Like many other Rwandans, I heard for the first time of the United Kingdom (UK)’s plan to send its unsolicited asylum seekers to Rwanda to claim asylum there on the news. It was when the then UK Secretary of State for Home Department, The Rt Hon Priti Patel, and the Rwandan Minister of Foreign Affairs and International Co-operation, Dr Vincent Biruta, were shown shaking hands on media across the word, after signing what the two countries called an ‘Immigration and Economic development partnership’ in Kigali, in April 2022. The topic had never been debated in the Rwandan parliament and neither had it been canvassed in the local media prior to the announcement and signing of the partnership. Priti Patel, representing the British government, said that the UK had signed a world-leading Migration Partnership with Rwanda which can see those arriving dangerously, illegally, or unnecessarily into the UK relocated to Rwanda to have their claims for asylum considered and, if recognised as refugees, to build their lives there. She added that this will help break the people smugglers’ business model and prevent loss of life, while ensuring protection for the genuinely vulnerable. Dr Vincent Biruta, representing the Rwandan government, said that there is a global responsibility to prioritise the safety and well-being of migrants, and Rwanda welcomes this partnership with the United Kingdom to host asylum seekers and migrants and offer them legal pathways to residence. He also stated that the partnership is about ensuring that people are protected, respected, and empowered to further their own ambitions and settle permanently in Rwanda if they choose.[1] The Rwandan government’s official press release, issued straight after the signing of both countries scheme of asylum transfer to Rwanda, reads that the partnership reflects Rwanda’s commitment to protect vulnerable people around the world.[2] The press release highlights that by relocating migrants to Rwanda, the dignity and rights of those migrants will be respected. It claims that migrants will be provided with a range of opportunities, including for personal development and employment, in a country that has consistently been ranked among the safest in the world. A considerable number of Rwandans have experienced what it means to be displaced, and even formerly or currently been refugees themselves, due to historical conflicts and/or political oppression as well as economic struggles in Rwanda. Rwandans, irrespective of their political stance—either against or for the ruling party in Rwanda—would understand the struggle that comes with being an asylum seeker and what it means to receive help from host countries to rebuild lives. Therefore, most Rwandans are sensitive to the plight of those forced to leave their home countries and would be more than willing to make them feel welcome. However, this does not change the fact that the arrangement to deport asylum seekers from the UK to Rwanda is unlawful and that Rwanda does not qualify as a safe third country to send asylum seekers to. Rwanda’s Legitimate Actions to Solve Global Immigration Issues As a signatory to the 1951 United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees (ratified on 26 January 1982) and the 1967 Protocol (ratified on 26 January 1982) as well as the 1969 Organization of Africa Unity (OAU) Convention Concerning Refugees (ratified on 26 January 1980), Rwanda already delivers upright and permissible actions to ensure the overall general protection, security, and safety of the persons of concern. These actions are executed in collaboration with the United Nations (UN), the African Union (AU), and developed countries that provide technical and financial support. It is through the delivery of these actions that Rwanda lawfully contributes towards solving global immigration issues. For instance, Rwanda has been hosting refugees from neighbouring countries. Today, the country is home to 134,519 refugees and asylum seekers mainly from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and Burundi.[3] The majority of these refugees have been settled in six refugee camps located throughout different parts of Rwanda as well as accommodation in urban areas of the country.[4] Rwanda’s Ministry in Charge of Emergency Management (MINEMA), in collaboration with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), is responsible for the smooth delivery of multi-sector assistance to refugees residing in refugee camps and reception centres, as well as to refugees and asylum seekers living in urban areas. Rwanda is also a temporary host for refugees being evacuated from Libya. There has been a desperate situation unfolding in the country involving thousands of migrants and refugees languishing in detention centres or enduring homelessness, exploitation, and abuse while trapped in an endless cycle of violence.[5] In response, the Government of Rwanda, UNHCR, and the AU signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) in September 2019 to set up a transit mechanism for evacuating refugees out of Libya.[6] Under this MoU, the Government of Rwanda agreed to receive and provide protection to 500 refugees and asylum-seekers who were being held in detention centres in Libya and willingly choose to be transferred to safety in Rwanda. The aim of this action is to temporarily host refugees and asylum seekers who have undertaken voluntary evacuation from Libya with a view that some evacuees would benefit from resettlement to third countries, while others would be helped to return to countries where asylum had previously been granted, or to return to their home countries if it was safe to do so.[7] Some would be given permission to remain in Rwanda subject to agreement by the competent authorities. Two Emergency Transit Mechanism (ETMs) were established in Rwanda to support the agreed number of refugees and asylum seekers evacuated from Libya at any given time and to conduct case processing for resettlement and other durable solutions. While in the ETM, the asylum seekers go through refugee case processing undertaken by UNHCR to determine if they are a refugee.[8] In October 2021, the first Addendum to the tripartite MoU of September 2019 was signed by the parties, agreeing to renew and extend the MoU until December 2023 and to increase the total number of individuals to be hosted in the centre to 700 people at any given time.[9] According to UNHCR, between September 2019 and March 2023, 1600 refugees and asylum seekers were evacuated from Libya to the ETM in Rwanda by way of 13 evacuation flights.[10] The refugees and asylum seekers consist of mainly Eritrean, Somali, Sudanese, Ethiopian, South Sudanese, Cameroonian, Nigerian, and Chadian nationalities. To date, all refugees have opted not to stay in Rwanda but for resettlement to third countries. Over 900 refugees have subsequently been resettled to third countries. Currently, the ETM is hosting 698 refugees and asylum seekers.[11] The European Union has been the main funding partner to UNHCR for the operation of the ETM in Rwanda—between 2019 and 2022, the EU donated €12 million to the project.[12] The EU granted to the UNHCR an additional €22 million in February 2023 to support its operation of the ETM in Rwanda until 2016.[13] Prior to signing an arrangement for evacuation of refugees from Libya to Rwanda with the country’s government, the UNHCR had been involved in similar schemes with other countries. In May 2008, a tri-partite agreement establishing the Emergency Transit Centre (ETC) in Romania was signed by the Government of Romania, the International Organisation for Migration (IOM) and UNHCR.[14] In November 2017, UNHCR had established for the first time an ETM for the evacuation of vulnerable refugees and asylum seekers from detention in Libya to Niger and signed a MOU with the Government of Niger in December 2017 to temporarily expanding the Niger asylum space to these refugees and asylum seekers.[15] The UNHCR schemes with Romania, Niger and Rwanda that evacuate refugees from Libya are certainly reasonable because they protect migrants from torture, sexual violence, and indefinite detention. However, this is not the case with the Rwanda asylum plan between the UK and Rwanda. Rwanda also deploys troops in peacekeeping missions across the world. By doing so, Rwanda contributes towards addressing threats to international peace and security, an action that is connected to rightly solving global immigration issues. In that context, Rwanda has deployed its military and police personnel on UN peacekeeping missions in Darfur (completed in 2020), the Republic of South Sudan, the Central African Republic, and the Interim Security force for Abyei. Rwanda is today ranked the fourth-most country contributing personnel to UN peacekeeping operations.[16] Rwanda has also entered into bilateral agreements with individual states which have led to additional deployments of its defence forces and police personnel into those countries to ensure security and peace. This was the case during the deployment of Rwanda defence forces and national police to Cabo Delgado, a province of Mozambique affected by terrorism and insecurity. The Rwandan force protection troops were also deployed to the Central African Republic to counter the targeting of the UN peacekeeping forces by rebels. I commend the Rwandan government for the aforementioned actions, as they demonstrate that in spite of Rwanda being categorised as a poor and least developed state, it is certainly making a major contribution towards solving global immigration issues. Of course, more can be done to fulfil Rwanda’s commitment to protecting vulnerable people around the world. However, this is not to be rightfully done currently because the scheme to transfer asylum seekers from the UK to Rwanda is not lawful. Rwanda Policy is Unlawful Just a few months after the MOU between the UK and Rwanda was signed by both countries’ officials, UNCHR, pursuant to its responsibility under the United Nations General Assembly to ensure the promotion and supervision of compliance with international refugee law, published a note that summarizes its views on the legality and appropriateness of partnership on the asylum transfer between the governments of the UK and Rwanda.[17] The UN agency made the note with reference to international refugee law norms and principles, as articulated notably in the 2013 UNHCR Guidance Note on bilateral and/or multilateral transfer arrangements of asylum-seekers and UNHCR’s 2021 Note on the ‘Externalization’ of International Protection. In its note, the UNHCR explained that although States may make arrangements with other States to ensure international protection, these arrangements must—as the preamble of 1951 Convection provides—advance international cooperation to uphold refugee protection, enhance responsibility sharing and be consistent with fundamental rights and freedoms of asylum seekers and refugees. International law requires States to fulfil their treaty obligations in good faith. However, the UK and Rwanda arrangement does not advance international cooperation that would uphold any protection to refugees who would be transferred under the scheme. The MoU on the arrangement[18] clearly states that it will not be binding in international law[19] and does not create or confer any right on any individual, nor shall compliance with it be justiciable in any court of law by third-parties or individuals.[20] It also stipulates that in case of disputes[21] the participants will make all reasonable efforts to resolve between them all disputes concerning the arrangement. Neither participant will have recourse to a dispute resolution body outside of this. The absence of regularising the MoU raises questions on the protection of asylum that will be transferred under the partnership if, for unforeseeable reasons, the partnership suddenly ends. Moreover, the arrangement between the two states does not contribute to burden-sharing and responsibility-sharing and puts the asylum seekers transferred from UK to Rwanda at risk of refoulement. The UNCHR’s assessment of the Rwandan asylum system is that the system is still nascent, while the UK asylum system is highly developed and has the capacity to consider asylum claims. This renders the arrangement as not promoting responsibility-sharing between the two states but simply shifting the burden from the UK to Rwanda, which is not in line with the 1951 convention. The UNHCR had submitted shortcomings in the Rwandan asylum system to the Universal Periodic Review in July 2020.[22] Among these flaws include the inefficiency and untimely manner of asylum procedures, lack of objective assessment of the fairness and efficiency of the asylum procedures, lack of representation by a lawyer for asylum seekers, arbitrary denial of access to asylum by Rwanda’s Directorate General for Immigration and Emigration, discrimination in access to the asylum procedures for groups such as LGBTQ+ persons and so on. These shortcomings have resulted in those wishing to claim asylum in Rwanda being left undocumented, at risk of detention and deportation and produced incidents of chain refoulement. The flaws in the Rwandan national asylum system represent a challenge to the legality of the UK-Rwanda transfer; for any arrangement to transfer asylum to be deemed legal, it must ensure that access to fair and efficient procedures for the determination of refugee status is guaranteed. The UNHCR explains that the legality of transfer arrangements also requires those transferred to be treated in accordance with accepted international standards. These requirements reflect the rights granted to refugees under the 1951 Refugee Convention. Concerns over whether refugees transferred to Rwanda will be treated in accordance with respected international standards are considerable. Rwanda has constituently been categorised as ‘not a free country’ by Freedom House and has a history of and continues to disregard international obligations, including human rights such as those set out in the Convention Against Torture, amongst others. This situation is well-known to the UK government. In January 2021 during the 37th Session of the Universal Periodic Review, while sharing recommendations to improve human rights in Rwanda, the UK Foreign Commonwealth and Development Office expressed its concerns regarding continued restrictions on civil and political rights and media freedom, and urged Rwanda, as a member of the Commonwealth and future Chair-in-Office, to model Commonwealth values of democracy, rule of law, and respect for human rights.[23] The UK tabled recommendations for Rwanda to improve its human rights. However, Rwanda did not support these recommendations. This prompted the UK to issue yet another statement expressing its regrets that Rwanda did not support its recommendations, which was also made by other states, to conduct transparent, credible and independent investigations into allegations of human rights violations including deaths in custody and torture.[24] The UK expressed its disappointment that Rwanda did not support its recommendation to screen, identify and provide support to trafficking victims, including those held in government transit centres in Rwanda. Human rights violations and torture affects anyone in Rwanda who dares to challenge the government’s narrative, including refugees hosted in the country. In 2018, twelve Congolese refugees were shot and killed by Rwandan police as they tried to march out of their camp in protest of a cut in food rations.[25] 65 Congolese refugees were also arrested.[26] Those arrested were accused of causing uprising or unrest among the population, of spreading false information or harmful propaganda with the intent to cause a hostile international opinion against Rwandan Government, and of holding illegal demonstration or public meeting. Only one person was acquitted, whilst the rest were sentenced to three to six years of imprisonment. Lastly, international law requires that transfer arrangements must ensure that when a person being transferred is recognised as being in need of international protection, that person is able to access a durable solution. Yet evidence shows that Rwanda remains a poor and less developed country with limited resources. Rwanda produces its own refugees due to ongoing repression and the lack of economic opportunities. One example of Rwanda’s insufficiency as a third country to transfer asylum is the previous bilateral arrangement between Rwanda and Israel. Unlike UK-Rwanda asylum transfer deal that was publicly announced, the transfer arrangement between Israel and Rwanda was of a secretive nature. Some 4000 Eritrean and Sudanese asylum seekers based in Israel were sent to Rwanda and Uganda between 2013 and 2018. For those asylum seekers sent to Rwanda, testimonies collected by the International Refugee Rights Initiative suggest that the majority, if not all, were being smuggled out of the country by land to Kampala within days of arriving in Kigali.[27] They were not given an opportunity to apply for asylum, and even if they wished to stay in Rwanda, their refugee claims could not be assessed as the national refugee status determination committee has yet to be established. The UNHCR note concluded that the UK-Rwanda arrangement fails to meet the required standards relating to the legality and appropriateness of bilateral or multilateral transfers of asylum-seekers, making it incompatible with the letter and spirit of the 1951 Convention. Furthermore, the note adds that the arrangement cannot be brought into line with international legal obligations through minor adjustments. Although the UK High Court ruled that the arrangement itself is lawful, it added concern that the asylum seekers being transferred to Rwanda were not allowed to argue about the safety of Rwanda. Hence the case was appealed. The Court of Appeal concluded that the deal was unlawful because Rwanda was not a safe third country to send asylum to. The Court noted that Rwanda’s system for making asylum decisions was inadequate.[28] The system has serious deficiencies, and at the date of the hearing in the High Court, those deficiencies had not been corrected and were not likely to be in the short term. The Court of Appeal also stated that asylum seekers transferred to Rwanda would be at risk of refoulment, making Rwanda not a safe third country.[29] The Court established substantial grounds for believing that there is a real risk that the asylum claims may be wrongly refused by Rwanda’s national system. Moreover, it revealed that asylum seekers sent to Rwanda faced a real risk of mistreatment.[30] The Court of Appeal also disagreed with the argument by the UK Secretary of State for the Home Office that the past and the present should either be ignored or sidelined in this case.[31] The Israel-Rwanda agreement is illustrative of the danger and suffering that is likely to arise from the UK’s externalisation plan,[32] and the shooting of Congolese refugees in Rwanda in 2018 has also been considered. The Court was not convinced by the UK Secretary of State for the Home Office’s uncritical acceptance of assurances from Rwanda, or that these assurances are enough to wipe away all real risk of violations while the structural institutions that gave rise to past violations remain in Rwanda today.[33] It is indeed a fact that institutions in Rwanda demonstrate use of violence against citizens and this makes Rwanda not a free country. Anyone who dares to challenge the government’s policies and narratives is persecuted and labelled an enemy of the state intending to destabilise Rwanda. I know this because I, amongst so many others, have experienced it first-hand. Rwanda is Not a Free Country In 1999, several years after the end of a civil war that culminated in the genocide against the Tutsis and crimes against humanity in Rwanda, the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF)—the country’s new rulers—held a national dialogue referred to as ‘Urugwiro Village’ meetings to discuss how Rwanda could solve its issues with democracy, amongst other issues. The outcome of these consultations was an agreement that going forward the East African nation should adopt a ‘consensual democracy’. This ‘consensual democracy’ was deemed the best option to supposedly guide the philosophies of governance in Rwanda based on its population, culture, and history in order to accelerate development and to prevent further ethnic violence in the country. However, the ruling party has over time transformed Rwanda’s consensual democracy into a political system that suppresses political dissent, restricts pluralism, and curbs civil liberty in Rwanda. This situation has led Freedom House to consecutively categorise Rwanda as not a free country.[34] Rwanda’s score on the Democracy Index has decreased and remained below global and African countries averages between 2006 and 2022.[35] The Index has consecutively[AMH1] categorised the Rwanda regime as authoritarian. Indeed, a closer look reveals that lack of effective electoral process, pluralism and political participation are the main reasons that Rwanda has been assigned a stunted score. There has been a pattern of restricting political participation in Rwanda, particularly during the periods preceding each Rwandan presidential election, since the RPF took power. The victims have always been members of opposition who do not toe the line of the government’s narrative and who have announced that they would run against the ruling party’s only candidate, President Paul Kagame, in those presidential elections. Amnesty International reported that during and after the first post-genocide presidential election in Rwanda that took place in August 2003, opposition candidates and supporters faced harassment and intimidation.[36] In fact, former Prime Minister Faustin Twagiramungu, who was one of the main presidential candidates against President Paul Kagame, was denied registration of his newly formed party the Alliance for Democracy, Equity and Progress.[37] He was also forced to interrupt his campaign before the presidential election after death threats were made against his aides. The report of the European Parliament Delegation’s observation of the 2003 presidential elections stated that the best-placed opposition figure was eliminated from electoral contest by the invalidation of his candidature before the start of the elections campaign.[38] The report added that this opposition figure was in prison at the time of the report’s publication. Dr Theoneste Niyitegeka, who took care of many people injured in the 1994 genocide, tried to put forward his candidacy but was rejected.[39] Afterwards, he was charged with the crime of genocide and sentenced to 15 years in prison in 2008. International and domestic human rights organizations have claimed the charges against Niyitegeka were politically motivated.[40] Rwanda’s record of human rights abuses were amongst the reasons that the Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative (CHRI) recommended that the 21st Commonwealth Head of Government Meeting, held in Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago, in November 2009, should not make a decision about Rwanda’s Commonwealth membership application.[41] In the end, however, the decision was taken to include Rwanda as part of the Commonwealth. I had truly hoped that our government would apply Commonwealth values in its governance, but this did not happen. Persecution of opponents who were in the best position to compete with President Paul Kagame increased once again in the run-up to presidential elections in 2010. Accusations of ‘divisionism’ and ‘genocide ideology’ which were based on vaguely-worded legislation continued to be used to stifle legitimate dissent. Me Bernard Ntaganda was selected by members of the political party he presided over, the Ideal Social Party (PS-Imberakuri), to be their candidate during the 2010 presidential elections in Rwanda.[42] He was arrested on the first day on which presidential candidates could register for the election. In 2011, the High Court in Kigali found Ntaganda guilty of endangering national security, ‘divisionism’—inciting ethnic divisions—and attempting to organize demonstrations without official authorisation. In 2010, I left my husband and our three children and returned to Rwanda from exile in the Netherlands, with the intention of registering my political party and running in Rwanda’s presidential elections later in the same year. On the day of my return to Rwanda, I visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre in Gisozi and gave a speech urging unity and reconciliation. I said that for Rwanda to experience true reconciliation, we need to recognise all crimes committed in Rwanda, including the genocide perpetrated against the Tutsi and the crimes against humanity committed against the Hutu. My opinion was based on United Nations Report S/1994/1405. Three months later, I was arrested and dragged into a politically motivated judiciary process that would include years of solitary confinement, relentless smear campaigns, and a long, painful separation from my family. The then-UK Parliamentary Under Secretary of State for Africa declared that I was arrested on trumped up charges.[43] In 2012, the High Court of Rwanda sentenced me to eight years in prison for ‘conspiring against the government by use of war and terrorism’ and ‘genocide denial’. My speech at the Gisozi Genocide Memorial Centre, where I called for effective reconciliation, was considered evidence of ‘genocide denial’. The European Parliament issued a resolution stating that my trial did not meet international standards and was based on fabricated evidence and confessions from co-accused who had been coerced through torture at military detention to make false confessions against me.[44] The EU strongly condemned the politically motivated nature of my trial. I was never deterred by the biased judgement of the Rwandan court. I appealed the High Court’s decision to the Supreme Court, only for the latter to extend my sentence from eight to 15 years. In 2014, I filed a claim against the Rwandan government to the African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights (AfCHPR). In 2016, just as the AfCHPR was set to decide on my claim, the government of Rwanda withdrew its declaration enabling individuals to file complaints with the court.[45] Nonetheless, having already reviewed my claim, the AfCHPR concluded in 2017 that the Rwandan government had violated my rights to freedom of expression and adequate defence. The court also ordered the government to reimburse me and my family for the material and moral prejudice I suffered during my prosecution and imprisonment. The government has refused to recognise and has not executed that court order to this day. This situation is an example of where the Rwandan government has failed to honour its international commitment. During the annual conference of African Bar Association held in Nairobi, Kenya in 2018, a resolution on Rwanda was passed urging the Rwandan government to respect orders of the AfCHPR in my case, amongst others.[46] In September 2018, I was released early by presidential pardon after eight years of detention, five of which I spent in solitary confinement. This pardon came with two conditions: I must appear before the primary level prosecutor in my place of residence, must appear at the prosecution office once a month and must seek authorisation from the minister in charge of justice every time I wish to go out of the country. These conditions shall cease to apply at the end of the remaining period of imprisonment, which I was supposed to serve till 2025. Upon my release, I launched the political party Dalfa Umurinzi with a mission to strive for the rule of law and for sustainable development benefiting every Rwandan. Although the constitution provides me with the right to organise a general assembly, I am not permitted to register my political party or to be approved for operation. In 2019, I received an international award from the Association for Human Rights of Spain (APDHE). I could not travel to Spain to collect the prize because I had no right to leave Rwanda without permission from the Minister of Justice. Two requests to do so have received no response from the authorities. I have not seen my family in the Netherlands for more than 10 years. Early this year, I wrote to President Paul Kagame requesting that he withdraw the conditions attached on the early pardon he gave me under humanitarian ground because I would like to travel to the Netherlands and be with my husband who is severely ill. I have yet to receive any response from the President. During the 2023 annual conference of African Bar Association held in South Africa, another resolution was passed reminding the Rwandan government to respect orders of the AfCHPR , including my case. Another presidential candidate, Ms Diane Rwigara, was only 35 years old when she decided to run in the 2017 presidential elections in Rwanda against President Paul Kagame. She was also persecuted, being accused of inciting insurrection and fraudulently obtaining the necessary requirements for her candidacy. She was arrested and detained with her mother for a year. Ms Rwigara and her mother were acquitted of all charges after the presidential election was completed.[47] Persecution in Rwanda is not limited to presidential candidates. Many of my supporters have lost their lives, or disappeared after responding to my call to struggle for the establishment of genuine democracy, respect for human rights and rule of law in our homeland.[48] Today, eight of my supporters are still in prison after acquiring a book and attending an online training session about the philosophy of non-violence.