Juan Manuel Santos, President of Colombia [1]


On October 27, 2010, the presidents of Mexico and Colombia presented a joint critique on the tendency of U.S. states to decriminalize the consumption of “soft” drugs.[2] In an interview with BBC reporter Stephen Sackur, when asked if he thought U.S. states were not meeting their responsibilities to fight drugs, former Mexican President Felipe Calderon responded, “Yes, in these particular matters they don’t.”[3] President Calderon’s comments are not only moral recriminations; they also have several legal implications.

The United States, along with 184 other nations, is a ratifying party to the United Nations Convention against Illicit Traffic in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances of 1988 (the “1988 Convention”).[4] This international treaty was negotiated under one basic assumption—that the success of the anti-drug regime requires not only that producing countries stop actors from exporting drugs, but also that consuming countries enforce penalties on their consumers. Article 3.2 mandates that each party to the Convention “establish as a criminal offense under its domestic law, when committed intentionally, the possession, purchase or cultivation of narcotic drugs or psychotropic substances for personal consumption.”[5] It is a basic principle of economic theory that as long as there is demand, supply will follow. This, in effect, means that to successfully prevent drug activity, both supply and demand must be targeted. Arguing that one side—exporting or importing countries—holds sole responsibility for stopping drug activity would contradict the general principle of law that “no one is obliged to do the impossible” (ad impossibilia nemo tenetur).

In 1978 Eduardo Jiménez de Aréchaga, a former judge of the International Court of Justice (“ICJ”), classified the fight against drugs as a possible example of a jus cogens norm.[6] He believed that since 1912, when the first opium convention was signed, there was universal recognition that states were obliged to work against the production, trafficking, and consumption of drugs.[7] Twenty years after Judge Aréchaga’s statement, the slogan of the 1998 Special Session of the United Nations General Assembly on the matter—“A Drug-Free World – We Can Do It”—appeared to confirm his views.[8] If Judge Aréchaga’s argument was correct, then the Convention codified “rules of customary law which cannot be set aside by treaty or acquiescence but only by the formation of a subsequent customary rule of contrary effect.”[9]

The problem with characterizing the fight against drugs as a peremptory norm is that this stance also recognizes the possibility that the norm is not set in stone: Jus cogens norms are created through practice and universal state recognition. Thus, the constant violation of a peremptory norm, when considered universal, could eventually emerge as a new jus cogens rule. The only way to escape this problem is to assume the naturalist position that what elevates a norm to jus cogens is the “particular nature of the subject-matter with which it deals.”[10] But who is empowered to determine that a rule, such as the fight against drugs, is, by its nature, a peremptory norm? The international system does not have a central authority to determine what in the “particular nature” of certain norms makes them peremptory. Certainly in the case of the fight against drugs, the consensus is even less clear.

Indeed, in recent years, a group of countries that signed the 1988 Convention has decriminalized the consumption of certain drugs. European nations like the Netherlands, Portugal, Uruguay, Spain, and Switzerland have adopted health-oriented policies to combat drug use instead of focusing on the prosecution of consumers. A similar trend is emerging in the United States, where a number of states no longer consider the possession of small quantities of marijuana a crime.[11] Surprisingly enough, former presidents of Brazil, Colombia, and Mexico who once courageously fought drug trafficking in producing countries have applauded these policies: “The war on drugs has failed . . . . Prohibitionist policies based on eradication, interdiction and criminalization of consumption simply haven’t worked.”[12] The invitation for a serious debate on the issue was even echoed in a 2013 report by the Organization of American States on regional drug policy.[13]

These facts invite the question of whether the current, growing decriminalization of soft drugs constitutes the emergence of a new customary rule that could modify the old treaty regime. International legal theory and tribunals recognize that a uniform and consistent practice, along with an opinio juris or the state’s “feeling” that it is following a norm, is needed before the international community can assert the emergence of a new custom. Nevertheless, two unsettled matters of international law affect the process of recognizing a new customary practice. First, there is no clear theory on how to identify the subjective element of customary international law.[14] Second, there is no rule regarding the amount of time and the level of contradictory practice needed for a new international regime to be born.[15]

Regarding the first point, the opinio juris is defined as a “sense of legal obligation.”[16] In the words of the ICJ, “[states] must feel that they are conforming to what amounts to a legal obligation.”[17] Do the current decriminalizing states violate the 1988 Convention because lawmakers believe that there is a new rule of customary international law? No official system exists for discerning the “feeling” of states. The ICJ has said feeling can be “deducted from, inter alia, the attitude of the Parties and the attitude of States towards certain General Assembly resolutions.”[18] With regard to the fight against drugs, in the past fifteen years states’ declarations have slowly changed their tone, moving from the unanimous “A Drug Free World – We Can Do It” to “Isn’t time to review the global strategy against drugs?”[19] The actions and declarations in this case are as contradictory as the practice itself. Yet, there appears to be a common sentiment among most of the states: discontent with the current regime. Decriminalizing countries have shown it through their open violation of the treaty; some producing countries have done it by questioning the unequal burden of the obligations.

