New supplements to the International Protocol on documentation and investigation of sexual violence in conflict for Iraq, Myanmar and Sri Lanka

Cover_Myanmar_Burmese supplement.jpgOnce hidden and unspoken, reports of sexual violence now feature prominently in daily media dispatches from conflict zones around the world. This visibility has contributed to a new emphasis on preventing and addressing such violence at the international level.

Promoting the investigation and documentation of these crimes is a key component of the international community’s response. However, this response requires thoughtful and skilled documenters.  Poor documentation may do more harm than good, retraumatising survivors, and undermining future accountability efforts.

Recently, the Institute for International Criminal Investigations (IICI) and international anti-torture organisation REDRESS, with the funding support of the United Kingdom’s Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO), have launched a series of country-specific guides to assist those documenting and investigating conflict-related sexual violence in Myanmar, Sri Lanka and Iraq.

The guides (available in English, Burmese, Tamil, Sinhalese, Arabic and Kurdish on the REDRESS and IICI websites) complement the second edition of the International Protocol on the Documentation and Investigation of Sexual Violence in Conflict, published in March 2017 by the FCO.

The Protocol aims to support practitioners to document appropriately by providing a “set of guidelines setting out best practice on how to document, or investigate, sexual violence as a war crime, crime against humanity, act of genocide or other serious violation of international criminal, human rights or humanitarian law”. It is a tremendous resource for practitioners, covering theoretical, legal and practical aspects of documentation.

However, as the Protocol itself makes clear, documentation of conflict-related sexual violence is highly context-specific. Each conflict situation and country has individual legal and practical aspects that must be considered alongside the Protocol’s guidelines.

The guides aim to fill this gap by addressing the context for and characteristics of conflict-related sexual violence in the three countries. They address legal avenues for justice domestically and at the international level, specific evidential and procedural requirements and practical issues that may arise when documenting such crimes.

The publication of these guides on the three different countries highlights some interesting comparisons and contrasts.  Although the background to and most common forms of sexual violence differ from country to country, the motivations for the violence have parallels. Similarly, the stigmatisation of survivors is a grave concern in each country, influencing all aspects of daily life for them and the way that institutions and individuals respond to the crimes committed against them.

In all three countries, a landscape of almost complete impunity prevails, and in many situations survivors, their families and practitioners face significant threats to their security – often from state actors (e.g. police, military, state security). This harsh reality is borne out by the fact that although the drafting of the supplements relied heavily on the experience and input of local practitioners, due to security concerns, very few were able to be individually acknowledged for their contributions.  Continue reading

Transitional Justice: What is the role of law in bringing imaginative and imaginary peace to Colombia?

This blog post is based on a reflection presented at the “Transitional Justice as Legal Field, Site and Imagination” panel at the Transnational Law Summer Institute, Kings College, London June 29, 2016. I am grateful to Prabha Kotiswaran and Peer Zumbansen for the invitation.  

What is the role of law in bringing imaginative and imaginary peace to Colombia?

June 23 2016 was described by Colombian and international media as the “last day of the war”, adopting FARC’s hashtag #ElÚltimoDíaDeLaGuerra. The signing of a bilateral ceasefire between the Colombian government and FARC formally ended hostilities in the world’s longest running war. The signing of a peace agreement is expected to take place during the summer of 2016.

To the overlapping academic fields of human rights, transitional justice and post-conflict reconstruction, the sophisticated Colombian transitional justice process is attractive and will likely be highly influential for the coming decade, both as an example of success and of failure. There is also a significant risk that scholars (outside Colombia) will embrace the Colombian experience either deterministically — as an example of systemic yet de-historicized power imbalances — or as a fantastical  and outsized legal progress narrative that can serve as an endless source of political models, constitutional processes and legal arguments suitable for embellishing the transitional justice juggernaut.

My argument in the following is based on one big supposition: I will put forward the idea that approached from a law and social change perspective, the Colombian transitional justice project is necessarily a failure foreseen.

“Everybody” knows that positive peace is not going to happen through legislation, decisions by a progressive Colombia Constitutional Court or the signing of a formal agreement. This Everybody also knows that if positive peace happens, it will not happen soon.  At the same time, it is easy to imagine that a year from now, politicians, ordinary Colombians, pundits and academics will dismiss the transitional justice legislation and the peace agreement as partial or total failures for their inability to perform the impossible expected by the Everybody; namely ending violence, providing reparations and changing the structural inequality that is the source of much of the violence.

However, I think that precisely at this juncture, as a community professionally engaged in the business of imagining peace and transitional justice, we need to reflect on what the critical takeaways from and beyond this failure foreseen could be. We may find that imagined and imaginative outcomes turn out to be imaginary. But this is not enough, it’s not even a starting point. We need to go beyond that.