[49] Freedom House has consistently categorised Rwanda as not a free country not only because of the political restrictions, but also the curbing civil liberties. Independent human rights organisations such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have frequently reported that judicial authorities in Rwanda prosecute opposition members, journalists, and commentators on the basis of their speech and opinions. Last year, Human Rights Watch reported that Rwandan authorities have threatened, arrested, or prosecuted people reporting or commenting on current affairs via YouTube. The organisation noted that the judiciary system in Rwanda is lacking the independence to stand up and protect free speech in accordance with international law. Through politically motivated prosecutions, Human Rights Watch has alleged that the judicial authorities in Rwanda perpetuate a culture of intolerance to dissent. Indeed, those kept in detention have said that they are regularly tortured. In June 2022, Human Rights Watch reported that a prominent Rwandan YouTube commentator, Aimable Karasira, accused prison authorities of beating him and other jailed critics.[50] In a statement at a court hearing in Kigali in May 2022, Mr Karasira, held in Nyarugenge prison, also said prison authorities were intercepting and withholding privileged communications from his lawyer. The shooting of 12 Congolese refugees that took place in Rwanda in February 2018, which is used as evidence that asylum seeker transferred from the UK to Rwanda are at risk of ill-treatment, is the result of that same culture of intolerance perpetuated across some institutions in Rwanda. The use of violence to prevent citizens from exercising their rights, and particularly those who dare to challenge the Rwandan government and its narratives, is another example demonstrating Rwanda’s failure to honour its international commitments. This is especially true when looking at its international commitment to respect human rights as a member of the UN Human Rights Council and in ratifying the Convention Against Torture in December 2008. Persistent human rights violations have only reinforced the top-down decision-making approach of the Rwandan regime. Thus, the level of citizen participation remains low and undermines good governance in Rwanda. The Worldwide Governance Indicators database, which independently reports aggregate and individual governance indicators for over 200 countries and territories, has revealed that Rwandan governance largely lacks voice and accountability (the extent to which a country's citizens are able to participate in selecting their government, as well as freedom of expression, freedom of association, and a free media). The Ibrahim Index of African Governance (IIAG), an independent tool that measures and monitors governance performance in African countries, also came to a similar conclusion. The most recent IIAG shows that Rwanda governance is mainly affected by low levels of participation, rights, and inclusion in the country. Rwanda’s strategy of placing women in high-level decision-making roles, though commendable, has not spurred participation. This is because, as a 2019 study found, the majority of women in high public responsibility roles are card-carrying members of the ruling party or its coalition partners. This means most women in high official roles owe allegiance to the ruling party, rather than the constituencies that elected them. Hence, they adhere to the ruling party governance methods known for not tolerating criticism and restraining citizen participation.[51] Failure to efficiently involve citizens in the decision-making has prevented the Rwandan government from achieving its development programme and prevented the economic progress made by Rwanda from being inclusive. Rwanda’s Economic Growth Hides Flaws The implementation of a ‘consensual democracy’ as a new political system to direct the governance of Rwanda was not the only outcome of the national consultation held in 1999. The RPF administration also promised to transform Rwanda from a low-income to a middle-income country driven by a knowledge-based economy by 2020. That plan was named the Rwanda Vision 2020 development programme and Rwanda started working towards achieving its targets in 2000. Over the following two decades, the Rwandan government received net official development assistance (ODA) from donor countries and institutions equivalent to 16 billion USD from 2000 to 2018. It has raised roughly 9 billion USD of tax revenue between 2009 and 2019. The government has also borrowed finance from external and domestic markets to the tune of 72.4% of GDP which is equivalent to 7 billion USD as of end 2020. Rwanda has experienced significant growth and has been listed the tenth-fastest growing economy in the world from 2001 to 2010, income per capita increased and so has the human development index of the country.[52] However, this growth has not been inclusive and is marred by inequalities in income, education, and health. Moreover, food insecurity in Rwanda is a challenge. Only 40% of Rwanda households are substantially food secure. Rwanda’s growth has not translated into any considerable poverty reduction, particularly in rural areas. The government has chosen to invest a large segment of public funds into the meetings, incentives, conferences, and exhibitions (MICE) industry, developing the touristic areas of the country, and building impressive infrastructure in the capital, Kigali. These efforts have not translated into increased employment across the country and have provided no benefit to rural communities struggling the most. MICE-related developments suffered a lot due to the pandemic, further limiting the gains made. Now as a result of these and other short-sighted economic strategies, Rwanda stands on debt equivalent to a whopping 73% of its GDP. Despite the praise the Rwandan government has received internationally for advancing the country’s development, Rwanda remains categorised among the poorest and least-developed countries in the world. The government’s promise to transform Rwanda into a middle-income state by 2020 has not been delivered.[53] Rwanda remains a low-income state and is categorised among the poorest and least-developed countries today. The Rwandan government has postponed the target to transforming Rwanda into a middle-income state in 2035. There are no official documents that explains why the government did not achieve the anticipated objectives of Vision 2020, and what needs to be improved so that the government’s future development programmes meet their targets. Instead, the government launched yet another ambitious development programme, called Vision 2050. This one aims to transform Rwanda into an upper middle-income state by 2035 and a high-income state by 2050. Rwandan economic progress has shortcomings, especially in those areas needed to achieve genuine social and economic transformation for the wider population. In my opinion, there are four main areas that Rwanda’s economy has fallen short on. First, Rwanda lags behind in human capital development. Between 2018—the year the Human Capital Index (HCI) was first published—and 2020, Rwanda’s ranking on HCI has been consistently low. The HCI measures which countries are best at mobilising the economic and professional potential of their citizens. In spite of Rwanda having significantly increased the level of school enrolment in Rwanda, its score on the World Bank Human Capital Index 2020 is lower than the average for sub-Saharan Africa.[54] A child born in Rwanda today will grow up to be 38% as productive as they could have been if they had enjoyed high-quality education and healthcare. The reasons behind such a low score are Rwanda’s poor education standard and high rates of malnutrition. It is important to highlight that since 1998, the UK Department for International Development (DFID) has provided over 1 billion GBP in development assistance to Rwanda to develop areas including its agricultural and educational sectors.[55] A persistently low standard of education is among the main reasons that Rwanda struggles to attract private investment. Second, the development of a solid social capital that is genuinely reconciled and united and capable to advance the development of their country is yet to be achieved. This is challenged by the legacy of the history that led to the 1994 genocide against Tutsi and other crimes against humanity committed in Rwanda and the country’s governance since. Many people lack confidence that there has been justice for all the atrocities committed. I have always pointed out that genuine reconciliation will remain elusive until Rwanda honours and remembers all the victims, of all the crimes, committed during that dark period in our country’s history. Each time I called on the Rwandan government to ensure all crimes of our past history are recognised, I am referred as engaging in polarising politics. Ironically, the United States and the United Kingdom, Rwanda’s closest and most influential allies, share the view that failing to honour the many Hutus and others killed during the genocide paints an incomplete picture of this dark chapter in my country’s history. Curiously, they are never accused of being ‘polarising’. The persisting human rights violations reported in Rwanda over the past decades honed by economic injustice such as authorities uprooting farmers crops or engaging in unfair land expropriations have contributed to social capital depletion in Rwanda. This has increased citizens’ distrust of government institutions and officials. Thus, Rwanda has consecutively ranked among the five nations with the least-happiest populations on the World Happiness index. According to findings of the African Youth Survey 2022, the optimism about the direction of Rwanda of Rwandan youth aged between 18 and 24 has significantly declined from 94% in 2019 to 60% in 2022.[56] Third, the lack of citizen participation in decision making remain low in Rwanda. The power remains with the executive in Rwanda. Human rights organisations have established that Rwanda’s judiciary system is influenced by the executive as in many occasions it has delivered politically motivated judgments. Rwanda has experienced sudden and rapid decline of its performance on index of economic freedom over the past four years due to, among other reasons, the lack of judicial effectiveness. Rwanda moved from being the 2nd freest economy in Sub-Saharan Africa and the 32nd freest in the world in 2019, with a score of 71, to the 30th freest economy in Sub-Saharan Africa and the 137th freest in the world in 2023, with a score of 52.[57] The Parliament that is supposedly to speak on behalf of the people is made of members from the ruling party and from opposition parties affiliated to it. Thus, citizens in Rwanda lack ability to hold their policymakers accountable and this has been an obstacle to development. While Rwanda scores above the sub-Saharan African average for ‘control of corruption’ and ‘government effectiveness’ in the Worldwide Governance Indicators, it falls well below the average for ‘voice and accountability’. Policies are typically implemented with little input from citizens and often lack sensitivity to the population’s wants and needs. This top-down approach not only means that people may be not satisfied with government policies, but the stifling of dissenting voices also means those policies are less likely to be effective and well-designed. For decades, there have not been independent opposition political parties in the country capable of providing checks and balances to the government’s decisions and accountability. The lessons in history teach us that Rwanda is highly unlikely to transition to a modern and competitive middle-income country without developing highly capable and genuinely accountable institutions. Finally, Rwanda’s relationship with its neighbouring states have been deteriorating. This has prevented Rwanda from maximising its potential in the region for the development of its economy. The strained relations arise from the Rwandan government often alleging that its neighbouring states are supporting forces made up of Rwandan refugees that want to topple its leadership by force. Moreover, some of these neighbouring states have accused Rwanda of meddling into their internal affairs. The situation has been creating regional political tensions and have prevented Rwanda from efficiently integrating in the region for the development of its citizens, for example transparently being part of the supply chain of the region’s natural resources. Taking into consideration the flaws in the economy of Rwanda, how would migrants, who may have suffered psychological trauma fare in such an environment, and in a country that is still rebuilding itself? In fact, Rwandans are fleeing Rwanda to seek refugee abroad due to both political and economic reasons. Rwanda Produces Refugees Rwanda itself creates thousands of refugees every year, and its government has yet to guarantee a safe environment for Rwandan refugees settled across the world to return home. According to UNHCR, in 2021 alone, 12838 Rwandans fled the country and applied for asylum elsewhere. This tragic trend did not start recently. Rwanda has been producing refugees in significant numbers since before the country’s independence in 1962. The Rwandan Revolution of 1959, for example, pushed some 300,000 Rwandans into exile in neighbouring Tanzania, Burundi, the Democratic Republic of the Congo (then Zaïre), and Uganda. Just over a decade later, in 1973, a coup d’état caused an additional 40,000 to flee the country. In 1990, the RPF, the armed group made up of the descendants of those who fled the country in the wake of the 1959 revolution, launched an attack on Rwanda seeking to restore democracy and human rights in the country and facilitate the return of refugees to Rwanda. That war increased the number of refugees living in neighbouring countries to at least 600,000. The RPF eventually defeated the government forces and assumed control of Rwanda. But the civil war culminated in the genocide against the Tutsi and pushed about 1.75 million additional Rwandans to seek refuge in neighbouring countries. Approximately 700,000 Rwandan refugees (the majority being those who had fled Rwanda during the 1959 revolution including their children born in exile) returned to Rwanda. The RPF administration led by Kagame was determined to bring all Rwandan refugees home, using soft or hard power—at any cost. In 1996, as part of the Alliance of Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Congo (AFDL) coalition, the Rwandan army invaded the DRC and fought the Rwandan forces that had sought refuge there after the 1994 genocide. During that conflict, the camps that were hosting Rwandan refugees were directly attacked and the UN reported that thousands of Rwandan refugees and Congolese nationals were killed in the process.[58] Close to 750000 Rwandan refugees returned to Rwanda as a result of this conflict.[59] Some of the survivors still live in the DRC, while others have managed to flee to countries in Southern Africa and outside the African continent. They all carry with them horrific memories of state violence. Moreover, the Rwandan government also sought to bring refugees home by signing voluntary repatriation agreements with the governments of African states hosting Rwandan refugees. The Rwandan government also convinced the UN to end the refugee status of Rwandans who had left the country before November 1998. Despite all these efforts, the number of Rwandan refugees in Africa and beyond remains concerningly high. According to the most recent figures by the UNHCR, there are still more than 250,000 Rwandan refugees across the world. There are compelling reasons why so many Rwandan refugees do not want to—or do not feel safe enough to—return to their motherland. The devastating memories of the civil war, the genocide against Tutsi and the killing of refugees in the DRC by government forces are still fresh in the minds of many Rwandan refugees and in the absence of a comprehensive reconciliation policy, they have little reason to want to return to Rwanda. Moreover, persistent poverty and deep inequality, coupled with widespread political persecution and oppression, has not only discouraged the return of existing refugees but is pushing more Rwandans to leave the country and seek safety elsewhere. The failure of the Rwandan government to guarantee a safe environment for Rwandan refugees settled across the world to return home has been a source of instability in the African Great Lakes region. Among the refugees that fled Rwanda to seek refuge in the Democratic Republic of Congo after the RPF army took power in 1994, were the remnants of defeated Rwanda forces and militia responsible for the genocide. Since then, the Rwandan government has maintained that there are negative forces resident in eastern DRC who are set out to destabilise Rwanda, especially the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR). The FDLR is an armed group formed by Rwandan refugees in DRC who, following their forcible eviction from Rwanda during the genocide, resorted to armed struggle as a means to retake power in Rwanda. Despite Rwanda’s armed forces and militia having launched military operations in collaboration with the Congolese army against the FDLR on numerous occasions, the Rwandan government still insists that the FDLR is a threat to Rwanda’s security. In addition, there are other Rwandan refugees who have been grouped into political parties that oppose the ruling party and agitate for a voluntary and safe return to their motherland so they can exercise political rights without any restrictions. These political parties have members in many parts of the world, including Europe, America, and Africa. The Rwandan government claims these political groups are linked to armed dissident groups in the eastern DRC, or that the groups’ members are genocidaire . There have been political tensions between Rwanda with its neighbouring countries over allegations that these states are supporting Rwanda refugee opposition figures who want to overthrow the Rwandan leadership. In 2016, the UN Security Council accused Rwanda of recruiting and training Burundian refugees with the goal of ousting Burundi’s then-President.[60] Moreover, in 2012 and again in 2022, the United Nations went to the extent of alleging Rwanda’s support for M23, an armed group that is fighting in the eastern DRC.[61] This conflict caused by the M23 has displaced and led to the death of millions of African civilians. Development partners of Rwanda, including the UK, have had to suspend and withhold their aid to Rwanda over the allegations that Rwanda supported the M23 in 2012.[62] Recently the United States has publicly called on the Rwandan government to cease supporting M23 and to remove its troops from the eastern DRC.[63] The European Union and United States have also sanctioned Rwandan military officials for backing the M23.[64] Moreover, The United States has placed Rwanda on the Child Soldiers Prevention Act List and suspended its military aid with the country due to Rwanda’s support of M23, an armed group that the United States says recruits and uses child soldiers.[65] Inter-Rwandan Dialogue: A Solution for Rwanda On 1 July 2021, the 58th anniversary of Rwanda independence, Maître Bernard Ntaganda and I announced that we had submitted to the Rwandan government a Road Map for a promising future of Rwanda.[66] The proposal was made to address the Rwandan refugee problem as well as the roots cause leading to Rwanda repeatedly being categorised as ‘not a free country’ under an authoritarian regime, where political spaces are restricted and human rights are violated. This regime has been alleged by the UN and its development partners to support armed group that have been creating instability in the east of DRC. The promise of a ‘consensual democracy’, reconciliation, and transformation of Rwanda into a middle-income state made by the RPF during the national dialogue in 1999 has not been delivered. Our suggestions argued that domestic governance reform is the single most vital aspect of setting Rwanda on the course it desires. Hence, we proposed that Rwanda hold another inter-Rwandan dialogue between the government, political opposition parties, and civil society organisations internally and externally. The purpose is for these stakeholders to agree on governance reforms that need to be adopted to ensure the political inclusion, respect for human rights and the rule of law, and guaranteeing an environment for a safe and voluntary return of all Rwandan refugees in a dignified manner to their motherland. Why dialogue? The history of Rwanda since its independence has been characterised by successive regimes that have stayed in power by any means possible. The repercussions of this have been massacres and human rights violations, culminating in the 1994 genocide and crimes against humanity. To prevent history from repeating itself, an intra Rwandan dialogue for governance reform is a necessity today. This opening of discussion and inclusivity would help create an environment that could facilitate stability and the sustainable economic development in Rwanda and Great Lakes region that would be in everyone’s shared interests. Our proposal has strong alignment with Rwandan law. Seeking solutions to country’s problem through dialogue is enshrined in the constitution of Rwanda. Moreover, it is in line with the United Nations’ strategy for peacebuilding, conflict prevention, and resolution in the Great Lakes region, adopted in December 2020.[67] This strategy promotes the use of dialogue across region to reach its objectives. The outcomes of the proposed dialogue will not only shift Rwanda towards embracing Commonwealth values, but will also contribute to consolidating peace in the African Great Lakes region. This will also enable Rwanda to be at peace with neighbouring states, efficiently integrate in the region and be part of the transparent supply chain of the region’s natural resources for the development of its citizens. Thus, instead of the UK government partnering with the Rwandan government on an asylum transfer scheme, it should support Rwanda towards resetting its governance so that it embraces Commonwealth value, enabling it finally become a free and democratic country. The UK should utilise its voice and global influence to advocate and endorse resolutions that call Rwanda’s leadership to reform its governance through the aforementioned dialogue. By doing so, the UK would have contributed towards creating secure social, economic, and political environment in Rwanda which can pave the way for fruitful long-term partnership between the two countries. Victoire Ingabire Umuhoza Victoire Ingabire Umuhoza is a Rwandan political figure who champions the establishment of genuine democracy, respect for human rights, and rule of law in Rwanda. In 2010, Victoire returned to Rwanda from exile in The Netherlands to run for presidential candi date but was arrested and sentenced to 15 years in prison by the Rwandan Supreme court in a politically motivated judicial proceeding. Her appeal to The African Court on Human and Peoples' Rights cleared her and held that Rwanda violated her rights to freedom of expression as well as to adequate defence. Victoire was released in 2018 by presidential grace after eight years of imprisonment, five of which she spent in isolated confinement. She has founded and is chairing the Development and Liberty for All (DALFA-Umurinzi) political party. Her party is yet to be registered in Rwanda. It strives for the rule of law and sustainable development that benefits every Rwandan. Since her release she has been advocating for governance reform in Rwanda through holding inclusive dialogue. [1] Home Office and The Rt Hon Priti Patel MP, ‘World first partnership to tackle global migration crisis’ ( Gov.uk , 14 April 2022) < https://www.gov.uk/government/news/world-first-partnership-to-tackle-global-migration-crisis > accessed 13 November 2023. [2] Rwanda Government Communications, ‘Rwanda-UK Migration and Economic Development Partnership’ ( Twitter , 14 April 2022) < https://twitter.com/RwandaOGS/status/1514643560146116617 > accessed 13 November 2023. [3] UNHCR, ‘Operational Update: Rwanda’ ( UNHCR, August 2023) accessed 13 November 2023. [4] UNHCR, ‘Where We Work’ ( UNHCR ) < https://www.unhcr.org/rw/where-we-work > accessed 13 November 2023. [5] Médecins Sans Frontières, ‘Imprisoned, exploited, abused: the horrifying reality for people trapped in Libya’ ( MSF , 20 December 2019) < https://msf.org.uk/article/imprisoned-exploited-abused-horrifying-reality-people-trapped-libya > accessed 13 November 2023. [6] ‘Joint Statement: Government of Rwanda, UNHCR and African Union agree to evacuate refugees out of Libya’ ( UNHCR , 10 September 2019) < https://www.unhcr.org/news/news-releases/joint-statement-government-rwanda-unhcr-and-african-union-agree-evacuate > accessed 13 November 2023. [7] UNHCR, ‘UNHCR Rwanda Factsheet: Emergency Transit Mechanism - February 2023’ ( ReliefWeb , 23 March 2023) < https://reliefweb.int/report/rwanda/unhcr-rwanda-factsheet-emergency-transit-mechanism-february-2023 > accessed 13 November 2023. [8] ibid. [9] UNHCR, ‘The Government of Rwanda, the African Union, and UNHCR agree to continue the evacuation of refugees and asylum seekers from Libya’ ( UNHCR , 1 November 2021) < https://www.unhcr.org/rw/16735-the-government-of-rwanda-the-african-union-and-unhcr-agree-to-continue-the-evacuation-of-refugees-and-asylum-seekers-from-libya.html > accessed 13 November 2023. [10] UNHCR, ‘Evacuees from Libya – Emergency Transit Mechanism’ ( UNHCR ) < https://www.unhcr.org/rw/who-we-help/evacuees-from-libya-emergency-transit-mechanism-centre > accessed 13 November 2023. [11] UNHCR (n 7). [12] ‘Rwanda: the EU provides €10.3 million for life-saving refugee support measures’ ( European Commission , 19 November 2019) < https://ec.europa.eu/commission/presscorner/detail/en/ip_19_6301 > accessed 13 November 2023. [13] ‘European Union increases support to people in need of international protection with additional grant of €22 million to UNHCR to operate the Emergency Transit Mechanism in Rwanda until 2026’ ( UNHCR , 9 February 2023) < https://www.unhcr.org/rw/18777-european-union-increases-support-to-people-in-need-of-international-protection-with-additional-grant-of-e22-million-to-unhcr-to-operate-the-emergency-transit-mechanism-in-rwanda-until-2026.html > accessed 13 November 2023. [14] UNHCR, ‘Emergency Transit Centre Overview’ ( UNHCR , 2021) < https://www.unhcr.org/ro/wp-content/uploads/sites/23/2021/01/ETC-Fact-Sheet-January-2021-Final.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [15] UNHCR, ‘UNHCR Niger Factsheet: Emergency Transit Mechanism (ETM) - November 2020’ ( ReliefWeb , 5 November 2020) < https://reliefweb.int/report/niger/unhcr-niger-factsheet-emergency-transit-mechanism-etm-november-2020 > accessed 13 November 2023. [16] ‘Uniformed Personnel Contributing Countries by Ranking’ ( UN , 31 July 2023) < https://peacekeeping.un.org/sites/default/files/02_country_ranking_64_july_2023.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [17] UNHCR, ‘UNHCR Analysis of the Legality and Appropriateness of the Transfer of Asylum Seekers under the UK-Rwanda arrangement’ ( UNHCR , 8 June 2022) < https://www.unhcr.org/uk/media/unhcr-analysis-legality-and-appropriateness-transfer-asylum-seekers-under-uk-rwanda > accessed 13 November 2023. [18] ‘Memorandum of Understanding between the government of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the government of the Republic of Rwanda for the provision of an asylum partnership arrangement’ ( Gov.uk , 6 April 2023) < https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/memorandum-of-understanding-mou-between-the-uk-and-rwanda/memorandum-of-understanding-between-the-government-of-the-united-kingdom-of-great-britain-and-northern-ireland-and-the-government-of-the-republic-of-r > accessed 13 November 2023. [19] ibid provision 1.6. [20] ibid provision 2.2. [21] ibid provision 22.1. [22] UNHCR, ‘Rwanda: UNHCR Submission for the Universal Periodic Review - Rwanda - UPR 37th Session (2021)’ ( refworld , July 2020) < https://www.refworld.org/docid/607763c64.html > accessed 13 November 2023. [23] Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and Julian Braithwaite, ‘37th Universal Periodic Review: UK statement on Rwanda’ ( Gov.uk , 25 January 2021) < https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/37th-universal-periodic-review-uk-statement-on-rwanda > accessed 13 November 2023. [24] Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and Rita French, ‘UN Human Rights Council: Universal Periodic Review Adoption – Rwanda’ ( Gov.uk , 8 July 2021) < https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/un-human-rights-council-universal-periodic-review-adoption-rwanda > accessed 13 November 2023. [25] ‘Rwanda: A Year On, No Justice for Refugee Killings’ ( Human Rights Watch , 23 February 2019) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/02/23/rwanda-year-no-justice-refugee-killings > accessed 13 November 2023. [26] Kerry Jabo, ‘Congolese Refugees Tell Court Rwanda Government Is Not Revealing Real Reason For Their Prosecution’ ( The Chronicles , 25 October 2019) < https://www.chronicles.rw/2019/10/25/congolese-refugees-tell-court-rwanda-government-is-not-revealing-real-reason-for-their-prosecution/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [27] International Refugee Rights Initiative, ‘“I was left with nothing”: “Voluntary” departures of asylum seekers from Israel to Rwanda and Uganda’ ( refworld , September 2015) < https://www.refworld.org/country,,IRRI,,RWA,,55ee8c3a4,0.html > accessed 13 November 2023. [28] R (AAA) and others v. The Secretary of State for the Home Department [2023] EWCA Civ 745 [272]. [29] ibid [273]. [30] ibid [92]. [31] ibid [91]. [32] ibid [101]. [33] ibid [104]. [34] ‘Rwanda’ ( Freedom House , 2023) < https://freedomhouse.org/country/rwanda/freedom-world/2023 > accessed 13 November 2023. [35] ‘Democracy Index 2022’ ( Economist Intelligence ) < https://www.eiu.com/n/campaigns/democracy-index-2022/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [36] ‘Rwanda: Setting the Scene for Elections: Two Decades of Silencing Dissent in Rwanda’ ( Amnesty International , 7 July 2017) < https://www.amnesty.org/ar/documents/afr47/6585/2017/en/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [37] ‘Elections in Rwanda’ ( Amnesty International , 5 September 2017) < https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/campaigns/2017/09/rwandas-repressive-tactics-silence-dissent-before-elections/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [38] European Parliament, ‘Report: Ad-hoc delegation to observe the presidential election in Rwanda on Monday 25 August 2003’ ( European Parliament , 5 September 2003) < https://www.europarl.europa.eu/cmsdata/212731/Election_report_Rwanda_25_August_2003.