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On August 18, nearly two decades after Lebanon’s former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri was brutally assassinated in a car bombing, the Special Tribunal for Lebanon delivered a long-awaited conviction. The judgment found Salim Ayyash guilty of conspiracy to commit a terrorist act, committing a terrorist act, the intentional homicide of Hariri and 21 others, and attempted homicide of the 226 injured. However, the tribunal did not find enough evidence that the three other defendants were aware in advance of the conspiracy and thus acquitted them of all charges. This split verdict makes an uncertain situation in Lebanon even more tenuous.

During this global pandemic, how do organizations such as ICTJ continue with their victim-centered and context-specific work, when their staff members cannot meet face to face with partners bilaterally, much less at organized convenings? The answer to these questions involves both rethinking how to use tools currently available and developing or finding new ones.

It may seem trivial for me to write about why those who continue to mark July 17 as "International Justice Day" should finally stop calling it that. Many human rights groups (including ICTJ), United Nations agencies, and governments have been publicly using that phrase since 2010. It is for victims of massive and systematic human rights violations, including abuses that amount to international crimes under the Rome Statute, that it is important to end the misconception that the phrase encourages.

In the wake of the mass demonstrations in the United States, activists in European cities similarly took the streets to protest against racism and police violence. In Belgium, mostly young activists have defaced statues of King Leopold II with red paint, insisting public spaces be "decolonized" that commemorate the monarch who personally owned the Congo for more than two decades before relinquishing it to the Belgian government which then controlled it for half a century. Are Belgian and other societies in Europe ready to reckon with the truth of their colonial legacies?

The role of police in society is to protect residents and enforce the rule of law. As a public institution, and particularly one whose function includes the state-sanctioned use of force, the effectiveness of the police depends on its integrity and legitimacy. When the police abuses its power, by brutalizing civilians and or engaging in corruption, it loses its credibility and the public’s trust. In Kenya, enforcement of measures to halt the spread of COVID-19 have been accompanied by acts of police brutality, of the kind that Kenyans have been through multiple times before.

It happened again. George Floyd’s name is now added to the tragic list—already far too long—of other people of color whose lives have been cut short as a direct result of the United States’ long history of racism and white supremacy. We at ICTJ are outraged by the cruel and senseless murder of an unarmed Black man by police officers in Minneapolis, Minnesota. As we try to process this horrific act and grieve the tragic loss of another human life, we must also grapple with the hard truth that it is frankly unsurprising that this list of names continues to grow.

In April in the German city of Koblenz, the world’s first war crimes trial of a senior ranking Syrian soldier got under way. The 100-page long indictment included a litany of horrors allegedly perpetrated against political enemies of the Assad Regime. Also in April, an Iraqi went on trial in Frankfurt, accused of participating in an Islamic State-led campaign to exterminate the Yazidi religious minority, including the brutal killing of a 5-year-old girl. It is no surprise that both these trials are taking place in Germany. Germany has become a world leader in the pursuit of international justice through universal jurisdiction. However, the country was not always a champion at combating impunity.

Sparing almost no corner of the world from its wrath, the COVID-19 pandemic has now spread to every country. In an effort to slow the contagion, governments in most countries have been taking drastic measures requiring all residents other than essential workers to confine themselves in their homes, and shutting down vast sectors of their economies. The impact has been crushing. COVID-19 has profoundly affected every country where ICTJ currently works: Armenia, Colombia, Cote d’Ivoire, Ethiopia, Gambia, Kenya, Lebanon, Libya, Sudan, Syria, Tunisia, and Uganda. We recently caught up with ICTJ’s heads of country programs to learn more about the impact the pandemic is having on transitional justice and society more broadly.

In war-torn Yemen, COVID-19 presents an imminent danger to the country’s 30 million people, 80 percent of whom rely on humanitarian aid to survive. For more than five years, brutal conflict has devastated the country and its economy, infrastructure, and public services including the health care system. By most accounts, the likelihood is high that the disease will spread through Yemen as the number of cases in neighboring countries continues to grow.

For the past few months, ICTJ, along with our partners at the Center on International Cooperation at New York University, has been working on a comprehensive new policy paper on the situation of the many thousands of Syrians detained somewhere in the country’s vast network of prisons. The depravity that goes on inside these detention sites is already so appalling that it would have been hard to imagine when we started the project that the situation for the prisoners could get any worse. And then the COVID-19 pandemic hit, upending all of our preconceptions, and our lives, in ways none of us ever expected.

Today, we are facing a global public health crisis of unprecedented proportions. Only time will tell the devastating toll that COVID-19 will exact on human life. The breakneck speed at which the virus is spreading does not give us reason for optimism in the near future. We at ICTJ fully grasp the gravity of the situation, and we take our responsibility for the health and safety of our staff, partners, and communities where we work seriously.