Hence, after briefly describing the Colombian peace process, I will map out three sets of issues that could serve as tentative points of departure for critical reflection. This includes:

  • How we can gauge the meaning of the Colombian transitional justice process for Colombian citizenry, citizenship and the state;
  • The implications of Colombia being both outlaw and legal outlier for how we consider the role and place of the law in creating durable peace;
  • A first attempt to think through some of the general lessons Colombia can have for transitional justice practice and scholarship.

Peace and conflict as statecraft

The armed conflict between the government and FARC began in 1964. Separate negotiations have previously led to the demobilization of smaller guerillas (MAQL, M-19; EPL) and an agenda for formal negotiations has now been agreed with ELN.  However, Colombia has been at war or seen violent societal conflict for most of the time since the late 1890s. Colombian peace processes and attempts at political, legal and land reform are a fixture of Colombian statecraft. The last round of peace talks with FARC ended with fiasco in 2002. From 2003 president Uribe engaged in a much-criticized effort to demobilize the paramilitary AUC, with a basis in the 2005 Justice and Peace Law. Despite its shortcomings, it must be remembered that this framework has provided a platform for the current process.

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Defendant perpetrators and conflict-related sexual violence

As the International criminal tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda (ICTY and ICTR, respectively) are concluding their mandates, the archives they leave behind comprise an unprecedented historical record about the war years, about the collective and individual harms suffered, and about the development of international criminal law. The tribunals’ legacies will be interpreted, negotiated, and renegotiated as more researchers dive into these materials. Undoubtedly, the archives will keep scholars from a wide array of disciplines busy for years and decades to come.

So what are we to make of these archives? What are they documenting? What are they leaving aside? What kind of historical record do they produce, and what is it that they establish? For whom? On what premises? What are the values of trial truths and the legal narratives they story?

In a recent article in the British Journal of Criminology I engage with these questions by focusing on a specific subset of cases at the trial end of these archives: cases brought to trial and ending in convictions of defendants for their direct participation in sexual violence.

Rather than analysing the production of jurisprudence before these courts, or the treatment of victims and victim witnesses, I ask how these direct perpetrators and the causes of their offenses are constructed within and by these institutions and its primary actors.

Emphasizing arguments that are interpretive or explanatory in terms of the defendants and their participation in sexual violence over those that are descriptive in terms of the offenses, there are two primary narratives in the court actors’ arguments. These explain the defendant either as someone whose personal characteristics and personality deviate from the norm, or they re-present the defendant as an ordinary man/woman, pointing to factors beyond the control of the defendant as explanations for his or her crimes.

Deviant defenders

So-called deviance narratives are either formulated by the prosecution, for which they constitute aggravating arguments. Here, the defendants are portrayed as sadistic opportunists who thrived on the opportunity to rape or sexually torture their victims. These narratives are often repeated in judgments, as in the case against Delić at the ICTY:

The manner in which these crimes were committed are indicative of a sadistic individual who, at times, displayed a total disregard for the sanctity of human life and dignity.

When defense counsels invoke deviance narratives, they do so for mitigating purposes. Thee narratives often involve partial acknowledgement of the crime, while also full or partial denials of responsibility. Typically they are based on the statements of psychiatric experts who account for the defendants’ dependent personalities and their extreme conformity, which in turn inevitably lead to criminal behavior if authority figures ask for it.

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A Week of Firsts at the ICC

It has been a successful week for the International Criminal Court (ICC). On Monday 21 March 2016, Trial Chamber III convicted Jean-Pierre Bemba Gombo as military commander for rape, murder, and pillaging committed by troops under his command in the Central African Republic. Two days later, on 23 March, Pre-Trial Chamber II confirmed all 70 charges against Dominic Ongwen, committing him to trial. Then, on 24 March, Pre-Trial Chamber I issued the confirmation decision in the case against Ahmed Al Faqi Al Mahdi for the destruction of cultural property in Mali. All of these cases have set important precedents: it has been a Week of Firsts for the ICC.

Two firsts in the Al Mahdi case

  • The confirmation of a charge of the war crime of intentionally directing attacks against ‘cultural property’ in Timbuktu (Mali) against Al Faqi Al Mahdi was the first such crime to be confirmed at the ICC.
  • His trial would have been the first regarding the destruction of cultural heritage. Would have been, because on 1 March, Al Mahdi indicated his wish to plead guilty. But that brings us to another first: his will be the first guilty plea at the ICC. If the Trial Chamber accepts his admission of guilt under article 65, the case will proceed to sentencing.

Three firsts in the Bemba case

  • Jean-Pierre Bemba Gombo’s conviction of rape, murder, and pillage was the first time at the ICC that an accused person was convicted of sexual violence.
  • His conviction was also the first ever in international criminal law to classify rape of men specifically as sexual violence (as opposed to other inhumane acts or torture).
  • Bemba was tried and convicted as a military commander for crimes committed by troops under his command for his failure to prevent, repress or punish their commission. Another first!