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [39] ‘Rwanda: Review Doctor’s Genocide Conviction’ ( Human Rights Watch , 15 February 2008) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2008/02/15/rwanda-review-doctors-genocide-conviction > accessed 13 November 2023. [40] United States Department of State, ‘Rwanda 2015 Human Rights Report’ < https://rw.usembassy.gov/wp-content/uploads/sites/147/2016/08/252929.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [41] CHRI, ‘Rwanda’s Application for Membership of the Commonwealth: Report and Recommendations of the Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative’ ( Human Rights Initiative , 2009) < https://www.humanrightsinitiative.org/download/Rwanda%20application%20for%20membership.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [42] ‘Rwanda: Prison Term for Opposition Leader’ ( Human Rights Watch , 11 February 2011) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2011/02/11/rwanda-prison-term-opposition-leader > accessed 13 November 2023. [43] ‘National Election Commission (Rwanda)’ ( Hansard , 6 July 2010) < https://hansard.parliament.uk/Commons/2010-07-06/debates/10070631000015/NationalElectionCommission(Rwanda)#contribution-10070631000072 > accessed 13 November 2023. [44] European Parliament, ‘MOTION FOR A RESOLUTION on Rwanda: the case of Victoire Ingabire’ ( European Parliament , 4 October 2016) < https://www.europarl.europa.eu/doceo/document/B-8-2016-1075_EN.html > accessed 13 November 2023. [45] ‘Dispatches: Rwanda Turns the Clock Back on Access to Justice’ ( Human Rights Watch , 11 March 2016) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2016/03/11/dispatches-rwanda-turns-clock-back-access-justice > accessed 13 November 2023. [46] ’2018 Annual Conference of the African Bar Association: Resolutions on Rwanda’ ( The Rwandan , 6 September 2018) < https://www.therwandan.com/2018-annual-conference-of-the-african-bar-association-resolutions-on-rwanda/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [47] ‘Rwandan police arrest Paul Kagame critic Diane Rwigara’ ( Al Jazeera , 24 September 2017) < https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2017/9/24/rwandan-police-arrest-paul-kagame-critic-diane-rwigara > accessed 13 November 2023. [48] Victoire Ingabire Umuhoza, ‘Rwanda has to investigate killings of opposition members’ ( Al Jazeera , 24 March 2023) < https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2023/3/24/rwanda-has-to-investigate-killings-of-opposition-members > accessed 13 November 2023. [49] ‘Rwanda: Crackdown on Opposition, Media Intensifies’ ( Human Rights Watch , 19 October 2021) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2021/10/19/rwanda-crackdown-opposition-media-intensifies > accessed 13 November 2023. [50] ‘Rwanda: Jailed Critic Denounces Torture in Prison’(Human Rights Watch, 13 June 2022) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2022/06/13/rwanda-jailed-critic-denounces-torture-prison > accessed 13 November 2023. [51] Victoire Ingabire Umuhoza, ‘Rwanda shows that it takes more than seats in Parliament to liberate women’ ( Open Democracy , 8 March 2023) < https://www.opendemocracy.net/en/5050/rwanda-women-in-parliament-employment-culture-empowerment/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [52] ‘Africa's impressive growth’ ( The Economist , 6 January 2011) < https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/2011/01/06/africas-impressive-growth > accessed 13 November 2023. [53] Victoire Ingabire, ‘Rwanda Vision 2020 – Development Programme Scrutiny’ ( DALFA , December 2019) < https://dalfa.org/en/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/Rwanda-vision-2020-development-programme-scrutiny.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [54] ‘Rwanda: Human Capital Index 2020’ ( World Bank , October 2020) < https://databankfiles.worldbank.org/public/ddpext_download/hci/HCI_2pager_RWA.pdf?cid=GGH_e_hcpexternal_en_ext > accessed 13 November 2023. [55] ‘UK–Rwanda development partnership summary, July 2023’ ( Gov.uk , 17 July 2023) < https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/uk-rwanda-development-partnership-summary/uk-rwanda-development-partnership-summary-july-2023 > accessed 13 November 2023. [56] ‘African Youth Survey 2022’ (Ichikowitz Family Foundation, 2022) < https://ichikowitzfoundation.com/storage/ays/ays2022.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [57] ‘2023 Index of Economic Freedom’ < https://www.heritage.org/index/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [58] ‘DRC: Mapping human rights violations 1993-2003’ (OHCHR, August 2010) < https://www.ohchr.org/en/countries/africa/2010-drc-mapping-report > accessed 13 November 2023. [59] Amnesty International, ‘Rwanda. Protecting their rights: Rwandese refugees in the Great Lakes region’ ( Amnesty International , n. d.) < https://www.amnesty.org/en/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/afr470162004en.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [60] Michelle Nichols and Louis Charbonneau, ‘Exclusive: Burundi rebels say trained by Rwandan military - U.N. experts’ ( Reuters , 4 February 2016) < https://www.reuters.com/article/us-burundi-rwanda-un-idUSKCN0VD04K > accessed 13 November 2023. [61] ‘Letter dated 26 June 2012 from the Chair of the Security Council Committee established pursuant to resolution 1533 (2004) concerning the Democratic Republic of the Congo addressed to the President of the Security Council’ ( United Nations Security Council , 27 June 2012) < https://www.securitycouncilreport.org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27-4E9C-8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/DRC%20S%202012%20348%20ADD%201.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023; ‘UN experts say Rwanda provided military support to M23 rebels in eastern Congo’ ( France 24 , 4 August 2022) < https://www.france24.com/en/africa/20220804-un-experts-say-rwanda-provided-military-support-to-m23-rebels-in-eastern-congo > accessed 13 November 2023. [62] Liz Ford, ‘UK withholds aid to Rwanda in light of Congo DRC allegations’ Guardian (London, 30 November 2012) < https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2012/nov/30/uk-withholds-aid-rwanda-congo-drc > accessed 13 November 2023. [63] Matthew Miller, ‘Press Statement: Final Report by UN Group of Experts’ ( US Department of State , 19 June 2023) < https://www.state.gov/final-report-by-un-group-of-experts/ > accessed 13 November 2023. [64] Thomas Fessy, ‘EU Sanctions Congo, Rwanda Army Officers’ ( Human Rights Watch , 30 July 2023) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/07/31/eu-sanctions-congo-rwanda-army-officers > accessed 13 November 2023; Nicole Widdersheim, ‘US Sanctions Rights Abusers in Eastern Congo’ ( Human Rights Watch , 28 August 2023) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/08/28/us-sanctions-rights-abusers-eastern-congo > accessed 13 November 2023. [65] RFI and David Thompson, ‘Enfants-soldats: les États-Unis restreignent leur coopération militaire avec le Rwanda’ ( RFI , 21 September 2023) < https://www.rfi.fr/fr/afrique/20230921-enfants-soldats-les-etats-unis-restreignent-leur-coop%C3%A9ration-militaire-avec-le-rwanda > accessed 13 November 2023. [66] Victoire Ingabire Umuhoza and Maître Ntaganda Bernard, ‘Road Map for a Promising Future of Rwanda’ ( DALFA , June 2021) < https://dalfa.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/ROAD-MAP-FOR-A-PROMISING-FUTURE-OF-RWANDA.pdf > accessed 13 November 2023. [67] ‘UN Strategy for the Great Lakes Region’ ( Office of the Special Envoy for the Great Lakes ) < https://ungreatlakes.unmissions.org/un-strategy-great-lakes-region > accessed 13 November 2023.

I. Introduction Jonathan Sumption—once described by The Guardian  as ‘the brain of Britain’—is a professional historian and former Justice of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom. [1]  He has published ten books, among them Pilgrimage: An Image of Medieval Religion  (1975), The Albigensian Crusade  (1978), Equality  (1979), five volumes on the Hundred Years War, and Trials of the State: Law and the Decline of Politics  (2019). As a Supreme Court Justice, he delivered the leading judgment in important cases in several areas, including, in the realm of commercial law, Prest v Petrodel Resources Ltd ,[2]  Kelly v Fraser ,[3]  Bilta (UK) Ltd v Nazir (No 2) ,[4] and Bunge SA v Nidera BV .[5] His dissents have also been prominent—notably in Patel v Mirza [6] on illegal contracts. Moreover, Sumption’s judicial production during his tenure at the Supreme Court has been the subject of academic scholarship.[7]  With a following in various Commonwealth countries, his intellectual influence transcends the British Isles. This is apparent from the success of his most recent book, Law in a Time of Crisis ,[8] which sold out in New Zealand, as did a public lecture he gave at the invitation of one of the country’s leading commercial law firms in 2023.   The book, however, is uneven: in some chapters, its insight enriches,[9] while in others—notably where it explores topical issues—its analysis suffers from important gaps. In particular, Sumption is not persuasive in his discussion of historical apologies and judicial diversity. His reasoning in relation to the former rests on defective legal and historical analyses that either entirely omit, or else do not engage adequately with, relevant considerations. His chapter on judicial diversity, for its part, distorts the arguments it grapples with in its favour, seems to ignore the richness of the notion of ‘identity’, and does not take on the (positive) experience of international courts and tribunals where diversity is mandatory. In this article, I use not just law and political science but also literature to challenge several of the factual bases of some of Sumption’s legal or historical contentions, and to bring a more human dimension to the discussion.   II. On apologising for history   Sumption’s analysis of apologies for historical wrongs contains legal gaps, omits relevant historical facts, and fails to address key dimensions. To begin with, he regards historical apologies as pointless where the perpetrators or their victims are long dead—considering them to be an expression of seeing ‘the past in terms of the present’,[10] and adding that ‘apologising for the past is […] a historical anachronism’. [11] Sumption questions Tony Blair’s apology to Ireland for the Potato Famine. He asserts that the apology ‘seeks to engage [his] moral responsibility’ but that, although he is a descendant of nineteenth-century English people, he ‘did not do it’.[12] He also discusses an apology by Pope John Paul II in 2000 for the Christian wars and persecution in the Middle Ages. With approval, he references a bishop who queried in whose name the Pope was asking for forgiveness.[13] He concludes:   History is morally neutral. We have a duty to understand why things happened as they did, but apologising for them or trying to efface them is morally worthless […]. Once the relevant actors have left the scene, there is no longer a live moral issue, no longer a perpetrator to be contrite or a victim to forgive. For those left behind, there are only lessons to be learned.[14]   The issue of historical apologies can, however, be approached from a different angle. Underlying Sumption’s opposition lies a clear separation between the distant past and the present. Literature offers another perspective, one that challenges such a simplistic separation. Jorge Luis Borges reminds us—and this of course would not come as a revelation for Sumption—that the past can also be part of the present and of the future.[15] Indeed, historical apologies are situated in a present-day political context that is relevant to any assessment of them. This is readily identifiable in the Pope’s 2000 apology. In his words:   Christians have at times given in to intolerance and have not been faithful to the great commandment of love, sullying in their way the face of the church.[16] The Pope was using the apology to send an unequivocal message of tolerance to the Catholics of the day. Blair’s apology had perhaps more profound consequences for the present, having been issued to forge a path for the future: the negotiations that led to the Good Friday Agreements. [17]    Equally fundamentally, Sumption’s argument that historical apologies are morally and philosophically irrelevant fails to take into account the possibility that recipients might not consider the apologies to be as insignificant as he does. Sumption omits to mention, for instance, that Ireland regarded the apology as a significant event, not a moral or philosophical anachronism. Its Prime Minister expressed that ‘while the statement confronts the past honestly, it does so in a way that heals for the future’.[18]   Sumption does not address another key dimension with potential legal consequences: historical apologies, such as those of the Pope and Blair, are unilateral declarations made by heads of State or heads of government, and they seek to have international effects of various kinds. They may or may not contain international obligations, depending on their content and the surrounding circumstances—as the International Law Commission has expressed,[19] and as the International Court of Justice (ICJ) stated in Nuclear Tests Case (New Zealand v France). [20]   Other important considerations applicable to apologies were highlighted by the ICJ in Case Concerning Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States of America) ,   where it expressed the view that:   [A]mong the legal effects which such declarations may have is that they may be regarded as evidence of the truth of facts, as evidence that such facts are attributable to the States the authorities of which are the authors of these declarations and, to a lesser extent, as evidence for the legal qualification of these facts.[21]   Historical apologies are acts of State. By reducing them to leaders’ personal words on behalf of existing individuals, Sumption overlooks a significant dimension of this form of State action.   There is one circumstance militating against apologies that could in principle be open to discussion: when the apology is requested from a State that did not actually exist at the time of the events. In this context, Sumption mentions as futile the request to Turkey to apologise for the Armenian genocide by the Ottoman Empire.[22] Before concluding that an apology by Turkey is irrelevant, however, Sumption should have engaged with the international law concept of State continuity.[23] A rigorous analysis should show why, legally, Turkey is not the continuing legal personality of the Ottoman Empire and therefore does not have to offer any apology. Moreover, Sumption omits to mention material historical facts, such as the fact that many States refused to recognise Turkey’s claim to be a new State in 1923 in order to avoid payment of the Empire’s debts,[24] and furthermore that an arbitration tribunal in Affaire de la dette publique ottoman  rendered an award in 1948 concluding that Turkey had continued the legal personality of the Empire.[25] Sumption should have engaged with these acts and decisions in order to properly prove his point that the example of the Armenian genocide supports his critique of apologies.[26] As it is, his argument is incomplete.[27]    On the request for apologies for slavery, Sumption states:   [t]he suggestion is that the apology is due to the dispersed descendants of the original slaves who are alive today. It is not obvious what injury has been done to them. Many of them enjoy better lives in the countries to which their ancestors were forcibly deported than they would have enjoyed if their families had remained in sub-Saharan Africa.[28]   This last argument can be challenged with the aid of literature and history. First, the benefits of slavery are still enjoyed by the descendants of slaveowners, such that historical domination and subjugation continue to influence contemporary relationships and identity. The legacy of slavery and the need for apologies therefore remains extant.[29] Second, the claim that the descendants of enslaved people enjoy better lives than the inhabitants of Sub-Saharan Africa is trite. A similar argument was made over a century ago to attempt to defend slavery. In a letter sent to the American publication The Atlantic  in 1901, a reader stated that slavery had lifted ‘the Southern negro to a plane of civilization never before attained by any large body of his race’.[30] The argument was wrong then just as it is today. Third, the comparator to assess the negative impact of slavery should not be the standard of living in the African region, but that of fellow citizens. In ‘ Letter from a Birmingham Jail’, Martin Luther King contrasted the quality of life of the African American population with that of the other Americans to decry:   We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. [...] [P]erhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, ‘Wait’. But when […] you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; […] when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of ‘nobodiness’—then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait.[31]   Sumption shuts his eyes to the reality of many descendants of enslaved people. He proposes a regression in how we reckon with history. Granted, slavery ended, but Sumption fails to recognise the subsequent segregation or apartheid, the discrimination replacing slavery until today in many countries, the United Kingdom included.[32] Although Sumption states that he is aware of the Black Lives Matter movement,[33] his arguments betray his disconnection with the reality on race. In sum, Sumption’s views on apologies are based on incomplete legal and historical analyses in which important dimensions are not explored in depth or are simply neglected. Literature reveals not only his blinkered reasoning, but also its wilful blindness.   III. Sumption on judicial diversity   Sumption tackles judicial diversity in British courts based on his five-year experience as a member of the United Kingdom’s Judicial Appointments Commission. He is in favour of more diversity,[34] but finds that the speed of progress is not fast enough. The only way to increase diversity is, he maintains, through positive discrimination. But he is against the latter nonetheless.[35] And under Sumption’s own proposals, meaningful change be witnessed only after decades.   This discussion will explore some of the misconceptions that lead Sumption to conclude that progress in judicial diversity should be left to come about naturally. To begin with, Sumption seems to distort the argument in favour of judicial diversity by contending that those in favour of it expect all minority groups to be represented on the bench. He states:   [I]f personal experience of belonging to a relevant group is desirable, there will be many relevant groups apart from women and ethnic minorities who are entitled to be represented […] Should we distinguish between ethnic minorities according to whether they are of Caribbean, African, Indian or Chinese origin, or between Christian, Muslim and Hindu, all categories with a unique quality of personal experience? […] How far can we go in this direction without undermining the objectivity of the judge, which necessarily depends on certain personal distance from the facts?[36]   The goal of judicial diversity is, however, not to ensure that every minority group will be represented on the bench. This argument is a red herring which, by leading Sumption to portray the goal as unattainable, acts in effect as a tacit call for letting the status quo run its slow course. A true call for diversity is, on the contrary, a call for allowing more minority groups to be represented at a particular time within the judiciary. Once the distortion is brought to light, Sumption’s critique loses its value.   As seen in the above quote, Sumption also challenges judicial diversity on the grounds that judges belonging to minority groups might be unable to distance themselves from plaintiffs or defendants who belong to the same group. Underlying this view is the supposition that members of the same minority groups have only one homogenous life experience and are wholly defined by their belonging to this group. On this point, the Nobel-winning work of Amartya Sen on identity is pertinent:   In our normal lives, we see ourselves as members of a variety of groups-we belong to all of them. A person’s citizenship, residence, geographic origin, gender, class, politics, profession, employment, food habits, sports interests, tastes in music, social commitments, etc., make us members of a variety of groups, to all of which this person simultaneously belongs, gives her a particular identity. None of them can be taken to be the person’s only identity.[37]   Members of social groups have overlapping identities that cut across any single group. Consequently, a judge and an individual before a given court may be part of the same social group but have different identities. For this reason, among others, nobody, and surely not Sumption, questions that white male judges can be objective by virtue of being distanced from the facts in cases related to other white men. Exactly the same happens when it comes to judges from minority groups, and one certainly would expect a former member of a Committee tasked with the goal of increasing judicial diversity to grasp the complexity of identity as a category.   Allegedly, recent empirical scholarship on this topic concerning individual judges appears to support Sumption’s views. Epstein and Knight state that:   research that characterizes individual judges on the basis of their social identity (gender, race, nationality, and so on) tends to generate results in line with in-group bias: the tendency of individuals to favour members of their own group over outsiders.[38]   However, Epstein and Knight acknowledge that this empirical research still lacks the sophistication to conceptualise the judges’ several identities that Sen and others rightly highlight. So far, this research isolates the effects of a specific identity, and Epstein and Knight point out that ‘[r]ecognizing that individual judges are, like all of us, bundles of identities—identities that intersect and overlap—is crucial to advance work in the field’.[39] The research thus has significant conceptual limitations and does not challenge Sen’s perspective.   Sumption objects to the ‘notion that a diverse court produces a higher quality of justice’.[40] He questions the former Canadian Chief Justice, Beverly McLachlin, who, on the benefits of gender diversity for collegial courts, has expressed the following:   Jurists are human beings and, as such, are informed and influenced by their backgrounds, communities and experiences. For cultural, biological, social and historic reasons, women do have different experiences than men. In this respect women can make a unique contribution to the deliberations of our courts. Women are capable of infusing the law with the unique reality of their life.[41]   Sumption argues that this statement attaches an exaggerated value to personal experiences and that vicarious experience may be enough.[42] In doing so, he dismisses the relevance of the so-called diversity bonus in collective decision-making. According to Epstein and Knight:     [S]ocial diversity leads to better decisions as people bring different perspectives to bear on the problem at hand; in other words, the more diverse the inputs, the stronger the outputs.[43]   Although Sumption is discussing judicial diversity in British collegial courts, notably he criticises McLachlin without even considering those courts in which positive discrimination is mandatory and whether the experience of those courts buttresses or contradicts his views. Which are these judicial bodies with mandatory diversity? International courts.   Granted, there are important institutional differences between international and domestic courts, but the differences lose their significance given that Sumption discusses the quality of justice in collegial courts generally. A consideration of international courts in terms of how their diversity has enhanced the quality of their jurisprudence and legitimacy, then, is relevant. Article 9 of the Statute of the ICJ requires that its judges represent the ‘main forms of civilization and the principal legal systems of the world’; Article 17.3 of the World Trade Organization’s Understanding on Rules and Procedures Governing the Settlement of Disputes mandates that ‘ [t]he Appellate Body membership shall be broadly representative of membership in the WTO’; Article 36(8)(a) of the Rome Statute, which goes even further, mandates the composition of the International Criminal Court (ICC) not only in terms of diversity of origin and the representation of the principal legal systems of the world, but also in terms of gender.   Evidence suggests that the ‘diversity bonus’ enhances the quality of the justice delivered by international courts and tribunals. It allows them, to use VS Naipaul’s words, to truly grasp ‘t he lucid, three-dimensional view of the world and its possibilities’ as they relate to the dispute at hand.[44] Indeed, Liliana Obregon shows that non-European or American judges at the ICJ have been a periodic source of challenge to traditional views of international law, thereby enriching the quality of the debate within and outside of the Court on critical issues.[45] From a more general perspective, Hodson illustrates how enhanced gender diversity—through the appointment of more female judges in international courts and tribunals—has brought about important new developments in international criminal law concerning rape and sexual violence and in human rights.[46]   Of course, even a diverse collegial court can make serious mistakes. The ICJ made a major error in South West Africa ( Ethiopia v. South Africa ; Liberia v. South Africa ), Second Phase,[47] when it rejected, for lack of standing, Ethiopia and Liberia’s application against South Africa in relation to the apartheid system put in place in South West Africa.[48] However, adjustments were made, and the quality of the justice delivered by the ICJ is exemplified by its use by applicants from all continents. The ICC was criticised in recent years for concentrating too much on Africa, but this is no longer a valid criticism with the opening of preliminary investigations or full investigations elsewhere.[49] There have been problems within the ICC caused by a low level of collegiality . [50] However, the cause has not been linked to the diversity of the composition. Finally, before becoming inactive, for reasons widely known,[51] the WTO Appellate Body was a significant success in terms of adjudication of complex trade disputes.[52] The Appellate Body is in crisis today, but not for reasons related to its diverse composition.[53]   The relevant point, for the purpose of Sumption’s argument, is that diversity in terms of origin and gender within international courts and tribunals has improved the quality of the justice delivered, and that the failures or shortcomings have never been attributed to their heterogenous composition. Moreover, diversity is one of the sources of the legitimacy of international courts, and when it has been scarce in international adjudication systems, it has been an important source of criticism. Indeed, although international investment agreements and investor-state arbitration are in a process of reassessment for a variety of structural reasons,[54] an additional source of contention is the lack of diversity of the pool of arbitrators available to be appointed by parties.[55] Of course, the proposition that diverse collegial courts do not produce a better justice, or that they reduce its quality, can still be made. However, if it is to be persuasive, it should address the challenge posed by the positive experience of international courts and tribunals where diversity is mandatory. This is a significant gap in Sumption’s argument.   In sum, Sumption’s analysis on judicial diversity is sometimes based on a mischaracterisation of the extent to which diversity can be pursued; it ignores the fact that more diversity does not compromise the impartiality of judges; and it fails to notice that diverse collegial courts, at least in the experience of international courts and tribunals, have enhanced the quality of the justice delivered.   