The cost of waiting for this new practice to become a customary norm could be too high for countries that suffer the most from the consequences of drug trafficking. Certain producing states still consider the old rule to be a valid obligation and are engaged in a costly war against drugs. The U.S.–Mexico cannabis market is a clear example of this contradictory practice. The U.S. government affirms that 60% of Mexican cartels’ income comes from the selling of marijuana.[20] Cartels use their revenues—around $13 billion—to corrupt institutions, buy sophisticated weapons, and fight the government.[21] As a consequence, in the past eight years 100,000 people have been killed, 25,000 disappeared, 45,000 soldiers are policing the streets, the Mexican government is spending $9 billion dollars a year to fight cartels, and many areas of Mexico are more dangerous than war zones. Surprisingly, at the same time, many U.S. states have decriminalized marijuana consumption. In less than sixteen years, twenty-eight states and the District of Columbia have legalized it for medical purposes, and seven have legalized its recreational consumption.[22] Moreover, the latest reports show that 51% of the American population favors its legalization.[23] Even President Barak Obama announced that the federal administration would not continue wasting resources by prosecuting individuals or trying to overturn the trend in those states that have legalized its recreational use.[24] On the contrary, he relied on the old premise of Justice Louis Brandeis that one of the characteristics of federalism and U.S. democracy is that states can serve as laboratories of “novel social and economic experiments without risk to the rest of the country.”[25] The U.S. cannabis market is calculated to be worth $14 billion, with millions of potential clients for the cartels that have caused so much damage in Mexico.[26]

In essence, the 1988 Convention created an international regime in which producing and consuming states had clear obligations. Today, the practice of some states and the inability of others to comply are shaking its foundations. As Professor Michael Glennon has stated, “No legal regime can endure if the most important proscriptions that it imposes are capable of being revised through violation by its creatures.”[27] Violation of the 1988 Convention is not yet so massive that it could overturn the entire treaty.[28] But the current tendency is disastrous for some states that cannot face the challenge of fighting the power of drug cartels without corresponding efforts in consuming countries.

Perhaps producing countries should accelerate the fall of the old regime and work to replace the battered legal structure. They could look for the consensus to relieve them of the treaty obligations that keep them trapped on the wrong side of the equation. They could seek to turn current trends to their advantage by authoring a framework in which they could export the products that today are internationally forbidden (or are supposed to be), and they could use their comparative advantage in production to generate economic development domestically. In fact, the trend is already starting. In Mexico the Supreme Court recently allowed four individuals to produce and consume marijuana for personal purposes because the Court considered the legislation that prohibited it contrary to human dignity of these individuals.[29] The global “war” on drugs could shift to a “war” on the irresponsible consumption of drugs in which the main players are no longer law enforcement agencies but health-oriented institutions led by the World Health Organization. Going further, the international community could stop focusing on production and trafficking chains and shift international attention toward fighting the negative effects of transnational crime more generally, targeting problems like corruption, drug lords’ impunity, money laundering, and illegal trafficking of weapons and human beings.

International norms are instruments of self-restraint that shape state behavior. When their objectives become obsolete, however, new agreements should take their place. After twenty-three years under the latest international agreement, drug consumption has risen, production has increased, and some states remain helpless against the power of organized crime fueled by drug money.[30] The substantial evidence that the anti-drug regime has been ineffective suggests that international law on this matter should be reexamined. Consuming states are already doing it through practice. Producing states, instead of adhering to the dogma of the current regime, should spearhead the creation of a new paradigm that is more to their advantage.


* Guillermo J. Garcia Sanchez is a doctoral candidate at Harvard Law School (S.J.D.) specializing in international adjudication, international investment law, and comparative constitutional law. Prior to joining HLS’s doctoral program in 2012, he obtained an LL.M. in International Law from the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy (2011) and a B.A in Law and a B.A. in International Relations from ITAM University in Mexico City (2009).