Four firsts in the Ongwen case

  • Dominic Ongwen saw 70 charges confirmed against him, including various modes of liability. It is the first time an accused faces such a high number of charges at the ICC.
  • With 19 of the 70 charges relating to sexual and gender-based violence, it is also the first time an accused faces such a broad range of sexual and gender-based violence charges. He faces several charges of rape, sexual slavery, enslavement, forced marriage, torture, outrages upon personal dignity, and forced pregnancy.
  • Ongwen will be the first person ever in international criminal law to stand trial for forced pregnancy. Although forced impregnation as a strategy in war and conflict is not new, the ICC’s Rome Statute was the first to codify it as a specific crime.
  • Ongwen is also the first person at the ICC to face charges of forced marriage. While not a specific crime under the Rome Statute, the Chamber concurred with the Office of the Prosecutor that forced marriage constitutes an “other inhumane act” as a crime against humanity. The decision explores in some detail the elements of the crime of forced marriage, which for the Chamber revolves around forcing a person to serve as an exclusive conjugal partner. Importantly, the Chamber stressed that it is not predominantly a sexual crime. His trial will undoubtedly expand upon international criminal law’s understanding of this crime.

It has certainly been an exciting week for the ICC!

ICC issues landmark judgment: Bemba convicted as commander-in-chief for sexual violence crimes (Part 2/2)

Yesterday was a day of firsts for the International Criminal Court (ICC). Jean Pierre Bemba Gombo’s conviction is the ICC’s first for sexual violence (see part 1 of this post), including against men. And, not only that, it is the first conviction of a military commander for crimes committed by soldiers under his command – Bemba did not commit any of the crimes himself. Here are some highlights in relation to this second important issue.

First conviction for command responsibility

As I wrote earlier, Bemba stood trial (and was convicted) as President and Commander-in-Chief of the Mouvement de libération du Congo (MLC) for three counts of war crimes (murder, rape, and pillaging) and two crimes against humanity (murder, and rape) committed by MLC soldiers in the Central African Republic (CAR) in 2002-2003. The MLC had entered the CAR to assist then CAR President Ange-Felix Patassé to suppress an attempted military coup. There, the MLC soldiers engaged in a campaign of pillage, murder, and rape against the civilian population. While he did not commit these crimes himself, Bemba stood trial because “he knew” that his troops were committing these crimes, and “did not take all necessary and reasonable measures within his power to prevent or repress their commission”. He is the first person to have been charged at the ICC with command responsibility under article 28 of the Rome Statute. The Trial Chamber included a detailed analysis of the applicable law under article 28, and of the evidence in relation to Bemba’s responsibility.

The Chamber found that Bemba was the MLC’s military and political leader from its creation throughout the entire period of the charges. He took the most important decisions, and held broad formal powers, including controlling the MLC’s funding and issuing operational orders to commanders in the field. The Chamber stressed: “the determination of whether a person has effective authority and control rests on that person’s material power to prevent or repress the commission of crimes or to submit the matter to a competent authority” (698). It found that Bemba maintained such primary disciplinary authority over his troops in the CAR, and that he was “both a person acting as military commander and had effective authority and control over the contingent of MLC troops in the CAR throughout the 2002-2003 CAR Operation” (705).

The Chamber also discussed a broad range of evidence proving Bemba’s knowledge of the commission of crimes by the MLC, including logbooks and intelligence reports, NGO publications and communications, and local and international media sources (706-718). Bemba was in regular communication with his commanders in the field, received updates on troop movements, politics, combat situation, and allegations of crimes, and at times specifically discussed these international reports with his commanders. As it was clearly established that Bemba knew crimes were being committed, the Chamber felt it was “not warranted” to make determinations on the “should have known” element of article 28(a).  Continue reading

ICC issues landmark judgment: Bemba convicted as commander-in-chief for sexual violence crimes (Part 1/2)

Today, 21 March 2016, was a historic day for the International Criminal Court (ICC). Trial Chamber III unanimously convicted Jean-Pierre Bemba Gombo (Bemba) for his responsibility as commander-in-chief for crimes of murder, pillage, and rape committed by soldiers under his effective authority and control in the Central African Republic in 2002-2003. This makes Bemba not only the first person to be convicted by the ICC for crimes committed by troops under his command, but the first person to be convicted of sexual violence. I have not yet finished reading the 364-page judgment in full, but in this two-part blog post, I provide some initial highlights on these two questions. Citations are to paragraphs in the judgment.