IV. Conclusion   When seen in light of international law, Sumption’s Law in a Time of Crisis falls short. He deals, among other things, with two very topical issues: apologies for historical wrongs, and judicial diversity. The two may be connected sometimes: there is a need to recognise, through apologies, the harm and marginalisation that has suffered by some segments of society, and that one of the instruments to redress it is the recognition of the contribution that these segments can make to their societies—including through judicial diversity. Sumption does not truly embrace both, and his views no longer reflect the directions in which the United Kingdom and other societies are moving. New arguments and experiences have materialised showing the merits of these new directions, and Sumption does not fully address them in his book. From a practical perspective, it can be said that debates on historical apologies and judicial diversity in other jurisdictions—ones in which his views are tacitly relied upon—should be made aware of the limitations of this kind of analysis. Issuing historical apologies and the promotion of diversity in the judiciary are realities not to be feared, but embraced, in multicultural societies still coping with the remnants of colonisation. Alberto Alvarez-Jimenez Alberto Alvarez-Jimenez is a Colombian and Canadian national based in Aotearoa New Zealand. He holds a PhD from Ottawa, an LL.M from McGill and an LL.B from the Universidad de la Sabana. Currently he is a senior lecturer at Te Piringa Faculty of Law at the University of Waikato. His areas of research are international economic law, public international law, and international humanitarian law. He also explores the intersections between international law and art. His scholarship has appeared in leading law journals in North America and Europe. The author wishes to thank Leticia Alvarez and the editors of The Cambridge Journal of Law, Politics, and Art for their comments to early drafts. The usual disclaimer applies. [1] Wendell Steavenson, ‘Jonathan Sumption: the brain of Britain’ The Guardian  (London, 6 August 2015) < https://www.theguardian.com/law/2015/aug/06/jonathan-sumption-brain-of-britain > accessed 16 August 2023 (Sumption received significant attention during the COVID-19 pandemic because of his opposition to the UK government’s lockdowns, a topic I do not explore here.) [2]  [2013] UKSC 34, [2013] 2. [3]  [2012] UKPC 25 [15], [2013] 1 AC 450. [4]  [2015] UKSC 23, [2016] AC 1. [5]  [2015] UKSC 43, [2015] 3 All ER 1082. [6]  [2016] UKSC 42, [2017] AC 467. [7] See e.g. James Lee, ‘The Judicial Individuality of Lord Sumption’ (2017) 40(2) University of New South Wales Law Journal 862; Patrick Birkinshaw, ‘Jonathan Sumption, Trials of the State: Law and the Decline of Politics ’ (2020) 1(3) Amicus Curiae 459. [8] Jonathan Sumption, Law in a Time of Crisis  (Profile Books 2021). See also Jonathan Sumption, ‘Law in a Time of Crisis’ (2021) 1 CJLPA 77-9. [9] Two topics stand out: Sumption’s analysis in ‘Arcana Imperii: State Secrets through the Ages’, which discusses the confidentiality of State documents; and ‘The Historian as a Judge’, wherein Sumption recommends that lawyers enlarge their intellectual horizons. [10] Sumption (n 8) 15. [11] ibid 17-8. [12] ibid 19. [13] ibid 18. [14] ibid 25. [15] In his short story, ‘There are More Things’, Borges writes: ‘Over and over I told myself that time – that infinite web of yesterday, today, the future, forever, never – is the only true enigma’. Jorge Luis Borges, El Libro de Arena  (Emecé Editores 1975) 43. Translation by Leticia Alvarez. [16] Alessandra Stanley, ‘Pope Asks Forgiveness for Errors Of the Church Over 2,000 Years’ New York Times (New York, 13 May 2000) < https://www.nytimes.com/2000/03/13/world/pope-asks-forgiveness-for-errors-of-the-church-over-2000-years.html#:~:text=He%20said%2C%20''We%20are > accessed 16 August 2023. [17] See Jason Edwards and Amber Luckie, ‘British Prime Minister Tony Blair’s Irish Potato Famine Apology’ (2014) 5(1) Journal of Conflictology 43, 48. [18] ibid 47. [19] See Guiding Principle No. 7 in International Law Commission, ‘Guiding Principles applicable to Unilateral Declarations of States Capable of Creating Legal Obligations, with Commentaries Thereto’ ( United Nations , 2006) < https://legal.un.org/ilc/texts/instruments/english/commentaries/9_9_2006.pdf > accessed 19 August 2023. [20] See International Court of Justice, Nuclear Tests Case (New Zealand v Francia), Judgment of 20 December 1974   ICJ Reports 1974 [46]-[47]. [21] International Court of Justice, Case Concerning Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States of America Merits, Judgment of 27 June 1986, ICJ Reports 1986 [71]. [22] Sumption (n 8) 20. [23] See Andreas Zimmermann, ‘The International Court of Justice and State Succession to Treaties: Avoiding Principled Answers to Questions of Principle’ in Christian J Tams and James Sloan (eds), The Development of International Law by the International Court of Justice  (Oxford University Press 2013) 53. [24] See Patrick Dumberry, ‘The Consequences of Turkey Being the “Continuing’ State of the Ottoman Empire” in Terms of International Responsibility for International Wrongful Acts’   (2014) 14 International Criminal Law Review 261, 267. [25] ibid 268. [26] If the conclusion were that there would be continuity, then an apology, as a form of satisfaction, would be entirely possible pursuant to Article 37 of the International Law Commission’s Articles on State Responsibility for Wrongful Acts. [27] It is also incomplete in another sense that Sumption did not identify: not all Armenians may be interested in an apology from Turkey. In Elif Shafak’s novel The Bastard of Istanbul , the Armenian diaspora in the United States is a prominent theme, and an Armenian Turk character asserts: ‘[I] was born and raised in Istanbul. My family history in this city goes back at least five hundred years. Armenian Istanbulites belong to Istanbul, just like the Turkish, Kurdish, Greek, and Jewish Istanbulites do. We have first managed and then badly failed to live together. We cannot fail again’ (Elif Shafak, The Bastard of Istanbul  (Viking 2007) 254). One can infer from this fictional text that some Turkish Armenians may not need an apology. To apologise would not be anachronism for them; it would just be unnecessary. [28] Sumption (n 8) 19. [29] In Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah , the protagonist, a Nigerian woman living in the United States, says: ‘If the ‘slavery was so long ago’ thing comes up, have your white friends said that lots of white folks are still inheriting money that their families made a hundred years ago. So if that legacy lives, why not the legacy of slavery?’ (Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah  (Anchor 2014) 449). [30] Yoni Appelbaum, ‘ The Atlantic and Reconstruction. What we got Wrong in 1901’ ( The Atlantic , 13 November 2023) < https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2023/12/journalism-reconstruction-coverage-web-du-bois/675806/ > accessed 16 August 2023. [31] See Martin Luther King, ‘ Letter from a Birmingham Jail’ (16 April 1963)  < https://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html > accessed 1 August 2023. [32] On discrimination in the United Kingdom against Black people, and for readers unfamiliar with British society, see Andrea Levy, Small Island (Headline Review 2004) 435. [33] Sumption (n 8) 25. [34] ibid 103. [35] ibid 122. [36] ibid 120. [37] Amartya Sen, Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny (Penguin 2006) 5. [38] See Lee Epstein and Jack Knight, ‘How Social identity and Social Diversity Affect Judging (2022) 35(4) Leiden Journal of International Law 897, 899. [39] ibid 906. [40] Sumption (n 8) 120. [41] ibid 118. [42] ibid. [43] Epstein and Knight (n 38) 907. [44]  VS Naipaul,  The Loss of El Dorado. A History  (André Deutsch 1969) 32. [45] See Liliana Obregon, ‘The Third World Judges: Neutrality, Bias or Activism at the PCIJ and the ICJ?’ in William A. Schabas and Murphy Shannonbrooke (eds), Research Handbook on International Courts and Tribunals  (Edward Elgar Publishing, 2017) 200. [46] See Loveday Hodson, ‘Gender and the International Judge: Towards a Transformative Equality Approach’ (2022) 35(4) Leiden Journal of International Law 913, 922-926. This is not to deny that, although the compositions of many international courts and tribunals are diverse in terms of origin, they still lack gender balance and are clearly dominated by men— see Hodson at 914-16. Moreover, Hodson argues that women still face resistance in some quarters to be nominated for available vacancies in international courts and tribunals and, when appointed, face institutional constraints—see Hodson at 927. [47] See International Court of Justice, South West Africa ( Ethiopia v. South Africa; Liberia v. South Africa ), Second Phase, ICJ Reports (1966). [48] The implications of this decision were severe: a sharp reduction in cases early in the 1970s and a push for the creation of the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea, as an alternative to the ICJ. Even the ICJ responded by changing the Rules of the Court. See Robert Jennings, Rosalyn Higgins, and Peter Tomka, ‘General Introduction’   in Andreas Zimmermann, Christian J Tams, Karin Oellers-Frahm, and Christian Tomuschat (eds), The Statute of the International Court of Justice: A Commentary  (Oxford University Press, 2019) [76]-[78]; [82]-[83]. [49] See International Criminal Court, ‘Situations and Cases’ < https://www.icc-cpi.int/ > accessed 5 August 2023. [50] See Independent Expert Review of the International Criminal Court and the Rome Statute System, ‘Final Report 30 September 2020’, [462]-[473] < https://asp.icc-cpi.int/sites/asp/files/asp_docs/ASP19/IER-Final-Report-ENG.pdf > accessed 19 August 2023. [51] The Appellate Body became inoperative because the United States decided to block the appointment of new Appellate Body members, which prevents consensus. See ‘Farewell speech of Appellate Body member Thomas R. Graham’ ( World Trade Organization , 5 March 2020) < https://www.wto.org/english/tratop_e/dispu_e/farwellspeechtgaham_e.htm#:~:text=The%20Appellate%20Body%2C%20as%20we,it%20is%20better%20this%20way.&text=economies%2C%20such%20as%20China > accessed 15 August 2023. [52] See Alberto Alvarez-Jimenez, ‘A Perfect Model for International Adjudication? Collegial Decision-Making in the WTO Appellate Body’   (2009) 12(2) Journal of International Economic Law 289. [53] See for example Robert Howse, ‘The World Trade Organization 20 Years On: Global Governance by Judiciary’ (2016) 27(1) European Journal of International Law 9, 30-75; and Robert Howse and Joanna Langille, ‘Continuity and Change in the World Trade Organization: Pluralism Past, Present, and Future’   (2023) 117(1) American Journal of International Law 1, 31-35. Several WTO members have agreed on an alternative system to hear appeals to panel reports: the Multi-party Interim Appeal Arbitration Arrangement. The system has ten arbitrators of diverse origins and gender, as expected. See Daniel Hohnstein and Greg Tereposky, ‘ Pool of Ten Appeal Arbitrators Established for the WTO Multi-Party Interim Appeal Arbitration Arrangement (MPIA)’ ( Lexology , 3 August 2020) < https://www.lexology.com/library/detail.aspx?g=5d84b477-ba5c-4e0e-be25-0e291883b6d3 > accessed 13 August 2023. [54] See Jane Kelsey and Kinda Mohamedieh, ‘UNCITRAL Fiddles while Countries Burn’ ( Friedrich Ebert Stiftung , September 2021) 5-7 < https://library.fes.de/pdf-files/bueros/genf/18297.pdf > accessed 13 August 2023; George Kahale, ‘The Inaugural Brooking Lecture on International Business Law: ‘ISDS’: The Wild, Wild West of International Practice’ (2018) 44(1) Brooking Journal of International Law; Gus Van Harten, The Trouble with Foreign Investor Protection  (Oxford University Press 2020). [55] See John R Crook, ‘Dual Hats and Arbitrator Diversity: Goals in Tension’ (2019) 113 AJIL Unbound 284.

Eliot’s work is filled—especially the poetry—with masks, role-playing, and multiple voices. Yet it is saturated everywhere, too, with displaced personal pain, regret, sexual desire, and emotional and spiritual yearning.[1] TS Eliot’s The Waste Land  is vested with both narratorial distance and, ironically, sympathetic investment. The poem reads like a narrative and an anti-narrative in that it lets one journey in many a stranger’s shoes through Eliot’s seamless, at times inconspicuous, weaving of several voices into the fabric. The glued voices in this cacophony, a ‘heap of broken images’, appear indistinguishable from one another at times, piled on top of and underneath one another, fluidly weaving through and getting lost in one another like entangled limbs. Through employing such a collagic interplay of voices, endless allusions, and decontextualised intertextuality, Eliot deliberately drowns the reader in uncertainty as to who the speaker of the poem is and which voice, if any, is a reflection of his own. The innately challenging and elusive nature of the piece, which features six foreign languages and various allusions, distances the reader from the poet’s voice and authorial intent. However, these facets of the poem also draw the reader into a more intimate and rigorous collaborative process with the poet, and into investigative and performative interaction with the poem. Despite Eliot’s insistence on authorial impersonality, the prioritisation of the execution of the creative task itself over self-expression as a bedrock of ‘great art’, his ‘displaced personal pain’ seeps into The Waste Land . As a result of the waste and sterility of World War I, in addition to Eliot’s own deeply troubled marriage to Vivienne Haigh-Wood, the poem has a strong sense of lack, loss, and yearning for defiantly resolute human connection developed beyond materialism, pretence, and sexual desire. This essay asserts that such ideal connectivity is depicted as intangible and irretrievable in the poem’s landscapes, as a result of the almost prelapsarian pre-war past Eliot nostalgically yearns for throughout the poem. The creation of the poem itself can be interpreted as a symptom of Eliot’s desire for connection to that irretrievable past. Hence, the desire for authentic connection in The Waste Land  can only lead to ‘frustration, ennui, and violence’.[2]   Eliot exploits the multiplicity of nature’s elements and forms in order to examine the idiosyncrasies inherent to human connection. The first stanza of Eliot’s poem is littered with oxymorons and paradoxical metaphors. Eliot utilises the semantic field of nature to establish a strong sense of lack, loss, and sociopolitical fracture representative of that suffered by people in post-war Britain. With ‘April is the cruellest month’ (I.1), Eliot uses the superlative, ‘cruellest’, when personifying April, a month often associated with birth, fecundity, and creativity. This immediately establishes the month as a metaphorical tormentor of the speaker which ‘[breeds] lilacs out of the dead land and [mixes] memory with desire’ (I.2–3). Active verbs such as ‘stirring’, ‘breeding’, and ‘mixing’ suggest a vigorous and intentionally painful intermingling of memory with desire. The personified month of April’s ‘stirring’ of the brewing mixture ultimately intensifies and fixes desire further onto such memories of a seemingly prelapsarian past—one that is painfully intangible in the speaker’s present moment. Rather than invoking an expected sense of hopefulness and joy at the world’s pastoral regeneration, the month of April serves only as a reminder of the unsalvageable practical, spiritual, and emotional crippling the world has undergone. Eliot compounds this motif of decay and degeneration through subversive symbolism and deliberately discombobulating oxymorons. Although lilacs conventionally serve as literary symbols of sensuality and romance, as in The Portrait Of A Lady [3] and Ash Wednesday ,[4] Eliot here subversively employs the image to represent anguish and mourning at the loss of a type of love, a type of connectivity, that cannot exist in a world so utterly fractured by the war. Hence, April breeds a morbid reminder of mutilated sexuality, arising from post-war spiritual sterility, ‘dead land’, and bleak hopelessness. Such perverse sexuality, implicitly represented by the image of the lilac, sharply contrasts with the almost presocial innocence represented by Marie towards the end of the passage.   For Eliot, only ‘winter’ (I.5) can provide ‘warm’ (I.5) respite from such painful truth, as the ‘forgetful snow’ (I.6) provides emotional numbing, literally and metaphorically blanketing over the dark past but unable to bury or evade it even within the literary landscapes of The Waste Land . Approximant alliteration subversively conflates warmth with winter, suggesting that any echo of birth is a haunting reminder of the obscene deaths witnessed as a result of World War I. Hence, aesthetic transformation provides welcome transient distraction but cannot alter the pain of reality.   Eliot depicts the quest for connection as a fool’s errand, an inaccessible dream—mirage-like in its intangibility. Hence, Eliot conjures up the dream of connectivity through his exploration of nature’s interdependence, in order to deliberately dispel the illusion and forcefully undermine the possibility of such connection in a post-war era.   What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. (I.19–24)   The active verb ‘clutch’ suggests intimacy and closeness as well as the persistence and permanence of life, as roots clinging to soil for life-giving water emphasise the interconnectivity and interdependence necessary for survival. Moreover, the image of ‘branches’ resiliently ‘growing out of stony rubbish’ compounds this symbolic persistence of new life, emerging against all odds. This holds particularly true as the natural imagery is reminiscent of Gospel passages depicting Christ as the ‘true vine’: ‘Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing’.[5] This Biblical allusion clearly delineates the need for interconnectivity and remembrance of one’s origins and history, one’s roots. The poet’s symbolic use of natural imagery ultimately tethers struggle and connectivity inextricably, as indivisible strands of thread, depicting struggle as almost a prerequisite for growth and genuine interrelation. The struggle nature undergoes for survival perhaps mirrors Christ’s own struggle to connect with his people. Just as roots ‘clutch’ and branches emerge out of ‘stony rubbish’, perhaps representing the residue of hardships suffered as a result of war, Christ eternally binds himself to his people through his willing suffering and death on the cross. Hence, irrespective of difficulty and hardships suffered, connection persists and heals. Such a notion is compounded as Eliot’s poem appears to reinforce the Gospel passage’s warning that ‘apart… you can do nothing’. However, such truth is realised in tandem with the disconnect and fragmentation permeating The Waste Land .   Eliot’s rhetorical questioning of nature’s mechanisms is, in part, a criticism of man’s naïve understanding of, and belief in, connectivity. Eliot’s use of rhetorical questions coupled with infantilising diction belittles the ‘son of man’, the reader, as it imbues the speaker’s tone with condescending indignation and tauntingly foregrounds the reader’s ignorance about the nature of connectivity and growth—‘you cannot say, or guess’. Starkly contrasting with previous images of fecundity and synergy—‘in the mountains, there you feel free’ (I.17)—Eliot’s subversive use of biblical allusion, and motifs of dryness and apathy, depict the setting of The Waste Land  as a faithless, cruel, and hollow land where the seeds of connectivity are rendered sterile and fruitless. Moreover, the poet’s insistence on silence and sterility—‘no sound of water’—perhaps emphasises the unquenchable spiritual thirst saturating The Waste Land . Eliot’s auditory symbolism ensures that not even a trace of hope of spiritual fertilisation, let alone salvation, remains in sight. His use of mesodiplosis—‘no shelter, the cricket no relief, and the dry stone no sound of water’—creates an atmosphere of hostility and harshness, as it suggests the impossibility of survival in such an unfeeling and detached environment, in addition to its reinforcement of the overall strong sense of lack exhibited throughout the poem. Additionally, such repeated negations, coupled with motifs of death, dryness, and sterility, emphasise the disparity and discord between humanity and nature. As opposed to the intimacy and closeness suggested by the myth of ‘roots that clutch’, the active verb, ‘beats’, subversively evokes an aggrieved image of perpetual aggression and endured pain unlike the connotations of warmth and illumination one would generally associate with sunlight. Eliot’s use of the present tense places the verb, ‘beats’, in everlasting perpetual motion, emphasising the permanence of pain inherent to human existence and experience. This severance between nature and mankind is perhaps symbolic of the utter sense of isolation and sterility felt as a result of the cataclysmic, unprecedented horror of a war that claimed the lives of over eight million soldiers and 13 million civilians.[6]   Eliot’s subversive Biblical allusions reductively transpose the image of Christ from a unifying ‘true vine’ into scattered ‘stony rubbish’. Such degradation may be suggestive of man’s spiritual descent as a result of his divergence from God, particularly as ‘rubbish’ has connotations of pollution, worthlessness, and contamination. Moreover, connotations of impenetrability and lifelessness, vested in the adjective ‘stony’, are perhaps suggestive of the numbing desensitisation and spiritual fracture brought about as a result of the war. Eliot’s evocation of Ezekiel in the following line compounds this sense of isolation and disparity as the speaker’s form of address, ‘son of man’,[7] is the form of address God uses for Ezekiel throughout the King James Bible. Hence, it emphasises the distance between God and Ezekiel, and by extension between God and mankind, as the phrase recalls the Old Testament notion that God alone has no progenitors. To be human is, fundamentally, to belong. Such belonging often comes in the form of the familial ties, but these are notably missing in The Waste Land . Additionally, ‘son of man’ unfavourably interlaces the modern man with Christ himself, the purest son. Hence, it perpetuates the notion that modern man cannot reach this purified state—cannot ‘bridge the gap’, so to speak—as his external and internal worlds have been diminished to a barren ‘waste land’ of both intellectual and sexual exhaustion, a ‘heap of broken images’ (I.22), of past and present painfully colliding.   Such a derogatory metaphor, ‘heap of broken images’, suggests the disorder inherent to human experience and memory, as it reduces humanity’s entire life span to a pile of unconnected scattered incomprehensible memories. This is perhaps representative of the death of a unifying epistemology. The mirror previously held up to reality is shattered; the self is fractured. Everything is a shattered image—a heap of broken images—of a fragmented world. Extrapolating from this notion, it is evident that prior social and political institutions are no longer capable of holding society together. As represented by the multitude of voices, languages, allusions, and confusing footnotes within the text, unification is no longer possible in such a post-war world where we know only separation and multiplicity. We have an epistemology that jumps from image to image, each time only seeing a part of the whole. The whole has been destroyed, and all that remains is ‘fear in a handful of dust’ (I.30).   Eliot’s depiction of love and connection within this poem is one wracked with anxiety, disappointment, and bitterness as exemplified in A Game Of Chess.  The poet’s financial lexis, his employment of luxurious and decadent visual imagery, emphasises the superficiality and hollowness of a society which prioritises commercial objects above emotion. The ‘Held up … standards’ (II.80) delineated by the speaker are met exclusively by the ‘glitter of her jewels which rose to meet’ them (II.84). Although unnamed, the ‘her’ in question is depicted as a mutilated Cleopatra of sorts: a burnt-out ‘shadow’ of a regal yet vilified ‘prostitute queen’, at once exalted and suspicious in her sexuality. Eliot’s unnamed figure serves as a diminished woman, fit for a fallen, depleted post-war world. Despite Eliot’s explicit allusion to Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra , the poet offers no substantial description of the woman’s   character or likeness, focussing exclusively on the material possessions surrounding her. Given Eliot’s allusion to Cleopatra, a woman demonised by ancient Romans as a loathsome manipulator and ‘prostitute queen’,[8] one can interpret the proliferation of noxious and disorienting concoctions as representative of the woman’s dangerous and perverse sexuality. Eliot depicts the unnamed woman’s sexuality as feral: ‘Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes’ (II.87). The adjective ‘unstoppered’, coupled with the active verb ‘lurked’, suggests an untameable, almost animalistic force. The active verb ‘lurked’, combined with Eliot’s use of sibilance, evokes an atmosphere of suspicion and eeriness, suggesting something almost scheming or sly about the woman’s beautification items, rituals, and sexuality by extension. This image of female sexuality as a predatory force is compounded as Cleopatra’s ‘perfumed sails’ are metamorphosed into ‘strange synthetic perfumes’ that ‘troubled, confused and drowned the sense in odours’ (II.88–89). The active verb ‘drowned’, vested with peculiarly aggressive and murderously malicious intent, equips female sexuality with dangerous, devious, almost sinful connotations as ‘her hair spread out at fiery points’ (II.110). Hence, in The Waste Land , sexuality is portrayed as degenerative rather than productive or procreational, entirely ostracised from the concept of connection whether it be to the other or to the self. Rather, sexuality is depicted to be an entirely sinister and destructive force.   Eliot, through his depiction of characters such as Lil and the ‘indifferent’ typist, demonstrates how society commodifies and lays claim to the female body, perversely estranging women from their own bodies.   Her drying combinations (III.225)   Out of the window (III.224)   Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: ‘Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over’ (III.250–52)   The typist’s ambivalence at her bodily exposure, coupled with Eliot’s choice of diction in ‘her brain allows’, suggests a divorce of the mind from the body. The distinction between her brain assenting to thought, rather than her entire being assenting, reinforces both the fracture of the mind and body torn apart by societal expectation and the non-consensual nature of the act. This metaphor of allowing thought to enter, consciously consenting, is perhaps suggestive of the figurative mental barriers the typist must employ as an emotional defence mechanism against the brutality of reality. The brain then acts as a guard of sorts, permitting and disallowing ‘thought to pass’, but pass into where? Into the body, the mind, the soul? Regardless, such dissociation and compartmentalisation, suggestive of societal fracture and desensitisation, is clearly symptomatic of the trauma of having to physically adhere to societal expectations and predetermined gender constructs whilst being mentally and emotionally unwilling.   Moreover, Eliot depicts the female body as exploitatively mechanised and commodified to the extent that it results in the erasure of female autonomy, male empathy, and the understanding that females have an intrinsic value divorced from profits they can bring. Defined by their bodily output, whether it be their capacity for labour or their fertility, women such as Lil and the nameless typist ‘polemically depict a metonymized society in which individuals are both dismembered and standardized’.[9] The typist, blatantly defined by her job, is perhaps representative of the way in which modern labour, through its focus on productivity maximisation and phatic repetition, dehumanises people as it robs them of their individuality and humanity. Moreover, the typist puts up ‘no defence’ (III.240) against the ‘young carbuncular man’s … assaults’ (III.231–39). Apathetic to her desires, he ‘makes a welcome of indifference’ (III.242) and ‘bestows one final patronising kiss’ (III.247). The carbuncular young man’s clear disregard for the other’s emotions, his prioritisation of his own pleasure irrespective of the other, clearly delineates his view of the nameless woman’s body as a vehicle for pleasure. Eliot’s revelatory hierarchical rhetoric in ‘bestows … patronising’ clearly indicates the male’s strong sense of agency over, and entitlement to, the typist’s body. Such a notion is further perpetuated through Eliot’s strategic use of diction, as ‘patronising’ perhaps refers to the man’s commodification of the female body in addition to his condescension towards the lady. In both cases, it is evident that there is no place for emotional connection in the sterility of Eliot’s ‘waste land’.   Eliot’s strategic grating of this motif of sterility and infertility against the expectation that relationships must be generative and profitable in some way, tenuously fuels the seething fire of anxiety underlying most heterosexual relationships in The Waste Land . Eliot depicts how the issue of fertility, its conflation with intrinsic value of a female, transcends class. His exploration and intertwinement of a conglomeration of upper-class and working-class voices and experiences delineate the ironic universality of fragmentation and isolation: ‘I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself … think of poor Albert … HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME’ (II.140–52). The repeated intrusion of this ushering voice immediately establishes a strong sense of urgency ‘as it serves to make the more general point that “we” are in crisis’.[10] Like a ticking time bomb, a timer about to run out, the bartender’s call is seemingly symbolic of the societal pressure on women to conform to particular gender constructs and bear children in adherence to society’s deadlines. Eliot’s purposive capitalisation of the phrase intensifies the strong sense of urgency, as if the voice were a shout from afar, a call from the void. It ultimately emphasises how loud, aggressive, and pressurising society’s expectations of the female body can be. ‘Lil’, representative of all women at this point in the poem, doesn’t get to decide when her time is, society dictates that. Moreover, the speaker’s repetition of the personal pronoun ‘I’—‘I swear, I can’t bear to look at you. / And no more can’t I, I said’ (II.146–47)—establishes a strong sense of singularity which, through drawing the reader away from Lil’s lived experience into the speaker’s biased narration of it, ultimately denotes the lack of sophisticated empathetic faculties available to members of such an emotionally depleted, now inept, society.   Vivien Haigh-Wood’s addition of the pointed question ‘What you get married for if you dont want children?’ (II.164)[11] is perhaps reflective of her own marital troubles as Eliot’s refusal to have children would likely have been perceived as a refusal to carry out expected marital duties at the time. This notion that connection should only exist, relationships should only be forged, if quantifiably profitable and generative is linked to recurring motifs of transactionality, sterility, and desensitisation within The Waste Land . Obsession with the tangible and the financial, and with the   commodification of all sacred things, such as bodies and language itself, is perhaps symptomatic of the utter loss and devastation collectively suffered at the hands of death that has undone ‘so many’ (I.62). ‘The rich profusion’ (II.85) of wealth is thus futilely utilised in an attempt to fill the void loss has created.   Such fixation on quantifiability manifests itself both subtly and explicitly in Eliot’s appropriation of monetary diction in Death by Water . Eliot’s use of oxymoron (‘deep sea swell’ (IV.313)) establishes   motifs of increase and decrease, inflation and depreciation, indicative perhaps of the ‘profit and loss’ (IV.314) he goes on to mention in the following line. Financial motivation, this ‘rich profusion’ of monetary madness, manifests itself subtly in Eliot’s witty wordplay, ‘A current under sea / Picked his bones in whispers’ (II.315–16). Eliot’s intertwinement of the semantic fields of nature and finance covertly sows the seeds of monetary diction throughout the section, perhaps symbolising how capital is consciously and subconsciously valorised in such a society. Eliot’s omission of ‘the’ covertly hints to currency, perhaps metaphorically symbolising the way in which superficiality and the prioritisation of the tangible slowly wears one’s soul and sincerity away. Such financial preoccupation perhaps stemmed from Eliot’s own personal concern about economic life after the war. He worked at Lloyd’s Bank for a time, and read several publications in several languages regarding post-war economic affairs. John Maynard Keynes, for example, confessed a lack of hope for a healthy global climate should the Versailles Treaty, which imposed an immense amount of global debt onto Germany, not be revised. Hence, Eliot’s private concern with the economic peril facing Europe, in addition to his understanding of cooperation and interaction as prerequisites for survival, may spill both consciously and subconsciously into the entirety of The Waste Land.   Moreover, one of the rare instances in which Eliot chooses to employ direct speech comes in the form of a nameless woman’s erratic plea: “Stay with me. / Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak’’ (II.111–12). Eliot’s purposive implementation of speech marks, in tandem with his omission of question marks, proves particularly intriguing as it simultaneously facilitates and restricts the speaker’s scope for self-expression and connectivity. By virtue of Eliot’s rare attribution of direct speech—the privilege of self-narration—to female characters in his poem, this delegation seemingly bestows a unique sense of agency upon this nameless speaker. This, coupled with the repeated imperative ‘Speak’, would likely create the illusion of authority were it not for Eliot’s utilisation of such techniques exclusively in order to counteract and undermine them at a later point. One may perceive Eliot’s omission of question marks, ‘Why do you never speak’ as a reinforcement of the increasing forcefulness and frustration with which the nameless speaker commands the other, though it is perhaps more indicative of the other’s disengagement. As the tissues of her speech disintegrate from dialogue into the fibres of a neurotic stream of consciousness, it is evident that the speaker’s proliferation of imperatives are indicative of desperate supplication, symptomatic of intense loneliness, as opposed to frustration. Moreover, it is important to note that the speaker’s dialogue is ultimately being expressed and mediated through Eliot himself, thus adding another layer of distance between the reader and the nameless female. Perhaps inspired by Vivien Haigh-Wood, one assumes similitude between this decaying female character and Eliot’s former spouse as a result of her infamous struggles with mental health and her inability to cope with the loss of Eliot’s love and presence: ‘The only thing I yearn for & bleed for is the day when Tom calmly returns’.[12] The speaker’s strong sense of isolation and loneliness is thus illuminated through Eliot’s juxtaposition between the agency associated with the privilege of self-narration and the lack of reciprocity and acknowledgement indicated through Eliot’s omission of question marks.   The desire for connection and true understanding of the other is compounded through the speaker’s repetitive questioning, ‘“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What … Think”’ (II.113–4). Through its emphasis on inquisitive and contemplative diction, Eliot’s symploce elucidates the speaker’s attempt at linguistic infiltration of the other’s internal landscapes. However, once more, the hope for reciprocity and acceptance dissipates as the coherence and sentence length of her speech dwindles, increasingly revealing the impossibility of connection. In place of such lack lies bleak numbness, monotony and sterility:   ‘What is that noise?’ The wind under the door. ‘What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?’ Nothing again nothing. (II.117–21)     Ultimately, Eliot summarises his stance on the possibility, or lack thereof, of all forms of connection in The Fire Sermon : ‘On Margate Sands / I can connect / Nothing with nothing’ (III.300–03). Asseel Darwish Asseel Darwish is a first-year undergraduate in English at University College London, interested in foreign diplomacy and commercial law. She has worked in mental health advocacy and course development within UCL’s Student–Staff Consultative Committees, and is part of the new ‘Student Voice Project’. In 2021 she will begin working for Ashbourne College as a content writer, and for the not-for-profit GoodWill Caravan, which gives vulnerable refugees emergency care. [1] Vincent B Leitch, William E Cain, Laurie A Finke, Barbara E Johnson, and John McGowan (eds), The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism  (second edn, WW Norton 2010). [2] ibid 127. [3] Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady  (first published 1881). [4] TS Eliot, Ash Wednesday  (first published 1930). [5] The King James Bible  (first published 1611). [6] Leitch et al (n 1). [7]  The King James Bible  (n 5). [8] Jacquelyn Williamson, ‘Cleopatra and Fake News: How ancient Roman political needs created a mythic temptress’ ( Shakespeare & Beyond , 20 October 2017) < https://shakespeareandbeyond.folger.edu/2017/10/20/ cleopatra-mythic-temptress/ > accessed 20 February 2021. [9] Michael North, The Political Aesthetic of Yeats, Eliot, and Pound  (Cambridge University Press 1991). [10] Raymond Southall, ‘The Poetry and Culture of T. S. Eliot’ (1983) 1 Sydney Studies in Society and Culture 146. [11] Dalya Alberge, ‘Diaries of TS Eliot’s first wife reveal her torment at the end of their marriage’ Guardian  (London, 2 June 2017) < https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/jun/02/diaries-of-ts-eliots-first-wife-reveal-her-torment-at-end-of-their-marriage > accessed 20 February 2021. [12] ibid.

International law faces two profound issues. Each involves Article 2 of the Charter of the United Nations prohibiting the use of force by one Member State against another. Both concern the roles of the Security Council and the International Court of Justice (ICJ).   One—Ukraine and the Russian Federation (Russia)—is whether the armed entry into Ukraine on 24 April 2022 and since of Russia as a great power is immune from the rule of law.   The other—Gaza/Palestine and Israel—concerns the relations between another state, Israel, and its immediate neighbour Palestine, including the small Gaza strip. There is currently awaited on the topic of Israel’s treatment of Palestine an advisory opinion of the International Court of Justice of major importance on which judgment was reserved on 26 February 2024.   On 7 October 2023, citizens of Israel and visitors were brutally and unlawfully attacked and 1,100 people killed by members of Hamas crossing the border from Gaza who then committed the further war crime of hostage abduction of some 250 people. Israel’s response, in reliance on rights of self-defence, has resulted at the time of writing, and before a proposed forthcoming ground offensive, in over 30,000 deaths and many more injuries in Gaza in air and other attacks, said to be directed against the Hamas attackers. The victims were predominantly innocent civilians and their children. Wholesale demolition of buildings is alleged to have caused further deaths. On 20 May 2024 the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court published a statement that he was seeking issue by ICC judges of warrants of arrest in the situation in the State of Palestine against: the Head Yahya SINWAR (Head of (Head of the Islamic Resistance Movement (“Hamas”) in the Gaza Strip), Mohammed Diab Ibrahim AL-MASRI (Commander-in-Chief of the military wing of Hamas), and Ismail HANIYEH (Head of Hamas Political Bureau) for war crimes and crimes against humanity committed on the territory of Israel and the State of Palestine (in the Gaza strip) from at least 7 October 2023; and

Peter Krausz was born in Romania in 1946. He studied mural painting from 1964 to 1969 at the Bucharest Institute of Fine Arts. Since 1970, he has made Montreal his home. His diverse artistic production includes painting, drawing, installation, and photography. From 1980 to 1990, he was the curator of the Saidye Bronfman Centre Art Gallery and a teacher at Concordia University. In 1991, he joined the faculty at the University of Montreal where he is now a tenured Professor of Fine Art in the Art History and Cinema Studies Department. Since 1970, Peter Krausz has participated in numerous solo and group exhibitions in Montreal and across Quebec, Canada, and the United States, as well as in Europe. His works can be found in private and prominent public collections such as The Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, The National Museum of Fine Arts in Quebec, The Montreal Contemporary Art Museum, The Jewish Museum in New York, and many others. He is a member of the Royal Canadian Academy. Gabriella Kardos: You grew up in an artistic household in Romania, your father a renowned painter and professor, your mother an art historian, curator at the National Gallery of Art. You must have been exposed to discussions about art and art history from an early age. How did that shape your desire/choice of becoming an artist?   Peter Krausz : It was not much of a choice. Like Obélix in Goscinny and Uderzo’s Astérix le Gaulois  [ Asterix the Gaul ], one could say that I fell into the pot from an early age. I listened and later participated in the weekly discussions between painters, sculptors, art historians, and so on in our very open house and started drawing and copying Velázquez paintings from my father’s art books when I was 5 years old. As a teenager, I often accompanied my dad to the month-long summer camps for art students in different areas in Romania, where I was painting and drawing the countryside. So, it was more of a natural development, leading towards the entry exam to the Art Institute in Bucharest. Fig 1. 13 août 1961 (Peter Krausz 1988, oil on wood, tar, 285 x 244 cm / 112 x 96 inches). Collection Galerie UQAM, Montréal, 1994 © Peter Krausz GK: The theme of borders features strongly in your work. How did it evolve? I imagine your escape from the communist regime of Romania must have played a part in this. Can you recount the experience of crossing the border from the Eastern bloc to the West? What was the political context and what made you decide to leave your native land, risking your ability to ever return, or even imprisonment?   PK : We felt that we were living in a cage—even if towards the middle of the sixties the communist regime was more relaxed, we were not allowed to travel except in other communist countries. And by the end of the decade, we had the feeling that things will only get worse after the invasion of Czechoslovakia by the Warsaw Pact. More nationalism and antisemitism and a feeling that the regime is hardening its authoritarian position. This proved to be true after we left and after Ceausescu’s return from China and his developing cult of personality. The risk I took doesn’t compare to the risk that my parents took, leaving behind their jobs, friends, and family, trying to provide a better future for their son.

The Cambridge Journal of Law, Politics, and Art is pleased to announce its 2025 Essay Prizes in Law, Politics, and Art.   An internationally recognised, multidisciplinary journal based in the University of Cambridge and affiliated with Trinity College, the CJLPA  fosters a unique dialogue between law, politics, and art, bridging theory and practice, and robustly promoting freedom of expression. Contributors include Supreme Court judges, Nobel laureates, leading political figures, renowned artists, critics, and art historians.   Open across the three major disciplines covered in the Journal , this competition invites submissions from undergraduate students at the University of Cambridge.   Essay topics:   With separate prizes for each discipline , participants are invited to submit essays on one  of the two questions: Law: ‘He who saves his country, violates no law’ (attributed to Napoleon Bonaparte, 1769–1821). Discuss. Should AI replace human judges?   Politics: ‘And so tyranny naturally arises out of democracy, and the most aggravated form of tyranny and slavery out of the most extreme form of liberty’ (Plato, Republic , trans. Jowett). Discuss. Is climate change shaping international relations? If so, how? Art: Does the art market define what is or isn’t art? Restitution of the Elgin Marbles should be ‘freely offered as a homage to the indivisibility of art and—why not say it without embarrassment?—of justice, too’ (Christopher Hitchens, 1949–2011). Discuss. Eligibility:   To enter the competition, participants must:   Be an undergraduate student enrolled at the University of Cambridge. Submit an original, unpublished essay that is not under consideration elsewhere. Follow CJLPA on one of our social media platforms and share or repost the competition announcement.   Submission Guidelines:   Word limit: 3,000 words (excluding footnotes and bibliography). Formatting: Times New Roman, 12 pt, double-spaced, in any widely-used referencing style. Submissions must be in PDF format and sent via email to generaleditors@cjlpa.org  with the subject line ‘ CJLPA  [Law / Politics / Arts] Essay Prize Submission – [Your Name]’. Essays will be evaluated based on originality, clarity of argument, and depth of analysis.   Prize:   For each discipline, a cash prize of £250 . An opportunity to have your work read by eminent experts in the field. Publication in CJLPA  alongside leading scholars and practitioners. Honourable mentions may also be considered for publication.   Deadline:   20 June 2025.

Russell Barnes is a Director and Producer for the documentary production company ClearStory. Clare Burns has worked in television production for 20 years and is now Production Manager at the documentary production company ClearStory. ClearStory's series  African Renaissance , on art in Ethiopia, Senegal, and Kenya, aired in 2020. Fig 1. Afua Hirsch with four descendants of the Saint Louis signares. © ClearStory.  In 2015, director and producer Russell Barnes pitched a documentary to the BBC about the lucrative and sometimes ‘dodgy’ trade in indigenous art from Africa and Oceania, which is often pejoratively termed ‘tribal art’. Barnes summarises his aims when we speak over video call:   We were interested in looking at extraordinary things that turn up in Britain and then tracing them back to where they came from, back to their ancestral roots, if you like. This idea of ‘tribal art’. Even that phrase is just...it feels weird saying it. We were asking, ‘Why is it called this?’, and thinking about how it’s been appropriated over the years.   The original premise proved something of a non-starter with commissioning editors, but it did lead to further conversations about shifting the focus away from Britain and towards the artists and cultures behind these works. The outcome was two separate series exploring the relationships between art, colonialism, and the postcolonial era. The first, Oceans Apart , was broadcast in 2018 and followed Cambridge academic Dr James Fox as he explored the clash of European and Pacific art in the colonial period. The second became African Renaissance: When Art Meets Power , presented by journalist and cultural commentator Afua Hirsch and broadcast in August 2020.   A joyful, unapologetic vision of what politically engaged art documentaries can be, African Renaissance follows Hirsch as she explores Ethiopia, Senegal, and Kenya through their vibrant creative cultures. While the films’ geographical focus is markedly different from that pitched five years earlier, the focus is on confronting the same difficult questions about European colonialism. The perspective, however, is rather different. Barnes says:   Rather than approaching it as a kind of straightforward art history from a western perspective, we wanted to make it about a dialogue between cultures. Afua is the perfect guide because she’s half Ghanaian and has a real affinity with and interest in pan-Africanism. So we had something that was very much about now with somebody who’s got distinct and interesting views about these things, but was also willing to explore.   At one point in the Senegal film, Hirsch interviews Germaine Acogny, an internationally renowned choreographer who is often described as the mother of contemporary African dance.[1] ‘What is the spirit here that makes our art so powerful?’, she asks Acogny. Her use of ‘our’, not ‘your’, speaks volumes.   Days before I speak to Barnes and the series’ production manager Clare Burns, African Renaissance  receives a nomination for the RTS Programme Awards. Barnes reflects:   I think what people really responded to was the fact that this was a really positive vision of Africa, a continent which is so often approached with this kind of hand-wringing ‘poor Africa’ attitude. It was just brilliant to be able to tell the other side of the story. And you do feel, when you’re there, this energy, extraordinary energy, a place that’s really developing fast, and in fascinating ways.   *   Working on a modest BBC Four budget, most of the initial research and planning had to take place in London. Only with the key artists, themes, and stories all worked out could Barnes and fellow producer Alex Brisland approach local production managers with a list of requests. Barnes flew out to Ethiopia to direct the first episode, and Burns joined the team in Senegal. She jokes:   Because I’m managing the budget, it’s not really a very good look to just send myself on shoots for the fun of it. But because I can speak some French, I went out as part of the crew and helped to liaise with local crew and contributors. I think I earned my keep!   The team did need to be multilingual. Hirsch had lived in Senegal and could build a rapport with her interviewees by speaking to them in French, the official language of Senegal. However, Wolof, Senegal’s real lingua franca, was also used widely. Burns adds:   One interview was in another local, lesser-known dialect, which was a challenge when we later needed transcriptions for the edit. The elderly mother of one of the local crew helped with translating that one. I sent him clips over WhatsApp which he played to his mum, and he sent back voice messages in French, which I then translated. It was a slightly long-winded process, but it worked!   Each episode was filmed in just ten days, partly because of staff availability: one of the field producers for the Ethiopia episode, Zablon Beyene, had to film an episode of Amazon’s The Grand Tour  immediately afterwards. Barnes tells me:   For our BBC Four arts travelogues, our rule of thumb was always that you do a sequence every half day. If you’ve got ten days, that’s potentially 20 sequences, and then with a bit of archive, that will be enough to make you a 59-minute BBC Four film. What’s incredible, and what we felt every single time our local producers came back with lots of amazing options, was that there weren’t any bad options. It was always, ‘What are we gonna not do?’, and that was so much to do with logistics and really working out travel times.   It may all sound rather mathematical, but events soon intervened. Burns’ crew was not able to get an overhead shot of the African Renaissance Monument in Dakar, because of difficulties sending up a drone. Burns tells me of her disappointment:   It’s the tallest statue in Africa, so of course we were very keen to do justice to the size and scale of the monument. We wanted to start the sequence with some beautiful sweeping drone shots. We had all the necessary permits, but it was too windy on the day we were there to fly the drone safely. I did carry on talking to one of the local producers afterwards, but it was not to be. He went back there later with his own drone but actually had it confiscated by the police.   In Ethiopia, a planned visit to the remote fourth-century Church of St John in Tigray was delayed when Hirsch went down with food poisoning. The rest of the team spent a day taking aerial shots of the local landscape while their presenter was ill in her hotel, and it was touch and go whether they would be able to make the climb up to the church the next day. Barnes remarks that this did add a certain poignancy:   We did want to capture the inaccessibility, so strangely, that sense of how hard it was—with Afua being ill, schlepping up the hill with lots of equipment—suited the editorial theme. It really captured what an extraordinary place it was and how hard it is to get there—an hour of walking uphill.   One of the church elders, Melake Genet Adhana, had been making that same journey for 85 years. ‘I’ve been coming here all my life’, he says simply when Hirsch asks him about it in the film. ‘I will never stop coming here and will finish my life in this place’.   The three episodes present various different ways of approaching and coexisting with African history. In the Senegal episode we are introduced to Diabel Cissokho, a musician who played at the Jazz Cafe in London just before the pandemic. Cissokho is internationally renowned for playing the kora, a traditional West African stringed instrument. He was born into a long line of griots , a caste of people tasked with keeping the community’s stories and traditions alive through poetry and music. ‘Because of the nature of the oral history, he straddles the past, the present and arguably the future in Senegal’, Burns says. Elsewhere in the country, in the city of Saint Louis, we meet four descendants of the nineteenth-century signares , affluent biracial women who held influential roles in society. These modern-day signares  use their spare time to dress up in the bright silks and filigree jewellery emblematic of their ancestors (fig 1). One, Marie-Madeleine Diallo, is a famous actress in Senegal and attracts lots of tourists wanting to take photographs. Another, Ariane Re’aux, runs a hotel in Saint Louis where the team stayed.   Then there are also dark moments, when more painful histories are confronted head on. We visit Gorée Island, a former base for the transatlantic slave trade just two miles off the coast of Dakar, Senegal’s capital. Hirsch comments in the film:   I think it’s so important that this island and the House of Slaves that still stands here [have] been preserved as a World Heritage Site, and it’s good to see people coming here and engaging with that. At the same time, I can’t help but feel a bit uneasy at the ways tourists have this experience, seeing Gorée Island as a nice day out.   In the Kenya episode, Hirsch visits Mweru Girls’ School, which shares its grounds with the former Mweru Works Camp set up by the British colonial government in the mid-twentieth century to hold suspected Mau Mau supporters. The British did not actually construct the buildings themselves, historian Chao Tayiana tells Hirsch: the detainees had to make the bricks for their own prison.   In the Ethiopia episode, the artist Eshetu Tiruneh gives us another haunting moment. Tiruneh painted Ethiopia’s experience of famine. In the West, as the film points out, what we generally remember most about the famines is Live Aid, a charity concert at which not a single African band was invited to play. We have seen the Church of St John and been reminded that it, along with Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity as a whole, predates the Vatican by centuries. It is therefore particularly jarring to hear a clip from ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas? ’ . In Tiruneh’s 1974 piece Victims of the Famine , there are no white saviours to be seen: Ethiopians support and physically carry each other through the suffering. Barnes recalls:   I was very moved by it, and I think Afua reacted to it very strongly as well. And he’d had such a difficult story. The Derg [the military junta that ruled Ethiopia between 1974 and 1991] sent him off to Moscow to be trained after Haile Selassie was toppled, so he had this life that had been twisted and turned by events, and by history, and it was fascinating talking to him, a very quiet man, very softly spoken, very sensitive, a man who’d had to kind of turn with the wind, in the very harsh politics of Ethiopia. I just thought, ‘Actually, this is exactly where the series needs to be’, this very different conception of it, from the African perspective, of who Ethiopians are, rather than how people like Bob Geldof saw Ethiopia in the 80s...   When African Renaissance  aired in late summer 2020, it did so in the wake of months of Black Lives Matter demonstrations after the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis. In June, protesters had toppled the statue of Bristolian slave trader Edward Colston into the Avon. It is difficult not to see the films as part of that broader conversation about race, colonialism, and art, especially since their release on the BBC coincided with a rerelease of historian David Olusoga’s series Black and British: A Forgotten History . Barnes is keen to emphasise that the African Renaissance was pitched long before 2020, but, he says, the change in attitude fits with the ‘zeitgeist’.   Colonialism, and the colonial attitude, dismisses this art as ‘tribal art’ and as art that can be collected from all round the world and brought into Western museums and bought by collectors and just sold as a commodity, without thinking through what that art means in the context of where it’s made, and why it was made, and who it was made by. This series was meant to be the antidote to that, predicated on the idea that there’s this amazing, lively, dynamic, powerful art scene in Africa that’s not properly known and covered.   *   On 5 March 2021, the day Barnes, Burns, and I meet, the NGO Human Rights Watch calls on the United Nations to establish an independent inquiry into war crimes and possible crimes against humanity in Tigray.[2] It alleges that in November 2020, Eritrean and Ethiopian armed forces massacred hundreds of civilians in the town of Axum, and that the incumbent Ethiopian government has kept this covered up. This appalling event, along with the many other episodes of violence in the region that have occurred since the start of the war between the Ethiopian government and Tigray secessionists, casts a certain shadow on the central thesis of African Renaissance . It is bitterly ironic that in autumn 2019, while the   production team was editing the film, Ethiopia’s prime minister Abiy Ahmed had just been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.   The crew had filmed in Axum, outside the The Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion where the Ark of the Covenant is supposedly located. The church was a particular target of the armed forces. I ask if this changes how the team thought about that episode. Barnes replies:   Had we been aware of what was to come, I think we would have covered things differently, but obviously it’s impossible to see that future. It was completely weird that we’d finished the series and it was about to go out. And obviously that would have changed the nuance and coloured our end conclusions, no doubt about it. We   would have been much more circumspect, I think, but   at the time we had no sense of any imminent conflict. It   didn’t feel like that at all.   Ethiopia once again faces an uncertain future, proof enough that it is impossible to squeeze Africa’s complexities into three 60-minute episodes. In spite of the programme’s ambitious title, its makers stress that they were only offering a snapshot. They hope to make a second series, looking at Nigeria and South Africa. Barnes explains: ‘It’s such a huge continent, so diverse, and we obviously tried to suggest that at the beginning of each film: we can only do a selection’. If there is one thing to take from that initial selection, it is the extraordinary boldness, creativity, and resilience of Africa and its people: rebirth not just once, but continually. Helen Grant, the interviewer, is a fourth-year undergraduate in History and Modern Languages at Murray Edwards College, Cambridge. She is passionate about education, art, and using humour and visual media to connect with people and share ideas. She holds a number of roles with the edtech organisation Write the World, and spent her year abroad working as an editorial assistant for Hermès in Paris. [1] ‘Germaine Acogny’ ( École des sables ) < https://ecoledessables.org/about-us/our-team/germaine-acogny > accessed 13 March 2021. [2] ‘Ethiopia: Eritrean Forces Massacre Tigray Civilians’ ( Human Rights Watch , 5 March 2021) < https://www.hrw.org/news/2021/03/05/ethiopia-eritrean-forces-massacre-tigray-civilians > accessed 13 March 2021.