[1] Alonso Urrutia, La Jornada: EU debe ser congruente en sus acciones contra el narco: Calderón, La Jornada (Oct. 27, 2010), http://www.jornada.unam.mx/2010/10/27/politica/002n1pol. (translated from Spanish) (last visited Jan. 12, 2017).

[2] Id. (The declarations were made at the 12th Summit of the Tuxtla Mechanism for Cooperation and Development in Cartagena de Indias, Colombia on Oct. 26, 2010.)

[3] HARDtalk: Interview with Felipe Calderon (BBC World News broadcast Oct. 27, 2010).

[4] For a full list of the ratifying parties, see the Depositary, United Nations Treaty Collection, https://treaties.un.org/Pages/ViewDetails.aspx?src=IND&mtdsg_no=VI-19&chapter=6&clang=_en (last visited Jan. 8, 2017).

[5] United Nations Convention against Illicit Traffic in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances art. 3.2, Dec. 20, 1988, 1582 U.N.T.S. 95.

[6] See Eduardo Jiménez de Aréchaga, International Law in the Past Third of a Century, 159 Hague Recueil 1, 64–67 (1978).

[7] The world’s first international drug control treaty, the International Opium Convention, was passed in the Hague in 1912. International Opium Convention, Jan. 23, 1912, 8 L.N.T.S. 188.

[8] U.N. General Assembly, Twentieth Special Session: A Drug-Free World: We Can Do It (June 8–10, 1998), http://www.un.org/ga/20special/.

[9] Ian Brownlie, Principles of Public International Law 510 (7th ed. 2008)

[10] Report of the International Law Commission of 1966, 2 Y.B. Int’l L. Comm’n 169, 247–49, U.N. Doc. A/6309/Rev.1.

[11] These states include California, Nevada, Oregon, Colorado, Washington, Nebraska, Mississippi, New York, Massachusetts, Maine, Connecticut, Maryland, Rhode Island, Vermont, Delaware, and Alaska, as well as the District of Columbia. Extent of decriminalization varies in each case, but the common element is the absence of incarceration for possession of small amounts and the imposition of fines instead. See Andrew Ferguson, The United States of Amerijuana, TIME Magazine (Nov. 22, 2010), at 34. For an updated version after the 2016 election see States That Have Decriminalized – NORML.org – Working to Reform Marijuana Laws, http://norml.org/aboutmarijuana/item/states-that-have-decriminalized. (last visited Jan. 12, 2017).

[12] Fernando Henrique Cardoso, Cesar Gaviria & Ernesto Zedillo, The War on Drugs is a Failure, Wall Street J. (Feb. 23, 2009), http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB123535114271444981. Curiously enough, two of these presidents, Zedillo and Cardoso, were in power during the 1998 Special Session focused on the idea that the world could end drug consumption. Former Mexican President Vicente Fox Quesada has also spoken out on decriminalization: “We should consider legalizing the production, distribution and sale of drugs. . . . Radical prohibition strategies have never worked.” Drug Addiction, Organized Crime and Security, Vicente Fox Quesada Blog (Aug. 7, 2010), http://blogvicentefox.blogspot.com/2010/08/drogadiccion-crimen-organizado-y.html (translated from Spanish) (last visited Jan. 8, 2017).

[13] OAS, OAS – Organization of American States: Democracy for peace, security, and development (2009), http://www.oas.org/en/media_center/press_release.asp?sCodigo=E-194/13 (last visited Nov. 18, 2015).

[14] Jack L. Goldsmith & Eric A. Posner, A Theory of Customary International Law, 66 U. Chi. L. Rev. 1113 (1999).

[15] Michael Wood, Formation and Evidence of Customary International Law, Address to the International Law Commission, Geneva, 30 July 2012, 12 L. & Prac. Int’l Cts. & Tribunals 273 (2013).

[16] Brownlie, supra note 9, at 8.

[17] North Sea Continental Shelf Cases (Federal Republic of Germany v. Denmark; Federal Republic of Germany v. Netherlands), 1969 I.C.J. 4, 44, ¶ 77 (Feb. 20).

[18] Military and Paramilitary Activities in and Against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. Unites States), 1986 I.C.J. 1, ¶ 188 (June 27). See also Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons, Advisory Opinion, 1996 I.C.J. 226, ¶ 73.