First conviction for sexual violence

As I wrote previously, Bemba stood trial for two counts of sexual violence: rape as a war crime and as a crime against humanity. The judgment is the ICC’s fourth, but the first to include a conviction for sexual violence. Thomas Lubanga was convicted in 2012, but the case did not include sexual violence charges. Mathieu Ngudjolo and Germain Katanga were tried for rape and sexual slavery, but Ngudjolo was acquitted in full in 2012, and Katanga partially acquitted of the sexual violence charges in 2014. Bemba’s conviction thus marks an important turning point for the ICC regarding accountability for sexual violence.

Importantly, the rape charges in this case were based on evidence from both male and female victims of rape. The trial judgment describes in quite some detail specific acts of rape committed against both men and women. The Chamber heard testimony about rape in public, rape in front of family members and communities, gang rapes, and rape of young girls, some as young as 10 years old. Men were also raped, including when trying to prevent their wives or daughters from being raped. Rapes were often committed in conjunction with other crimes, such as pillaging, and marked by violence, often including beatings and threats with weapons.

The judgment reiterates many of the Rome Statute’s gender sensitive legal standards. The Chamber emphasised that rape under the Rome Statute is a gender-neutral crime: it is committed by the “invasion” of a part of the victim’s body (or that of the perpetrator) by “a sexual organ”, can include same-sex penetration, and can thus encompass both male and female perpetrators and victims. Oral penetration can also amount to rape (100-101). The Chamber also recalled that invasion using objects or any other part of the body constitutes rape under the Rome Statute (99). The fact that acts are committed by force, threat of force or coercion, by taking advantage of a coercive environment, or against a person incapable of giving genuine consent for the Chamber gives the invasion of a body “a criminal character” (102). The Chamber reiterated that a victim’s lack of consent is not a legal element of the crime of rape at the ICC (105). Finally, the Chamber noted that in analysing the evidence, it was guided by Rules 70 and 71, which detail important principles regarding evidence of sexual violence. Continue reading

Can the ICC prosecute forced contraception?

A recent New York Times article on the enforcement of contraception by fighters of Islamic State to prevent Yazidi women and girls held as sex slaves from becoming pregnant, once again underscored the broad range of sexual and reproductive violence committed against women and girls in conflict. As I wrote elsewhere in a longer version of this post, a question that immediately popped into my mind reading this was: does international criminal law, as we know it, have the tools to capture this harm, and how can it address such reproductive violence?

Although Iraq is not a State Party to the Rome Statute, let’s assume for a moment that the International Criminal Court (ICC) could (hypothetically) exercise jurisdiction over crimes committed by ISIS fighters in Iraq. How could we charge this forced use of contraception?

The Rome Statute criminalises a broad range of sexual and gender-based crimes, but only two specifically capture reproductive harm (although all forms of sexual violence can have serious, long-lasting reproductive consequences): forced pregnancy, and enforced sterilisation. Enforced sterilisation as either a war crime or crime against humanity means the deprivation of a person’s biological reproductive capacity without their genuine consent. On the face of it, this might cover forcing Yazidi women and girls to take contraception. However, the Elements of the Crimes specify that enforced sterilisation “is not intended to include birth-control measures which have a non-permanent effect in practice”.

Although it could potentially be charged it as genocide “by imposing measures intended to prevent births”, strong evidence would need to be submitted that the acts were committed with specific genocidal intent, i.e. with “intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious groups, as such”.

Then what about a charge of other forms of sexual violence? Under the Rome Statute, other forms of sexual violence constitute: “… [the commission of] acts of a sexual nature against one or more persons or caus[ing] such person or persons to engage in an act of a sexual nature by force, or by threat of force or coercion…”. Classifying forced contraception as “other forms of sexual violence” thus depends on what determines whether an act is of a sexual nature. The women and girls were forced to take contraception in order for them to “remain available for sex”. Suspending their reproductive capacity was thus a critical component of the conditions that enabled rape (i.e. an act of a sexual nature) to take place. As such, if we conceptualise the rationale for the specific act of forced contraception as the ‘sexual nature’ part of the definition, forced contraception could be charged as “other forms of sexual violence”.

However, judges at the ICC have previously ruled that penile amputation – in effect, depriving men of their biological reproductive capacity – did not constitute acts of a sexual nature (note: in that case, the acts were not charged as enforced sterilisation by the Prosecution, but as other forms of sexual violence). While that decision has been heavily criticised, it does underscore that there is no clear understanding (yet) as to what “of a sexual nature” means under the Rome Statute.

The most likely charge, therefore, seems to be “other inhumane acts” as a crime against humanity under article 7(1)(k). Under this same article, the Office of the Prosecutor has charged Dominic Ongwen with forced marriage, a crime also not specifically provided for in the Rome Statute. This catchall provision could thus become an important feature in international criminal law to respond to and address new and emerging forms of violence against women in conflict not currently captured by the law. However, unless and until the ICC acquires jurisdiction over the crimes committed by ISIS, this discussion on the prosecution of forced contraception for Yazidi women and girls is one we can only have in the abstract.