Modern commerce takes place at supersonic speed. It therefore surprises many that most of the world’s traded goods are still, at some point, carried on a container ship. Shipping by sea has been the primary means to move items around the planet for much of human history. In the present, 11 billion tons of goods are shipped each year,[1] representing around 80% of trade by volume.[2] Given how many items are shipped, then, it is unsurprising that many are lost at sea. Romantic stories of shipwrecks filled with treasure and priceless artworks persist for a reason: they are not far from the truth.   One cannot mention lost treasures in international waters without mentioning the sinking of the RMS Titanic.  While this was a human tragedy of unprecedented scale, the amount of artwork lost is also notable. The Titanic was a luxurious cruise liner on its maiden voyage to New York, and carried many wealthy travellers. It is therefore unsurprising that estimates of the value of the art on board often exceed £200 million. There have been numerous displays of recovered items. Even the most mundane items are now considered precious records of the tragedy.   The Mary Rose , another famous wreck, was also carrying a good deal of art. The Tudor carrack was lost in the Solent in 1545. Its salvaging was one of the most expensive projects of maritime archaeology. The Mary Rose  it was one of the first wrecks to be protected under the Protection   of Wrecks Act 1983. It was finally raised in 1982, and was found to contain many artefacts providing valuable insight into Tudor life.[3]   The Spanish frigate Nuestra Señora de las Mercedes  is another wreck noted for its salvage. It was sunk by the British off the coast of Portugal in 1804. It was recovered in 2007, and contained 600,000 silver and gold coins. The salvors quietly brought these to the US.[4] However, the Kingdom of Spain took the case to court, and the salvors were ordered to return the coins.[5] This decision was upheld at appeal.   Sculptures generally preserve better than other artworks under the sea. Many sculptures are recovered from shallower waters, especially the Mediterranean.[6] It is enjoyable simply to list such stories, but the purpose of this article is to summarise how the law treats shipwrecks and their valuable cargo. Who owns treasures found at sea, particularly under UK law?   International salvage   To begin with, it is worth considering how salvage and lost artworks are treated in international law.   The concept of ‘maritime salvage’ is pervasive. Maritime salvage is the right of a volunteer to a reward if they assist a ship in danger. By contrast, it is trite law that a person who voluntarily saves the property of another on land is not entitled to reward or compensation. The right to maritime salvage is upheld by English admiralty law. However, it has also been enshrined in international law through customary law, commonly accepted contracts,[7] and international treaties.[8] After all, it is politically expedient to have different rules govern this scenario on sea from on land. The sea is hazardous, and financial incentives encourage people to help vessels in need.   Maritime salvage only covers property, including cargo, if it is in danger. Therefore, it does not generally extend to historical wrecks. Wrecks may be dealt with by treaty where they pose a risk to navigation or the environment, but this is rare for historical wrecks.[9] Under English law, the wreck remains the property of her owner at the time of sinking, and under the jurisdiction of her flag state. However, not all jurisdictions agree.   Some wrecks are protected by individual treaties. In the case of the Titanic,  the UK and US governments have agreed by treaty they   will each protect the wreck and preserve it as a memorial. The treaty was signed by the UK in 2003, but only came into force in 2019 following ratification by the US.[10] Whether it has adequate ‘teeth’ remains to be seen.   The arrangements made for the Titanic are unusual. International law retains a varied and complex arrangement of treaty, customary law, and rewards offered to salvors. The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea 1982 places a duty on states to protect archaeological and historic objects. However, it explicitly excludes objects with identifiable owners. The UNESCO Convention on the Protection of the Underwater Cultural Heritage 2001 represents a more recent effort to ‘enable states to better protect their submerged cultural heritage’. It is intended to provide an internationally agreed basis for dealing with historical wrecks, and it states that they are not subject to maritime salvage. Unfortunately, this Convention was heavily criticised for its broad language and has not gained international acceptance.[11]   Wrecks in the UK   I turn now to home waters. Some of the world’s busiest shipping lanes pass through the UK’s territorial waters. It is therefore unsurprising that there are thousands of wrecked ships and aircraft around the UK coast. The UK has passed statutes intended to protect wrecks and deal with the complexities of ownership. How, then, are lost treasures and artworks dealt with when recovered in the UK’s territorial waters?[12]   The Merchant Shipping Act 1995   The main piece of legislation concerning UK wrecks is the Merchant Shipping Act 1995, especially Part IX. The Act defines the role of the ‘Receiver of Wreck’, an official in the Maritime and Coastguard Agency who administers the law of wrecks and salvage. The Act prescribes that any finder of ‘wreck material’ in the UK report their find to the Receiver of Wreck. The Act states:   Duties of finder etc. of wreck.   1. If any person finds or takes possession of any wreck in United Kingdom waters or finds or takes possession of any wreck outside United Kingdom waters and brings it within those waters he shall— a. if he is the owner of it, give notice to the receiver stating that he has found or taken possession of it and describing the marks by which it may be recognised; b. if he is not the owner of it, give notice to the receiver that he has found or taken possession of it and, as directed by the receiver, either hold it to the receiver’s order or deliver it to the receiver.[13]   Subsection (2) criminalises the failure to report a wreck without reasonable excuse.   It should be noted that ‘wreck’ is not limited to shipwrecks. It includes ‘jetsam, flotsam, lagan and derelict found in or on the shores of the sea or any tidal water’.[14] These terms have clear meaning in maritime law. ‘Jetsam’ denotes goods cast overboard to lighten a vessel, even if the vessel is lost. ‘Flotsam’ denotes goods that remain afloat after their ship has sunk. ‘Lagan’ is similar to jetsam: it denotes goods, cast overboard from a ship that perishes, which have been buoyed that they be recovered later. Finally, ‘derelict’ denotes all property, ship or cargo, that has been abandoned without hope of recovery. Derelict is the most relevant to historical shipwrecks and their cargo.   Under English law, the owner of a ship that is wrecked also owns the wreck. Therefore, the Receiver of Wreck will track down the owner of the wrecked ship and its cargo and ensure that they receive a fair salvage award, if one is applicable. If the wreck remains unclaimed for one year, it becomes Crown property.[15]   The Protection of Wrecks Act 1973 and The Protection of Military Remains Act 1986   The Protection of Wrecks Act 1973 lets the UK designate specific wrecks as ‘protected wrecks’ if they have historical, archaeological, or artistic value. Diving is prohibited around such wrecks unless a special licence is obtained.[16] The Act contains a separate mechanism prohibiting access to dangerous wrecks.[17] It also requires that the exact location of a wreck become a matter of public record. However, this encourages treasure hunters. Perhaps the best protection for famous wrecks would be to keep their locations mysterious.   The military remains of British persons, or of those operating from British ships, are now protected under the Protection of Military Remains Act 1986. The Act applies even if they lie outside of UK territorial waters. This highlights a key issue.   Both Acts create legal regimes of protection and regulation. However, they are in practice very difficult to enforce, since wrecks are often in isolated locations.   Closing remarks   The law encompassing maritime wrecks and historical artefacts is complex. By its very nature it raises difficult jurisdictional issues, since shipwrecks do not conveniently conform to the international boundaries of their flag state.   States are increasingly taking steps to protect their cultural heritage. Many, including the UK, have passed legislation to protect culturally significant shipwrecks. However, approaches to such legislation have varied around the world, and to date, attempts to harmonise the international law have been without significant success.   The good news is that many states have passed domestic measures to protect important shipwrecks and ensure that their cultural heritage is preserved.   Whatever the jurisdiction and the legal issues, it is clear that historical wrecks present significant cultural value to the world and must be preserved and protected as much as possible.   The sea is a vast and wondrous place, filled with mystery, danger, and hardship. The romantic notion of treasures on and under the high seas is far from a historical fiction, and seems destined to persist far into the future. Serhan Handani   Serhan Handani was admitted as a solicitor in 2018 and currently maintains a civil litigation practice at Bramsdon & Childs. He completed an LLM in Maritime Law at the University of Southampton and has previously worked in seafarers’ rights initiatives and with the Maritime and Coastguard Agency. Serhan retains a keen interest in the field of maritime law. [1] International Chamber of Shipping, ‘Shipping and world trade: driving prosperity’ < https://www.ics-shipping.org/shipping-fact/shipping-and-world-trade-driving-prosperity/ > accessed 1 March 2021. [2] United Nations, UNCTAD Review of Maritime Transport 2020  20. accessed 1 March 2021. [3] See David Childs, The Warship  Mary Rose : The Life and Times of King Henry VIII’s Flagship  (Chatham Publishing 2007). [4] Kimberley Alderman, ‘Federal Court Orders Treasure Hunters Return Coin Trove to Spain’ ( Cultural Property & Archaeology Law , 20 February 2012) < https://culturalpropertylaw.wordpress.com/2012/02/20/federal-court-orders-treasure-hunters-return-coin-trove-to-spain/ > accessed 1 March 2021. [5]  Odyssey Marine Exploration, Inc v The Unidentified Shipwrecked Vessel et al  (Odyssey II), 657 F3d 1159 (2011). [6] The Antikythera wreck is an example. Lost off the Greek coast in the first century BC, it was discovered in 1900 with many sculptures. [7] Notably the Lloyd’s Open Form (LOF). [8] The 1989 Salvage Convention is the most important of the recent treaties. [9] See the Nairobi Wreck Removal Convention 2007. [10] Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, Agreement concerning the Shipwrecked Vessel RMS Titanic  (Treaty Series 8, 2019). [11] See Hayley Roberts, ‘The British Ratification of the Underwater Heritage Convention: Problems and Prospects’ (2018) 67(4) International and Commercial Law Quarterly 833. [12] I use ‘territorial waters’ to denote an area of sea over which a state has jurisdiction. This includes ‘territorial sea’, ‘contiguous zones’, and ‘exclusive economic area’. These terms are defined in the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea 1982. A state’s territorial sea extends 12 nautical miles from its ‘baseline’. A state’s exclusive economic zone extends up to 200 nautical miles from its ‘baseline’. See Marine Regions < https://www.marineregions.org/eezmapper.php > for a useful map of these zones. [13] Merchant Shipping Act 1995 s 236. [14] ibid s 255. [15] ibid s 241. [16] Protection of Wrecks Act 1973 s 1. [17] ibid s 2.

Introduction   The 2015 Paris Agreement was a pivotal moment in the struggle against climate change. While previous climate agreements had failed to unify the nations of the world in effecting concerted emissions reductions policies, Paris marked a new era of optimism. An unprecedented 196 nations signed a legally binding treaty with the goal of preventing an average global temperature rise of more than 2°C.[1] Of particular significance was Article 6.2, which detailed the use of ‘internationally transferred mitigation outcomes towards nationally determined contributions’.[2] In other words, this referred to the implementation of international market-based carbon pricing mechanisms to deliver emissions reductions.   The modus operandi behind carbon pricing is to account for the external cost to society of producing emissions (externalities) by internalising it into the price of conducting the polluting activity.[3] The price of goods in an economy experiencing a carbon pricing policy will therefore partially mirror the overall greenhouse gas emissions embedded within the goods.[4] There is a wealth of literature concerning different carbon pricing strategies, but carbon taxes and emissions trading schemes (ETSs) are by far the most prevalent.[5] In both of these market-based systems, a price is imposed for each tonne of carbon dioxide (CO2) emitted by polluters, to incentivise emissions abatement at the lowest cost. More than 90 countries have declared an intention to develop carbon pricing policies, and the World Bank states that there are 64 existing pricing initiatives, covering 22.3% of global emissions.[6] However, the vast majority of emissions remain unpriced, which can result in a phenomenon known as carbon leakage.   Carbon (or emissions) leakage is the relocation of emissions from one jurisdiction enforcing a carbon price to another in which there is a lesser or no carbon price.[7] Emissions leakage can occur via two primary routes. a) A reduction in demand for fossil fuels in emissions-abating countries may provoke an increased demand for them in non-abating countries following a drop in fuel prices. b) Energy-intensive and trade-exposed (EITE) industries may relocate to non-abating jurisdictions because of competition from overseas industries that face lower or no carbon prices.[8] A border carbon adjustment (BCA) can be implemented to combat the latter, and more indirectly, the former. A BCA taxes imports from non-abating countries, offers rebates for exports to these countries based on the emissions intensity of the products, or does both.[9] A BCA strives to level the international playing field by transferring the onus of emissions abatement to non-abating countries while establishing trade neutrality between taxed domestic and untaxed foreign goods.[10] While BCAs may be well-intentioned, the process of implementing them on the global stage is fraught with legal and political challenges which may inhibit their development, or even undo the international progress on climate that was achieved in Paris.   Border carbon adjustments   Besides BCAs, there are many other mechanisms with which to counter emissions leakage. These include output-based rebates (OBRs), free allocations of emissions credits, and specific industry exemptions from carbon pricing. Modelling by Christoph Böhringer, Jared C Carbone, and Thomas F Rutherford found that although all of these instruments go some way to reduce leakage, BCAs were the most effective.[11] In the 2012 Stanford Energy Modelling Forum, a consortium of a dozen models showed that BCAs could reduce leakage by 2–12%, with an average value of 8%, by levying a fee on the carbon content of imports.[12] These results indicate that, although effective, the fuel leakage channel and other economic drivers may be more influential in steering emissions leakage.[13]   The efficacy of BCAs, therefore, must be balanced against the complex and varied impacts that imposing them have. The key areas to be considered are competitiveness, international trade relations, and distributive impacts, although there are strong linkages between these areas.   Competitiveness   The driving force behind the implementation of a BCA is to ensure that domestic firms are not disadvantaged when competing against international organisations that are not subject to equivalent emissions regulations. As such, a BCA is considered by many to be a form of protectionism, of disputed legality.   The WTO General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) Article I (‘most favoured nation clause’) concerning national treatment prohibits discrimination against ‘like’ products of different origins.[14] Article III concerns whether process and production methods (PPMs) affect the ‘like-ness’ of products created by processes of different carbon emissions intensity, and whether different product origins should be subject to this rule.[15] It has subsequently been argued that general discrimination based on PPMs would not be valid without a GATT exception, although this is contested.[16] GATT Article XX permits exceptions to Article I to protect human, animal, and plant life or to conserve finite natural resources.[17] The validity of this statement is likewise subject to heated debate, although many feel that this is a legitimate exception.   Furthermore, GATT Article II(a) permits members to impose a charge equivalent to an existing internal tax via an indirect  tax.[18] Only indirect taxes are permitted to be adjusted on the border. It must therefore be established whether a BCA qualifies as direct or indirect, as direct taxes would be viewed as a subsidy and not an adjustment under the Agreement on Subsidies and Countervailing Measures (SCM).[19] The major distinction between the two is that indirect taxes are generally mirrored in the price of the product, while direct taxes are not.[20] The majority of scholars, then, do accept that a BCA qualifies as an indirect tax, and that it would therefore be allowed, in theory, under these regulations.[21]   Ultimately, these exceptions are not clear-cut, and the nuances surrounding them are debated at length. It is uncertain exactly what constitutes unfair treatment of international exporters, and whether putting a higher fee on more emissions-intensive imported goods than on cleaner domestic goods, contravenes these trade rules.[22] WTO case law suggests that setting assumed emissions intensity levels for specific countries would qualify as discrimination, but that setting levels for the carbon content of specific foreign products might be permissible.[23] Here, though, there is a difficulty in determining the embedded carbon content of foreign goods, as this information is not always readily accessible. This adds another layer of administrative complexity and cost to proceedings.[24]   It is also worth investigating whether climate policy adds a significant burden to domestic producers which could result in relocation to other jurisdictions. Currently almost half of carbon pricing initiatives hold a value of carbon of below $10 per tonne, which is often of lesser significance when compared with labour, transportation, and energy costs of business.[25] It is likely that these other factors contribute more meaningfully in decisions for more energy-intensive companies to relocate. However, some schemes surging in price—the EU ETS and UK ETS have surpassed €50 and £50 per tonne respectively—this factor may become more significant in the coming decade.[26]   By contrast, Henrik Horn and Petros C Mavroidis argue that promoting competitiveness of domestic firms is not a legitimate rationale for BCAs.[27] They state that the goals of competitiveness stand in stark contrast to the objectives of climate mitigation, for which a BCA would be implemented. Additionally, they argue that the literature naively assumes that BCAs will not serve protectionist purposes, whereas in the trade community it is accepted that the majority of BCA policies are in some way protectionistic. The fact that competitiveness and climate mitigation are so closely intertwined in a BCA means that a poorly designed policy may result in nothing more than a greenwashed protectionist policy.[28] Similarly, it may be challenging to extricate the different motives behind this policy, which may hinder its political and public acceptance. It is equally possible that a BCA that could be seen as overly protective of domestic industry may provoke an international political backlash that may impact trade relations and climate agreements.   International relations   Inevitably, the implementation of a BCA in one jurisdiction or bloc may cause tensions with other exporting nations depending on their exposure to the effects of the policy. The share of fossil fuels in the energy mix, the quantity of exports to the BCA-imposing region, and the emissions intensity of the exports will all determine the susceptibility of a nation’s trade.[29] For instance, India, China and OPEC nations—as large fossil fuel and manufacturing exporters— would likely oppose any such policy and perhaps impose retaliatory tariffs which could result in a trade war.[30] The Paris Agreement has always rested on unstable foundations, as demonstrated by the USA’s withdrawal in 2017, so it is plausible that a BCA seen as targeting a group of nations may result in a splintering, or even a reversal, of the work Paris has achieved.   Moreover, in the absence of a global emissions pricing scheme, different BCAs at different borders could result in a labyrinth of complex border adjustments that would frustrate international trade. North America illustrates the difficulties that this would entail should BCAs be established in the US or Canada. Because the US failed to ratify the Kyoto Protocol and rejected the 2009 Waxman-Markey Bill, it has introduced no economy-wide carbon price or emissions trading scheme.[31] Instead, individual states have pushed for specific mitigation options, such as the emissions trading scheme established in California, in what has been described as a wave of ‘new federalism’ by Dan Lashof, US President of the World Resources Institute.[32] By contrast, Canada has laid the plans for a progressive carbon tax set to reach CA $170 by 2030, and has numerous extant provincial sectoral policies. This does raise the question of how these two nations could navigate new BCAs or equivalent emissions abatement measures. With a myriad of different carbon pricing structures, it seems likely that trade channels may develop that avoid a BCA in states or provinces imposing such a high carbon price. Indeed, the economic and political complexity of trade adjustments that would arise between these two historically strong trading partners could outweigh any environmental benefits that could be had. Moreover, in no national jurisdiction is there one sole carbon price in place. Instead there are rich tapestries of regulations and climate policies. Should BCAs be implemented on a global scale, questions of how to evaluate and compare other nations’ climate policies will be asked and will undoubtedly lead to international disputes over trade.[33]   On the other hand, there is a school of thought that BCAs, rather than provoking division, might encourage non-abating countries to impose similar carbon pricing structures, or even to join a climate coalition of nations.[34] Indeed, by transferring the burden of emissions abatement to non-acting countries via a BCA, reductions can be achieved at the lowest global cost through ‘where-flexibility’, by increasing the global efficiency of abatement.[35] Yet this might also promote regional disparities.[36]   Distributive impacts   On shifting the onus of emissions reduction responsibility onto the shoulders of non-abating nations, it is argued that this may defy the ‘common but differentiated responsibility’ statement enshrined into law.[37] This UN declaration dictates that although all nations share similar climate aims, historically less economically developed countries should not bear equal responsibility for emissions abatement to polluting nations. It is suggested that less economically developed nations could be exempted from BCAs, although some argue that this would violate the aforementioned ‘Most Favoured Nation’ GATT principle.[38] Although the WTO ‘Enabling Clause’ permits some favourable treatment to these nations through policies aimed at advancing development, this is unlikely to fall within the remit of a BCA.[39]   The design and structure of a BCA would determine which industries and emissions were included within the policy’s bounds. Whether all greenhouse gas emissions contribute to the embedded emissions of goods, or only carbon dioxide, will disproportionately affect some nations. Madanmohan Ghosh, Deming Luo, Muhammad Shahid Siddiqui, and Yunfa Zhu demonstrated, using a general equilibrium model taking into account both CO2 and non-CO2 emissions sources, that nations with a strong agricultural contribution to GDP, such as Brazil, are more acutely affected by BCAs—two thirds of Brazil’s emissions stem from non-CO2 sources.[40] Despite global gains in cost efficiency, and reduced leakage rates, broad-based greenhouse gas BCAs are perhaps unlikely given their tendency to increase welfare disparity in large agricultural nations.   Given that a BCA’s raison d’être is to protect EITE industries, for reasons of pragmatism it is likely that BCA policies will focus solely on these sectors.[41] Because these industries have strong lobbying power, it is improbable that further manufacturing industries and sectors would be included. As a BCA is expanded, the benefits gained by a specific industry become smaller, because the export rebates offered are reduced. This would therefore erode the power base driving for the BCA.[42] However, a strong incentive for implementing carbon pricing policies such as ETSs or carbon taxes must be remembered: the revenue stream, which can be used to alleviate other distortionary taxes or in further low-carbon investments.[43] Indeed, there is a growing desire for this income to benefit low-income communities that disproportionately experience the effects of pollution.[44] However, rebates would ensure that a proportion of the finance generated by a BCA would support EITE industries instead. This could be seen as politically divisive, and could exacerbate welfare disparity in low-income communities.