[19] Juan Manuel Santos, President of Colombia, Inaugural Speech at the 12th Summit of the Tuxtla Mechanism: ¿no es hora de revisar la estrategia global frente a las drogas? (Oct. 26, 2010) (fragments of the speech available at http://www.nacion.com/2010-10-26/ElPais/UltimaHora/ElPais2568603.aspx).

[20] Office of National Drug Control Policy, The White House, National Drug Control Strategy 36 (2006).

[21] Id. The report specifies that $8.5 billion comes from marijuana trafficking and $13.8 billion comes from illegal drug trafficking overall.

[22] The states that have legalized marijuana for recreational purposes are California, Maine, Massachusetts, Nevada, Washington, Colorado, and Oregon. Ferguson, supra note 10, at 32. See also Christopher Ingraham, Marijuana Wins Big on Election Night, Washington Post (Nov. 8, 2016), https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/11/08/medical-marijuana-sails-to-victory-in-florida/.

[23] Lydia Saad, Majority Continues to Support Pot Legalization in U.S., Gallup.com (Nov. 6, 2014), http://www.gallup.com/poll/179195/majority-continues-support-pot-legalization.aspx (last visited Jan. 8, 2017).

[24] Ingraham, supra note 22. For a previous similar declaration, see Niraj Chokshi, Obama on Marijuana Legalization: ‘My Suspicion Is That You’re Gonna See Other States Start Looking at This’, The Washington Post (Jan. 22, 2015), https://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/govbeat/wp/2015/01/22/obama-on-marijuana-legalization-my-suspicion-is-that-youre-gonna-see-other-states-start-looking-at-this/ (last visited Jan. 8, 2017).

[25] New State Ice Co. v. Liebmann, 285 U.S. 262 (1932) (arguing that a state may, “if its citizens choose, serve as a laboratory; and try novel social and economic experiments without risk to the rest of the country”).

[26] Katie Sola, Legal U.S. Marijuana Market Will Grow To $7.1 Billion In 2016, Forbes (Apr. 19, 2016), http://www.forbes.com/sites/katiesola/2016/04/19/legal-u-s-marijuana-market-will-grow-to-7-1-billion-in-2016-report/. (last visited Jan 12, 2017)

[27] Michael Glennon, Limits of Law, Prerogatives of Power: Intervention after Kosovo 127 (2011).

[28] See Michael Glennon, “Why the Security Council Failed,” Foreign Affairs, May/June 2003 (describing displacement of old laws through violations).

[29] Elisabeth Malkin & Azam Ahmed, Ruling in Mexico Sets Into Motion Legal Marijuana, New York Times (Nov. 4, 2015), http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/05/world/americas/mexico-supreme-court-marijuana-ruling.html (last visited Jan. 8, 2017).

[30] United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, Use of drugs World Drug Report (2015).

From Kadi to Bank Mellat: Iran Sanctions and the Revival of the Due Process Dilemma

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By Maziar Peihani*

Council of the European Union v. Bank Mellat is an important addition to a series of suits that Iranian banks have brought before domestic and regional fora to challenge the sanctions regime imposed on Iran. Bank Mellat challenged restrictions imposed by European Union authorities pursuant to a UN Security Council resolution, arguing that they infringed on its fundamental rights under EU law, including its rights to defense and judicial protection. On February 18, 2016, the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU) handed down its final judgment, finding for Bank Mellat. The CJEU affirmed the lower court’s findings that the bank had not been given sufficient reasons for its listing and that there was no evidence that actually proved the bank’s involvement in Iran’s nuclear program. The case bears striking resemblance to Kadi, the most important European litigation to date on UN sanctions and due process.

This note first sets out the background of the Bank Mellat case and provides an overview of the relevant judgments delivered by the General Court and the Court of Justice. It then identifies the parallels between Kadi and Bank Mellat, with an emphasis on the confrontation between the UN and EU legal orders and the perceived supremacy of EU constitutional values. The note then delves deeper into the dynamics of the Iran sanctions regime, illustrating the accountability and due process shortcomings that have undermined its legitimacy and hindered the effective implementation of its targeted measures. The note concludes by critiquing the CJEU’s reluctance to go beyond the confines of EU law when looking at the collective security measures adopted by the UNSC, while at the same time welcoming the judgment as a victory for accountability and a potential catalyst for reforming the UN sanctions regime.

The full note is available here.


* Maziar Peihani is a post-doctoral Fellow, International Law Research Program, Centre for International Governance Innovation.

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