While they appealed to international lawyers and human rights activists, universal jurisdiction laws attracted controversy in the 20th century. The cases of Holocaust architect Adolf Eichmann and Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet were not especially contentious – few people were sympathetic to the plights of two men responsible for heinous crimes that can barely be imagined. However, the Pinochet arrest in the UK in 1998 led to an expansion of universal jurisdiction laws, particularly in Belgium, France and Germany. When private petitions were filed in Belgium against US President George H. W. Bush and Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, among others, all with the accused in abstentia, there were vocal objections from some quarters – particularly the US and Israeli governments – as to the politicisation of universal jurisdiction laws.
Belgium eventually caved to pressure from the US and agreed to amend the scope and operation of their laws. Nonetheless, universal jurisdiction laws survive in one form or another across Europe, North America and in Australia.
The fundamental challenge facing universal jurisdiction prosecutions is their inherently political nature. It takes a brave leader to initiate the prosecution of a foreign national for offences which have little or no connection to the prosecuting state. For obvious reasons, such prosecutions have the potential to damage diplomatic relations between states, sometimes irreparably. This prospect is especially stark in cases where the foreign national marked for prosecution hails from an influential state – or one with powerful friends. It is therefore not surprising that more recent prosecutions have targeted nationals from states such as Chad, Rwanda and Nepal.
Syria, however, is a nation with powerful friends. Its close alliance with Russia has been a central reason behind global inaction – particularly within the UN Security Council – in the face of a dire humanitarian crisis. For this reason alone, Germany’s decision to prosecute Raslan and al-Gharib is momentous: it signifies an intent to hold Syrian perpetrators of atrocities to account, even where diplomatic fallout might result.
The German prosecution is also significant because Syria is not a party to the Rome Statute. As such, its citizens are not subject to prosecution by the International Criminal Court (ICC), unless there is a referral by the UN Security Council. The threat of a Russian veto in the Security Council means the prospects of such a referral are realistically nil. Accordingly, without universal jurisdiction, there is no viable mechanism to prosecute Syrian citizens who have committed serious crimes.
While the Koblenz prosecutions are indeed pioneering, it is unlikely that they will lead to a broader resurgence of universal jurisdiction laws. Any such movement would face steadfast opposition from the US, whose government continues to undermine any form of international criminal law tribunal that might scrutinise its citizens’ conduct.
Further, the growing presence of the ICC militates against the need for robust universal jurisdiction laws. As long as the ICC is able to investigate and prosecute international crimes, no individual state needs to shoulder that burden. Nevertheless, the cases of Raslan and al-Gharib demonstrate how universal jurisdiction laws can still play a vital complementary role in cases where the ICC has no jurisdiction or a UNSC referral is unlikely.
The bombs will continue to fall in Syria, and many war criminals will evade prosecution. But the incremental evolution of international criminal law, as evidenced by the Koblenz prosecutions, means there is reason to be hopeful for global justice – however selective, ad hoc and imperfect.
Craig Hershowitz