[45]   The EU Border Carbon Adjustment Mechanism (CBAM)   Despite many scholars having expressed doubt that BCAs will be established, we are now seeing the concept taking its first steps. Ursula von der Leyen, President of the European Commission, announced that the EU would set up a carbon border adjustment mechanism (CBAM), which is now expected to commence in 2023.[46] Initially, it will cover only EITE industries, but it will have inbuilt flexibility to expand in the future should there be an appetite for this.[47] Ahead of the COP26 (Conference of Parties) summit, and with many countries increasing their climate ambition and drive towards net zero, the establishment of the CBAM sends a clear signal to non-abating nations. There is a wealth of discussion and research on the topics covered in this article, on how to implement a BCA while maximising the environmental benefit and minimising the geopolitical, legal, and welfare-related backlash, and on how to fine-tune policy to ensure this.[48] Nevertheless, as might be expected, the BRICS countries have condemned the EU’s move to implement the CBAM. China, India, South Africa, and Brazil labelled the policy as ‘discriminatory’ in a joint statement, while Russia has cast doubt over the legality of the policy with respect to WTO rules.[49]   Additionally, for the CBAM to be permitted under WTO rules, a restructuring of the EU ETS may be required. Currently, a certain number of allowances is granted to EITE and other industries, free of charge, to prevent leakage. This is known as ‘grandfathering’.[50] It may need to be re-evaluated in light of a new border carbon policy, because of the preferential treatment EITE industries may receive should both policies be present.   Despite its detractors, the implementation and performance of the CBAM will be highly influential in guiding carbon pricing over the coming decades. Time will tell whether it will be accepted under WTO rules and whether this would bring a significant international backlash. Whether the CBAM has the power to unite or divide the nations of the world in fighting climate remains to be seen.   Conclusions   A BCA would be a novel weapon in the arsenal against climate change. Its promises in reducing leakage, bringing in revenue, and aligning global ambitions on climate make it an attractive proposition. However, its basis in WTO law, international relations, and welfare distribution must be evaluated and resolved lest it work against the very climate goals it is intended to achieve. The recently developed EU CBAM is the first real test the BCA has to endure. Its robustness and resolve will be scrutinised carefully on the world stage.   Ultimately, however, a BCA is only a second-best instrument that lies far from the potential that a global emissions trading scheme might achieve.[51] Given that this looks very unlikely, the EU CBAM may set a precedent in emissions pricing. However, rather than using a BCA to strong-arm international emissions reductions, many believe that linkages between pricing mechanisms in ‘carbon clubs’ could be employed instead to encourage international abatement.[52] Support is building for these clubs, but the variegated mosaic of unique market structures that exists may make it challenging to facilitate linkages in the coming years. The direction major economies take on this road will be instrumental in determining how the world addresses the climate crisis. The COP26 summit set to be held in Glasgow in November 2021, therefore, will be pivotal in outlining the roadmap for this target. It may be the most important conference since Paris in guiding effective climate policy towards a zero-emission global economy. Callum Winstock   Callum Winstock is an MSc student in Energy and Environment at Lancaster University. He completed an undergraduate degree in Chemistry at Durham University. He works alongside his studies as an analyst at CaliforniaCarbon.info, a US climate finance analysis company specialising in North American carbon markets. He is excited to contribute to the new energy transition and will begin working in a graduate role at EDF Energy in September 2021. [1] UNFCCC, ‘The Paris Agreement’ (2021) < https://unfccc.int/process-and-meetings/the-paris-agreement/the-paris-agreement > accessed 20 May 2021. [2] United Nations, Paris Agreement (2015) < https://unfccc.int/sites/default/files/english_paris_agreement.pdf > accessed 20 May 2021. [3] James K Boyce, ‘Carbon Pricing: Effectiveness and Equity’ (2018) 150 Ecological Economics 52. [4] Andrea Baranzini, Jeroen CJM van den Bergh, Stefano Carattini, Richard B. Howarth, Emilio Padilla, and Jordi Roca, ‘Carbon pricing in climate policy: seven reasons, complementary instruments, and political economy considerations’ (2017) 8(4) Wiley Interdisciplinary Reviews: Climate Change e462. [5] Joseph E Aldy and Robert Stavins, ‘The Promise and Problems of Pricing Carbon: Theory and Experience’ (2012) 21(2) The Journal of Environment & Development 26. [6] Kshama Harpankar, ‘Internal carbon pricing: rationale, promise and limitations’ (2019) 10(2) Carbon Management 219; World Bank, ‘Carbon Pricing Dashboard | Up-to-date overview of carbon pricing initiatives’ < https://carbonpricingdashboard.worldbank.org/map_data > accessed 19 April 2021. [7] Christoph Böhringer, Edward J Balistreri, and Thomas F Rutherford, ‘The role of border carbon adjustment in unilateral climate policy: Overview of an Energy Modeling Forum study (EMF 29)’ (2012) 34 Energy Economics S97. [8] Stefano F Verde, ‘The Impact of the EU Emissions Trading System on Competitiveness and Carbon Leakage: The Econometric Evidence’ (2020) 34(2) Journal of Economic Surveys 320. [9] Justin Caron, ‘Estimating carbon leakage and the efficiency of border adjustments in general equilibrium — Does sectoral aggregation matter?’ (2012) 34 Energy Economics S111. [10] Ludivine Tamiotti, ‘The legal interface between carbon border measures and trade rules’ (2011) 11(5) Climate Policy 1202. [11] Christoph Böhringer, Jared C Carbone, and Thomas F Rutherford, ‘Unilateral climate policy design: Efficiency and equity implications of alternative instruments to reduce carbon leakage’ (2012) 34 Energy Economics S208. [12] Böhringer, Balistreri, and Rutherford (n 7). [13] Joseph E Aldy, ‘Frameworks for Evaluating Policy Approaches to Address the Competitiveness Concerns of Mitigating Greenhouse Gas Emissions’ (2017) 70(2) National Tax Journal 395. [14] WTO, ‘WTO | legal texts - Marrakesh Agreement’ (1947) < https://www.wto.org/english/docs_e/legal_e/gatt47_01_e.htm#art3 > accessed 26 May 2021. [15] Jason Potts and International Institute for Sustainable Development, The legality of PPMs under the GATT (International Institute for Sustainable   Development 2008). [16] Christine Kaufmann and Rolf H Weber, ‘Carbon-related border tax adjustment: mitigating climate change or restricting international trade?’ (2011) 10(4) World Trade Review 497. [17] Tamiotti (n 10); WTO (n 14). [18] WTO (n 14). [19] Kaufmann and Weber (n 16); Tamiotti (n 10); Aaron Cosbey, Susanne Droege, Carolyn Fischer, and Clayton Munnings, ‘Developing Guidance for Implementing Border Carbon Adjustments: Lessons, Cautions, and Research Needs from the Literature’ (2019) 13(1) Review of Environmental Economics and Policy 3; WTO Working Party, ‘Border Tax Adjustments’ (1970) < https://www.worldtradelaw.net/reports/gattpanels/bordertax.pdf.download > accessed 26 May 2021. [20] Paul Demaret and Raoul Stewardson, ‘Border Tax Adjustments under GATT and EC Law and General Implications for Environmental Taxes’ (1994) 28(4) Journal of World Trade; Kaufmann and Weber (n 16). [21] Joost Pauwelyn, ‘Carbon leakage measures and border tax adjustments under WTO law’ in Geert Van Calster and Denise Prévost (eds), Research Handbook on Environment, Health and the WTO  (Edward Elgar Publishing   2013). [22] Cosbey, Droege, Fischer, and Munnings (n 19). [23] Pauwelyn (n 21). [24] Cosbey, Droege, Fischer, and Munnings (n 19). [25] World Bank, ‘State and Trends of Carbon Pricing 2020’ (2020) accessed 26 May 2021. [26] Aldy (n 13); Camilla Hodgson and David Sheppard, ‘Cost of polluting in EU soars as carbon price hits record €50’ Financial Times  (London, 4 May 2021) < https://www.ft.com/content/2b965427-4fbc-4f2a-a14f-3be6019f0a7c > accessed 21 May 2021; Camilla Hodgson and David Sheppard, ‘UK carbon price trades at £50 as market opens for first time’ Financial Times (London 19 May 2021) < https://www.ft.com/content/56e02d3d-8c31-4937-be50-60d4bf9342f7 > accessed 21 May 2021. [27] Henrik Horn and Petros C Mavroidis, ‘To B(TA) or Not to B(TA)? On the Legality and Desirability of Border Tax Adjustments from a Trade Perspective’ (2011) 34(11) The World Economy 1911. [28] Kaufmann and Weber (n 16). [29] Randolph Bell, Carbon border adjustment: a powerful tool if paired with a just energy transition  (2012)   < https://oecd-development-matters.org/2020/10/27/carbon-border-adjustment-a-powerful-tool-if-paired-with-a-just-energy-transition/ >   accessed 17 May 2021. [30] Aldy (n 13); Matthias Weitzel, Michael Hübler, and Sonja Peterson, ‘Fair, optimal or detrimental? Environmental vs. strategic use of border carbon adjustment’ (2012) 34 Energy Economics S198. [31] Noah Kaufman, John Larsen, Ben King, and Peter Marsters, OUTPUT-BASED REBATES: AN ALTERNATIVE TO BORDER CARBON ADJUSTMENTS FOR PRESERVING US COMPETITIVENESS  (2020) 18. [32] Callum Winstock, ‘Exclusive Interview: Kevin Poloncarz (Part 2) on State & Federal Regulatory Interplay, Cross-Border Carbon Equivalence, and Voluntary Offsets’ ( CaliforniaCarbon.info , 14 April 2021) < https://www.californiacarbon.info/exclusive-interview-kevin-poloncarz-part-2-on-state-federal-regulatory-interplay-cross-border-carbon-equivalence-and-voluntary-offsets/ > accessed 13 May 2021. [33] Kaufman, Larsen, King, and Marsters (n 31); Aldy (n 13). [34] Christoph Böhringer, ‘Alternative designs for tariffs on embodied carbon: A global cost-effectiveness analysis’ (2012) 34 Energy Economics S143. [35] John P Weyant, ‘The costs of the Kyoto Protocol: a multi-model evaluation’ (1999) 26 The Energy Journal 131. [36] Elisa Lanzi, Jean Chateau, and Rob Dellink, ‘Alternative approaches for levelling carbon prices in a world with fragmented carbon markets’ (2012) 34 Energy Economics S240. [37] Christopher D Stone, ‘Common but Differentiated Responsibilities in International Law’ (2004) 98(2) The American Journal of International Law 276. [38] Bell (n 29). [39] Cosbey, Droege, Fischer, and Munnings (n 19). [40] Madanmohan Ghosh, Deming Luo, Muhammad Shahid Siddiqui, and Yunfa Zhu, ‘Border tax adjustments in the climate policy context: CO2 versus broad-based GHG emission targeting’ (2012) 34 Energy Economics S154. [41] Lanzi, Chateau, and Dellink (n 36). [42] Aldy (n 13). [43] David Pearce, ‘The Role of Carbon Taxes in Adjusting to Global Warming’ (1991) 101(407) The Economic Journal 938; David Klenert, Linus Mattauch, Emmanuel Combet, Ottmar Edenhofer, Cameron Hepburn, Ryan Rafaty, and Nicholas Stern, ‘Making carbon pricing work for citizens’ (2018) 8(8) Nature Climate Change 669. [44] James B Bushnell, ‘(Overly) Great Expectations: Carbon Pricing and Revenue Uncertainty in California’ (2017) 70(4) National Tax Journal 837. [45] Aldy (n 13). [46] Susanne Dröge, The EU’s CO2 Border Adjustment: Climate or Fiscal Policy? (2020) < https://www.swp-berlin.org/en/publication/the-eus-co2-border-adjustment-climate-or-fiscal-policy/ > accessed 26 May 2021. [47] Ewa Krukowska, ‘The World’s First Carbon Border Tariff, Explained’ ( Bloomberg , 9 Apr 2021) < https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-04-09/how-to-understand-the-eu-s-carbon-import-levy > accessed 25 May 2021. [48] European Parliament, ‘Trade related aspects of a carbon border adjustment mechanism: A legal assessment’ (2020); European Commission, ‘Inception Impact Assessment’ (2020) < https://www.euractiv.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/07/CBAM.pdf > accessed 26 May 2021. [49] South African Government, ‘Joint Statement issued at the conclusion of the 30th BASIC Ministerial Meeting on Climate Change hosted by India on 8th April 2021’ (8 April 2021) < https://www.gov.za/nr/speeches/joint-statement-issued-conclusion-30th-basic-ministerial-meeting-climate-change-hosted > accessed 26 May 2021; Sam Morgan, ‘Moscow cries foul over EU’s planned carbon border tax’ ( EURACTIV.com , 27 July 2020) < https://www.euractiv.com/section/economy-jobs/news/moscow-cries-foul-over-eus-planned-carbon-border-tax/ > accessed 26 May 2021. [50] European University Institute, ‘A WAY FORWARD FOR A CARBON BORDER ADJUSTMENT MECHANISM BY THE EU’ (2020) < https://cadmus.eui.eu/bitstream/handle/1814/69155/PB_2020_06_STG.pdf > accessed 17 May 2021; Aldy and Stavins (n 5). [51] Böhringer, Balistreri, and Rutherford (n 7). [52] William D Nordhaus, ‘Climate Clubs: Overcoming Free-riding in International Climate Policy’ (2015) 105(4) The American Economic Review 1339; Nathaniel Keohane, Annie Petsonk, and Alex Hanafi, Toward a club of carbon markets’ (2017) 144(1) Climatic Change 81.

Turrets and spires tower over rich façades and stained-glass windows. Ornate vases sprout up from formal Versaillais parterres made of shrubs and roses. All is reflected in a rectangular pond surrounded by maniacally manicured grass which would inspire envy in the most immaculate Oxbridge lawn. Instead of a royal residence or university quad, though, these grounds host an international court. The building is the Peace Palace, seat of the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in The Hague. As the principal judicial body of the United Nations, the ICJ settles disputes between states and gives opinions on contentious points of international law.   This sumptuous courthouse is a physical manifestation of certain abstract debates on the sources of legitimacy of the international legal system, and on the cultural unity of different societies. International organisations often fail to inspire the instinctive loyalty that citizens feel for their domestic institutions.[1] By manipulating our perception of what international organisations look like, grandiose buildings can, quite literally, construct their institutions’ legitimacy.[2] Furthermore, multiple states must cooperate to establish international legal institutions. Therefore, their sites are designed to reflect shared cultural elements of multiple founder nations, even though those nations may vary greatly in social, political, and economic character. Designers of international courthouses must therefore explore what defines human culture and must physically immortalise it. This article will focus on the buildings not only of the ICJ but also of the International Criminal Court (ICC), which too is in The Hague, and of the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU), in Luxembourg.   The ICJ: A palace for peace   The Peace Palace was originally built to host inter-state arbitrations, which had been a popular means of dispute resolution since the late nineteenth century. Arbitration was used in commercial disputes but also as an alternative to war, slowing down an increasingly costly European arms race. In 1905, 216 proposed designs for the newv courthouse were submitted. The French architect Louis Cordonnier and British landscapist Thomas Mawson won the contract, and the building was inaugurated in 1913. Fig 1. The Peace Palace, which was designed by Louis Cordonnier in 1913. The court’s interior, exterior, and gardens were intended to convey the legitimacy of its institution. Symbolism links the building to the universal ideal of peace.[3] The vaults over the vestibule and ceremonial staircase depict Greek goddesses associated with peace and prosperity. The stained-glass windows along the corridors and in the Great Hall of Justice depict a series of stages in human life and history. They thus suggest the immortality of peace and, by extension, of the Court itself. Gifts from around the world were used as materials, strengthening the sense of international unity: marble from Italy, iron gates from Germany, stained glass from Britain, granite from Norway, jasper from Russia, wood from the Caribbean, and silk tapestry from Japan.   The gardens use symbolism to the same end. Wide terraces make the Palace visually prominent. Religious metaphors abound. The exedrae of the pond resemble the transept of an early Christian basilica. The radially expanding parterres that once spread out here recalled the apsidal chapels of Gothic cathedrals. Plants were chosen with care. Roses, a universal symbol of love, dominate the northern parterres. Small-leaved shrubs and trees create a sense of spaciousness meant to foster peace and intellectual reflection.   For all its symbolism, the Palace was heavily criticised upon its inauguration. Even in the early 1900s, when a few imperial powers dominated the globe through a mix of military coercion and pseudoscientific racism, critics chastised the cultural limitations of the design. Some thought that Cordonnier had taken too much inspiration from sixteenth-century Dutch architecture.[4] Why would a palace meant to represent the universal ideal of peace adopt such a geographically limited style? Moreover, in the sixteenth and seventeenth century the Netherlands had fought the Eighty Years’ War to gain independence from Spain. Some argued that this made Dutch architecture an odd source of inspiration for a palace of peace. Some of Cordonnier’s contemporaries, though, believed that he was not influenced by Dutch architecture at all. The New York Times argued that he was inspired by the Sicilian Romanesque style, which contains elements of Norman and Arabic origin.[5] Perhaps this confusion ultimately serves the institution’s purposes, the lack of a clear architectural inspiration exemplifying the universal nature of the ICJ.   The ICC: Holding the fort   The sandy dunes and dry bushes between The Hague and the North Sea are very different from the glamorous belle époque neighbourhood surrounding the Peace Palace. However, the International Criminal Court chose this desolate location precisely because of its isolation. The ICC deals with persons accused of international crimes such as genocide and crimes against humanity. In 2010, therefore, it instructed the Danish firm Schmidt Hammer Lassen Architects to focus on security concerns when designing the building. The ICC also faced a crisis of legitimacy, as powerful non-member countries such as the US and China hampered its work. The Court therefore wanted its new headquarters to assert its legitimacy by visually communicating its values of transparency and accountability.[6] These instructions resulted in a building designed to both maximise security and embody the Court’s values. Fig 2. The International Criminal Court, which was designed by Schmidt Hammer Lassen Architects in 2010. The building comprises six towers connected at ground level, and the courtrooms are located in the central tower, which is the tallest. The towers represent hope by ensuring good light and sea views, but they are also surrounded by a moat, which calls to mind a medieval castle. Glass is prominent in the exterior of five of the towers, stressing transparency, but the glass is opaque, obscuring the people working inside for their security. The trapezoidal windows are positioned at differing angles to reflect sunlight. This creates a feeling of glittering movement, but it also hinders snipers. The building has a neutral colour palette, evoking the impartiality of the judicial process and avoiding any colour emblematic of a particular country. However, since extensive whites would interfere with CCTV, the beiges and greys also aid surveillance. In addition, the building’s desolate landscape prevents acts of terrorism: nearby dunes expose anyone scaling them and make it impossible for cars to get close.[7] The design of the ICC building therefore manages to ‘keep one step ahead of the terrorists’[8] while also communicating values of openness and democracy.   The CJEU: Golden towers   The Court of Justice of the European Union in Luxembourg is far-removed, physically and stylistically, from the bleak dunes and muted tones of the ICC. Unlike the ICC, the CJEU is not a criminal court. It is the main judicial organ of the EU, and as such deals with a variety of civil matters including intellectual property, competition, and the single market. Dominique Perrault, the architect who oversaw the CJEU’s major expansion between 1996 and 2019, wanted to underline the CJEU’s twin roles: shaping the EU as a constitutional polity, and mediating between the EU’s member states and its institutions.[9] Accordingly, all design choices were made to create a grand building, the tallest in Luxembourg, that would reflect the might of the EU judicial order.   The CJEU building comprises three golden towers, which dominate the Kirchberg plateau and are easily spotted from Luxembourg’s Old Town. They host the CJEU’s translation services, in charge of ensuring that the CJEU’s cases and documents are interpreted and translated into the 24 official languages of the EU. Placing the translators in the most prominent part of the building symbolises the CJEU’s cultural diversity as well as the access to justice it promotes.   The CJEU’s main courtroom might be the most grandiose space of all. It is accessed via a large, lugubrious entrance hall— the French term salle des pas perdus , ‘hall of lost steps’, is apt—and a staircase of black corten steel. Given this, one feels awed upon entering the courtroom. Inside, gold covers the walls, curtains, lecterns, and chairs. Although the courtroom is partially underground, sunlight floods in from above, filtered through a golden aluminium mesh resembling a blossoming flower. The CJEU building can be seen to represent a modern interpretation of the desire for prestige and grandiosity already embodied in the Peace Palace a century earlier.   Shared gardens and shared history   The three court buildings have common elements all intended to express legitimacy through architecture. For example, all three carefully chose their historical precedents. This is standard practice in architecture when it needs to send a message of authority and prestige: consider the neoclassicism of British imperial buildings and US federal buildings. The ICJ provides the most obvious example, incorporating Gothic, Dutch Renaissance, and Italian Baroque elements. The ICC also imitates the keep, gatehouse, and moat of a medieval castle. While the ICJ’s use of history can be attributed to an early-twentieth-century taste for revivalism, that of the ICC is best attributed to a focus on security. The CJEU also looked to history in its quest for prestige. Its original 1973 building is wrapped like a Greek temple in a pronaos of 116 columns of ten metres each. As the Athenian Acropolis dominated the Attican valley, so the CJEU dominates Luxembourg from the Kirchberg plateau as a modern-day citadel of the EU’s legal power.   Legitimacy can also be expressed through references to the cultures of member states. After all, citizens feel closer to organisations that are culturally familiar. This can be achieved by asking member states to loan or donate works of art, as was done for both the ICJ and CJEU buildings. Architects also consider the cultures of the member states at the planning stage. The features these courthouses share therefore embody what culturally unites disparate countries from every corner of the world.   All three courthouses have gardens. The ICC features five courtyard gardens and one vertical garden atop the courtroom tower. Plants are included from each of the ICC’s 124 member states to emphasise interdependence. The CJEU is planting a ‘garden of multilingualism’ to celebrate the cultural diversity of the EU. Water is another feature the three buildings have in common. The ICJ’s long pool represents peace and harmony. The ICC’s moat enhances security but also creates a tranquil space between the gatehouse and the main building.   While attending an academic conference a year ago, I sat on a bench under a vine-covered pergola at one end of the ICJ’s pond. I was inspired by the idyllic setting to ponder international law and the role of the ICJ in international relations. I believe that mental exploration is one of the reasons prestigious buildings are erected for international legal institutions. The architecture of courthouses helps establish the cultural and legal status of their organisations by creating a visual and symbolic narrative which shapes interactions with the public.   Medieval peasants were encouraged to learn biblical stories by studying the stained-glass windows of gothic churches. Similarly, the grand headquarters of international courts invite the modern visitor to reflect on the role of international law in the world of today. In light of current affairs, such reflection is urgently needed. Alessandro Angelico   Alessandro Angelico is a Politics and Economics graduate from Sciences Po Paris and a Law graduate from Trinity College, Cambridge. He is currently clerking for Judge Tamara Perisin at the Court of Justice of the European Union and, in 2021, will start training as a solicitor at Covington & Burling in London. His passions include private and public international law, food, international relations, and complaining about running. [1] See Nobuo Hayashi and Cecilia M Bailliet (eds), The Legitimacy of International Criminal Tribunals  (Cambridge University Press 2017);   Andrea Bianchi and Anne Peters (eds), Transparency in International Law (Cambridge University Press 2013). [2] Renske Vos and Sofia Stolk, ‘Law in concrete: institutional architecture in Brussels and The Hague’ (2020) 14(1) Law and Humanities 57. [3] Johan Joor and Heikelina Verrijn Stuart, The Building of Peace, A Hundred Years of Work on Peace Through Law: The Peace Palace 1913–2013  (Carnegie   Foundation Press 2013) 33-46. [4] ibid. [5] Arthur Eyffinger, Het Vredespaleis  (Sijthoff 1988) 57-9. [6] Vos and Stolk (n 2) 61. [7] Christine Murray, ‘Transparency, democracy, high-security: Schmidt Hammer Lassen’s International Criminal Court’ ( The Architectural Review , 5 February 2016) < https://www.architectural-review.com/buildings/transparency-democracy-high-security-schmidt-hammer-lassens-international-criminal-court > accessed 10 February 2021. [8] Bjarne Hammer, co-founder of Schmidt Hammer Lassen (as quoted in ibid para 20). [9] Jonathan Glancey, ‘Let there be light’ Guardian  (London, 2 December 2008) < https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2008/dec/02/eu-court-of-justice-architecture > accessed 10 February 2021.