ICTJ held a two-day workshop on transitional justice for a group of university students in Beirut on February 14 and 15 as part of its ongoing support to the Committee of the Families of the Kidnapped and Disappeared in Lebanon. The students are currently serving as volunteers on a project to create an archive of the committee’s decades-long struggle and activism.

This week, the International Criminal Court heard closing arguments in the trial of Dominic Ongwen, a top commander of the Lord’s Resistance Army in Northern Uganda. Among the 70 counts of war crimes and crimes against humanity he faces are 19 counts of sexual and gender-based crimes, including rape, sexual slavery, and forced marriage—the widest range of such crimes ever to be brought to trial before the court. The case thus marks a milestone in the jurisprudence of these international crimes.

The United Nations Security Council has considered transitional justice on several occasions in the past and included many of its components in country-specific resolutions, and also stressed the links between transitional justice and the other items on its thematic agenda including women, peace and security, and children and armed conflict, and it has made explicit reference to transitional justice as a key part of efforts to sustain peace. Yet, on February 13, the Security Council held its first open debate focusing solely on transitional justice.

Youth activists in Tunisia have played a vital role in keeping corruption at the center of public debate since the country's revolution in 2011. Through decentralized, nationwide protest movements, young Tunisians have been calling for measures that root out systems of endemic corruption. ICTJ sat down with one youth leader to discuss her activism and views on Tunisia's transitional justice process.

Eminent human rights defender José Zalaquett passed away on February 15. “Pepe,” as he was known by many, helped pioneer the field of transitional justice and inspired countless human rights defenders around the globe.

On April 4 last year, the commander of the Libyan National Army Khalifa Haftar ordered his troops to advance on Tripoli and “liberate it from terrorists.” Various stakeholders issued a multitude of statements and joint declarations after the assault, all asserting that only a political solution would resolve Libya’s crisis and threatening to hold accountable any faction that escalated the conflict. But in reality, most of the stakeholders have been playing two fields all along: the diplomatic one, in which they continuously reiterate support for political solutions and UN-led initiatives, and then the battlefield.

As subscribers, you enjoy timely commentary on what’s happening in transitional justice around the world written by one of our experts exclusively for our monthly World Report newsletter. In this month’s edition, we bid farewell to 2019 by looking back on the experts’ choices of the past year.

On December 12, ICTJ’s head of office for Colombia María Camila Moreno received the Alfonso López Michelsen Award for her dedicated work to advance peace and uphold international human rights and humanitarian law.

Lebanon’s ongoing “October Revolution” represents the largest decentralized, anti-government protest the country has seen at least since the end of the civil war in 1990. The demonstrations have brought thousands of Lebanese to the streets to condemn widespread corruption among the political class, paralyzing the country for weeks.

In countries emerging from violent conflict and repression around the world, prosecutors are facing significant challenges and pressures when seeking to investigate and prosecute serious crimes, such as torture, extrajudicial killings, and enforced disappearance. To reflect on these challenges, ICTJ together with the International Nuremberg Principles Academy, and with support from the governments of Australia and Sweden, convened a side event on December 6, 2019, during the 18th Assembly of State Parties of the International Criminal Court.

For over a month now, Lebanese people have been in the streets peacefully calling for an end to corruption, economic disenfranchisement, and government mismanagement, calling instead for accountability and reform of the systems that have allowed these things to occur. The protests are historic for several reasons: their scope and magnitude, as well as the way they have unified a country that has for so long had division baked into nearly every aspect of life, down to its system of governance.

In 1998, Colombian filmmaker Sergio Cabrera released “Time Out,” a fictional comedy in which guerrilla members and soldiers — usually mortal enemies — call a momentary truce to watch the national soccer team play in the qualifiers for the 1994 World Cup. Twenty years later, former combatants of both sides, members of the security forces, and victims of the conflict came together at Llano Grande in the region of Dabeiba to watch Cabrera’s film and play a game of soccer.

The political crisis in Venezuela seems to have reached a stalemate. In September, the Norway-mediated negotiations between the Maduro government and the opposition came to a halt, leaving both sides struggling for the upper hand. But since it remains difficult for either party to prevail, it is likely that this impasse is a momentary setback rather than an indication that the negotiations are defunct.

Youth activists and traditional leaders from the city of Duékoué, in western Côte d’Ivoire, gathered on October 15 to discuss how best to strengthen social cohesion and prevent future conflict. The city and surrounding region were among the areas most affected by the violence that broke out across the country following the 2010 presidential elections and that left thousands dead and many more injured, beaten, or raped.