This piece was written in the direct aftermath of George Floyd’s murder on 25 May 2020. Since then, having also been selected as an article for  CJLPA , it has been carefully reflected on in response to the dynamic events that have unfolded since and, indeed, continue to unfold. Since its original editorial process in March 2021, crucial events have followed that undoubtedly provide critical inflections on the article but could not have been included in its consideration. As this article shall propose, works of such current and pressing subject matter must always be considered as ‘a continuous project that does not seek to assume an authoritative final word on the matter’, and to this end, I hope you enjoy reading it.     The brutal and despicable murder of George Floyd on 25 May 2020 has sparked global outrage and mass protests. His senseless death has raised the fundamental question: what has changed? An edit of Time ’s front cover from 2015, taking the Baltimore Riots as its point of departure has challenged: ‘What has changed. What hasn’t’. The image, with 2015 crossed out and ‘2020’ hurriedly scribbled in, widely shared across social media, epitomises this stasis. George Floyd’s death has also provoked a range of protest and activism, particularly performative activism, which this article seeks to explore. This piece will attempt to navigate the forms of online awareness and activism that have proliferated social media in the aftermath of Floyd’s death and the subsequent protests.   As someone who is trained, or training, in visual culture—studying the history of art at university—my perspective comes exactly from what I am trained and taught: observation. Thus, without the cliché of claiming a virtuous empiricism to my understanding, this work is based on what I have seen and therefore is a result of a certain bubble I inhabit. It is empirically relative to that view, and eagerly encourages discussion from those views that I have perhaps not considered or not even been capable of considering.   Performative activism   In the wake of a prejudiced killing, the internet and social media took to the task of not only raising awareness, but also seeking to educate about forms of racial prejudice and privilege that may be overlooked in society today—a popular infographic outlining the covert and overt forms of white supremacy, comes to mind foremost .   It is encouraging to see that, in the wake of a primitive and perhaps impulsive display of authority and power, education and knowledge are being mobilised as a way to combat this. However, alongside these sources of information, another form of education was being promoted, perhaps more of a chastisement than an education. Countless pages, shared documents, and posts have circulated that are largely written by ‘white people’, exploring the ways in which one can educate and rid oneself of these covert and overt privileges—almost like self-help pages. I have seen these posts being shared and subsequently reposted by said ‘white people’. I cannot help but think of the white person who is appalled by the rampant racism and injustice highlighted by Floyd’s murder but is left feeling a sense of shame and even hatred for themselves by virtue of being ‘white people’. One might argue the self-helping prognoses are at risk of falling into a melancholic apologia that incidentally reinforces those racial differences and oppositions that cause tensions and ultimately, unrest.   Sigmund Freud offers an interesting threshold which these pages and guides ought to be aware of straddling. The complex character of the melancholic is one who ‘represents his ego to us as worthless, incapable of any achievement and morally despicable; he reproaches himself, vilifies himself and expect[s] to be cast out and punished’. In this sense, one might understand acts of racial prejudice as truly despicable. However, the melancholic ‘extends his self-criticism back over the past; he declares that he was never any better’.[1] It is here that we might see the dangers of such scathing self-criticism. If one declares they were never any better (‘What has changed?’) then how can one progress and change? The potential danger of these ‘educational’ articles, unfortunately, is that the phenomena risks ‘white people’ falling into a self-indulgent and masochistic melancholia and thus never really changing. Instead, they are,   perhaps subconsciously, happy to continue repeating this cycle of self-hatred and performative activism and change.   Furthermore, one might question these polemics to ask: which ‘white people’ are they addressing? In the strive for racial justice and equality, it is worrying that people often regress to such essentialist and normative concepts. A nuanced and more subtle approach is needed. There is no doubt that any fundamental change needs to be educated and informed, but it is the way we go about this.   Following the unravelling thread of performative activism, there has emerged a more worrying trend on social media. As part of a spate of ‘quarantine challenges’ initiated by the Instagram and TikTok communities during the COVID-19 pandemic, a new ‘#blacklivesmatter’ challenge has taken to the stories of performative activists. Originating from a single user, the post constituted a black background with the ‘challenge’ to tag ’10 people who won’t break the chain’. This post is shared publicly, featuring the tags of those 10 people who are implored to show their support, who then repost the story tagging another ten people and so on—creating a chain of awareness for the Black Lives Matter movement. Whilst perhaps noble in its intentions, the chain evolves into what can only be described as a mess. Countless tags and graphics clutter the story until the black is crowded out by each story competing to draw attention to itself above the layers.   Seeing these Instagram stories, I could not help but think of the work Untitled (I am an invisible man)  by Glenn Ligon, 1991. Ligon is a pivotal figure in the exploration of black identity, working from a position he describes as his ‘permanent dislocation’ as a black gay male painter working after Modernism. His very practice, painting, is a role defined by its history of entrenched privilege. Darby English describes the profession as ‘largely filled by white heterosexual men who enjoyed a kind of cultural neutrality as a matter of social entitlement’.[2] Negotiating this charged and sensitive culture, Ligon’s work often critiques the socially constructed nature of black identities. The 1991 painting appropriates the opening lines of Ralph Ellison’s novel Invisible Man (1952) and is painted with stencils in oil paint. In this work, Ligon meticulously brushes paint through the stencil, using the methods of applied handiwork rather than more industrially efficient processes such as using spray-paint or a paint roller, purposefully complicating the manual nature of his process. Ligon desecrates the privileged tradition of oil paint by perverting its application. The frivolous act of painting, indulging in the sumptuous material quality (and cost) of oil paint, is subverted by Ligon’s obsessive and arduous process. Much of Ligon’s other work exploits and manipulates text: as one begins to look at (or read) the painting, viewers are able to discern the initial parts of the opening before it descends into illegibility. Ligon frustrates our urge to read the work, actively provoking it.   One might understand the cluster of indecipherable layers of each #blacklivesmatter story to be a stencil, akin to the 1991 work, slowly drowning the real meaning and intention of that original post, amounting to the facilitation of the neoliberal bubble that often carries such performance activists. Additionally, one worries that, unless anything is to change, the edited Time  front cover may become an iterative ritual for performative activists, scrawling in yet another year of social injustice until it too becomes indecipherable.   These posts have since been denounced, being called out and identified as acts of virtue signalling and performance. Performative activists have been urged instead to take real action. Both of these forms of activism and awareness, as well as so much online activity, operate with the same outdated underlying principle. They operate under the strong belief that politics are a means to change—real action.   The death of politics   As sensationalist a statement as this may sound, the frustration and failure to comprehend how nothing has changed could not be a starker indication of the tragic demise of politics. What, though, does this actually mean?   Politics has become a system of managing what is understood as a risk society, as proposed by Ulrich Beck.[3] In his theory, the telos of power is not necessarily to create change, but instead to keep a steady and stable course. Power has been redistributed to forces such as financiers and technologists whose job it is to manage and evade such risk, while the purpose of politics is changed and its influence eroded. These new structures not only manage risk but build networks that guide and manipulate the risk. To take an example, the ‘quality-adjusted life year’ (QALY) is a measurement used to determine a perfect year in health, assessing the value of medical intervention against disease burden. One QALY, one perfect year. In the UK, that cost is £60,000.[4] This is but one of many sinister calculations devised by the systems of economics to evade and manage such risk.   Thus, instead of generating change and progress, this system assesses the potential risks and manages the outcome for a safer option. The result of this redistribution of power, is that power is now divested amongst several Foucauldian microcosms of power that orchestrate this outcome management, the risk. Therefore, for true change and real action within the political system one must exploit the gaps in these imbricated institutions of power.   Here we return to the protests ravaging the USA in the worst race riots seen since the 1960s. Much of the criticism directed toward the rioting points to the fact that shops are being needlessly looted— what does looting have to do with racial inequality?   If we are to understand economic power as the mesh that binds these imbricated structures, then it comes as no surprise to see rioters looting shops and burning down institutions of economic exploitation in order to gain economic participation, of which looting is the most concentrated expression. Why should rioters have political goals, when politics do not work, and change does not happen? As many posts circulating social media have accurately emphasised – to the ignorance of those criticising riots and belittling the protests – riots and looting are legitimate and profound forms of protest against a system that values goods and services over human life—think back to the QALY.   Furthermore, there is the added complexity of the internet’s entrenchment by these same economic systems of control, precariously marshalling and guiding users through a series of algorithms and personal data collection, into echo-chambers in order to see what one wants to see. Social media platforms such as Facebook, commercially harvesting and mining users’ data and cookie preferences for advertising revenue and a supposedly seamless user experience, facilitate and funnel users into these echo chambers for commercial gain. In turn, they neutralise both the effective and affective power of politics. The protests and riots that take place in the real world, however, rather than the cyber-world—regardless of whether one agrees with them or not—are stark indications of the failure of politics to create change.   Continued occurrences of performative activism, which fundamentally believe in the earnest power of politics to create change, ensure the perpetual stasis remains. For as long as those Instagram chains are sent to friends and like-minded people, and self-help guides for ‘white people’ are offered as the sole means to cleansing oneself of covert or overt racism, the structures of power that facilitate this injustice will still exist. The liberals are placed in one bubble, and the radicals placed in another, bouncing off one another’s cry for change and wondering why nothing is any different—imbuing them with a false sense of political mobilisation.   It is not all hopeless. There has been a slowly growing self-awareness of these instances of performative activism. Counter-posts have emerged, asking how people will ‘take it further’ beyond the veneer of performance to an audience of followers. These have been what I understand to be the braver and more progressive forms of activism. We unfortunately live in an era of verbal paralysis, where views that might even appear to softly critique the liberal bubble are often denounced and shot down. Those in paralysis are often the ones who, with nowhere to discuss and vary their views, get funnelled into a strong yet silent individualism and take this to polls. For the voices that shout in disbelief at how ridiculous and preposterous the Trump administration is, just as many might be silently responding.   Real change can only happen by identifying instances of performative activism, realising those acts and taking them further. Differences of opinion ought to be resolved not by self-hatred and chastisement and neither should they be vehemently denounced. Instead, we must look to understanding through constructive discussion and critically interrogate those layers and structures of power rather than resort to essentialist discourse.   This might be too idealistic and naïve a conclusion to have, but it is the best I can think, and I invite further discussion and opinion on this.   I must stress the nuanced approach I have attempted to negotiate. My focus is on the responses to the murder of George Floyd, and some of the ways in which people are trying to raise awareness and enact change. My conclusions are not by any means a simple way to tackle the entrenched institutional racism that is evidently rife. Of course, some of my concluding remarks and solutions can be applied to how we might deal with such issues, but this is not my intention. I have in essence taken Floyd’s murder as a point of departure to discuss wider issues relating to methods of social change and protest, just as one might argue the public have taken Floyd’s murder as a point of departure to protest against the continuing racial inequality and institutional discrimination that is rampant. I also hope to have raised interesting perspectives, particularly a cynical insight as to why change may not have occurred—yet.   The above section was to be my conclusion, yet it may seem disparaging at this point to conclude the piece on such an unresolved note. Instead, I would like to present a final concluding point that focuses on the actual process of writing and formalising my understandings on such sensitive issues and in turn, offer a resolved direction.   This piece was first written on 1 June 2020, exactly a week after George Floyd was murdered amidst the exponential rise of protests and rioting in the USA, the impetus of which was to rapidly spread on a global scale. Reflecting on this piece: whilst its message is as imperative as it was originally, I believe it is also important to consider it within that taut sociopolitical context. In the editorial process for its publication in this journal, it came to light that there was an anxiety embedded within the original argument of the piece, most palpable in its conclusion. I have chosen to include that section within the body of the article and not revise it because I understand this entire work to be a continuous project that does not seek to assume an authoritative final word on the matter. I understand it to be a project of continuous ‘interruption’ to keep the dialogue going.[5] Therefore, that very tentativeness forms not only an integral part of my own understanding of performative activism and how to respond to it, but I believe it also expresses a tentativeness more widely within society.   At the time of writing, such an understanding of what I perceived as performative activism was not yet fully, to use the language of social media, trending. Balancing my personal views against the justified tension of the resurging Black Lives Matter movement, I did not want to further problematise this tension, but nonetheless it was an opinion I felt needed to be shared out of personal frustration. Now, revising this piece in March 2021, as the initial tensions slowly settle, I have come to understand my own journey as one that can be reflexive of the wider attitude toward performative activism.   The movement and its forms of activism have come a long way, and at the same time have not. Performative activism still pervades Western political mobilisation and awareness. In the UK, the most prevalent display can be seen in professional football players taking the knee before kick-off, a metamorphosis, or even perversion, of NFL player Colin Kaepernick’s display of protest in the USA, 2016. However, awareness and action against such acts are becoming less controversial as more people tackle displays of performative activism directly, with Wilfried Zaha being the most recent and high-profile footballer to speak out against the performativity of such acts, refusing to take the knee any longer.[6] This is an encouraging step in the right direction and is evident of a dynamic and ongoing development—it is still a trending matter ten months on.   Understanding this work within its own context, one that is still constantly developing, provides a valuable point of retrospect, reminding one of the importance to constantly reflect on the immediacy of our times and providing a constructive marker of progress in negotiating such complex and sensitive issues.   In this self-reflexive approach, I look to promote a more holistic direction toward the issue of performative activism. As the farce of performative activism is slowly becoming more exposed, it becomes clear that such acts operate on the premise of difference and othering. Explored originally, performative activism operates on a framework of virtue signalling, distinguishing one from the immoral and bad Other by displaying acts of superficial activism. Thus, short of perpetuating this binary and constantly questioning, ‘What has changed, what hasn’t?’, political mobilisation must be directed towards looking beyond this binary. It must stop preoccupying itself with this fictitious Other, upholding the system of difference and division. Rather than focusing on individuals, mobilisation ought to be directed to the overarching frameworks and structures that cause the illusionary difference in the first place. In a sense, therefore, the frameworks that perpetuate division are also those which should unite us. Chater Paul Jordan   Chater Paul Jordan is a third-year undergraduate in History of Art at Christ’s College, Cambridge, who has also taken a course in Fine Art at Central Saint Martins, UAL. Chater’s interests lie in contemporary art, visual culture, and postcolonial cultural experiences, particularly focussing from the mid-twentieth century to the present day. His final-year dissertation is titled ‘Performance and Performativity in Black Experiences of Britain’. [1] Sigmund Freud, ‘Mourning and Melancholia’ (first published 1918) in James Strachey (ed), The Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud  (standard edn, Hogarth Press 1964) 246. [2] Darby English, How to See A Work of Art in Total Darkness  (The MIT Press 2007) 205. [3] Ulrich Beck, Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity  (Sage Publications 1992). [4] David Glover and John Henderson, ‘Quantifying health impacts of government policies: A how-to guide to quantifying the health impacts’ (Department of Health 2010) paras 5.21 and 5.24. [5] Kobena Mercer, ‘Black art and the burden of representation’ (1990) 4(10) Third Text 74. [6] Wilfried Zaha, ‘Why must I kneel to show you that black people matter!’ (10 February 2021) < https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzYz5yzXCIo > accessed 20 February 2021.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. —William Shakespeare, Hamlet (1.5.167–68), Hamlet to Horatio.   It has been my good fortune during my professional and personal life to have visited and worked in many countries around the world and to have learned to understand and embrace their cultures. I made it a point when conducting negotiations in a new country not just to understand the legal and commercial situations but to try to understand the people, customs, politics, history, and language, including body language. When an Indian nods her head as you are saying something, it does not mean that she agrees with you—she is being polite. When an Englishman smiles and says he is not entirely happy with a situation, it does not mean that it is mainly acceptable—it probably means that he does not like it at all.   My fascination with different cultures led to a growing realisation of the importance of two things: opening one’s mind to understand the point of view of a person from another land; and explaining one’s own background and position clearly. Failure to do these things often leads to conflict that can be avoided. At a sticking point in a negotiation in Moscow with a successful businessman brought up in Soviet times, I asked him to listen to my explanation of how I was thinking about the issue. I also asked him to explain how he was thinking. By being honest and open about our goals, with me as a representative of a Western multinational and my Russian counterpart with his particular cultural background, suspicions were alleviated and we resolved the problem.   Alongside my work in the law and business, I have retained a lifelong interest in history and archaeology. I completed an MA at the University of Wales in Cultural Cosmology a few years ago. My fascination for the world of commerce and trade led me to write my dissertation on the connection between trading and investing practice—on Wall Street and the City of London—and the study of cosmic cyclical patterns—as practised since earliest times up to and including the current day. Since I was a teenage archaeologist in the 1970s there has been a revolutionary improvement in the technology available to study the past. Carbon dating, geophysics, DNA analysis, and many other innovations have extended our knowledge of the longevity of human history and of the thought processes that different cultures have used to sustain and improve their ways of life. My own research has taken me back to a period beyond Neolithic times to our prehistory as hunter-gatherers. Small bands of humans roamed their section of the Earth in search of animal prey for meat, skins, materials for weapons, and other crops to consume, including berries and wild wheat. Gradually individuals, or small groups of individuals—probably the tribal shamans—began to take note of the timing of the changing seasons, and of how the mysterious comings and goings of the Sun and the Moon and other bright bodies in the night sky seemed to have some connection with those seasons. Knowing the timing of the annual migrations of herds of deer and bison, and of the fruitfulness of wild crops, was a matter of basic survival. Shamans became key advisers to tribal leaders and to their tribes themselves. They would have played a key part in developing their cultures’ views of the Universe and burgeoning religious practices.   The global population of mankind was less than one million, as opposed to the 7.5 billion we now have, which is rising. Many millennia would have passed as populations increased and the daily and monthly and annual cycles of the Sun, Moon, planets, and brighter constellations were better understood and applied to the economic business of daily life. The farming revolution of the Neolithic period led to greater efficiency in the production of calories, substantial growth in populations, and concentrations into settled villages and towns, with hierarchies of power and increased job specialisation. Shamans became priests, and in Egypt and Babylonia combined their religious function with observing and recording the cosmos and advising the kings on how to deal with them.   The reappearance to ancient Egypt of the star Sirius in the heavens meant the flooding of the Nile, which was central to the wellbeing of all Egypt. The Babylonians instigated hundreds of years of record keeping on heavenly movements in a long-term experiment that linked those movements to the prices of their key six commodities. They produced a database that priestly compilers could refer to over centuries as they advised their rulers on the stabilisation of the state. The project was logical and empirical. If the price of barley was high when certain Solar, Lunar, or planetary configurations were in place, then that price would be recorded and checked again when similar cosmic conditions were in place. Done over a very long period of time, patterns and cycles may begin to emerge, with a working predictive system of price and product availability to use in the administration of the state.   By the time we reach Greece we have an example given by Aristotle of the use of this kind of knowledge for financial speculation. He tells us that the pre-Socratic philosopher Thales used knowledge of the likely condition of the annual olive crop to purchase options on olive oil presses for the upcoming year. When a bumper crop duly arrived and demand for the presses rose, he profited mightily from his prescience. Today he would be working in the global commodity markets with Philosophy as his first degree!   As trade increased, so did travel. Long-distance travellers across the world, especially travellers by sea, learned to navigate by the stars to help them brave the dangers of ocean sailing. We might think of Homer’s Bronze Age Greeks sailing to Troy, or the Polynesians navigating vast distances in the Pacific, or Captain Cook on his voyages to Australia. For all, the ability to navigate by the stars was important for ocean travel and commerce.   I have had numerous encounters with businesspeople involved in the study of cultural and economic astronomy and its application to business cycles and the stock markets. They have confirmed to me that practices that first arose in antiquity in this field have been developed substantially in the last two hundred years. Such practices are taken seriously and used by major players in the business world and in the markets. I am fortunate to have friendships with consultants who advise clients across the globe in this field.   Out of the growing practice of empirical cosmology emerged astrology. The first horoscope dates to around 410 BCE, at the time of the Persian Empire. The idea was that individual people could have a character and predictable destiny arising from a birth chart reflected in the heavens. This idea was developed alongside the more mundane activity of matching cosmic cycles to economic activity. Astrology is maligned both by science and the Church as nonsensical or heretical, and is confused with the newspaper version. And yet for much of the last three millennia it has been studied alongside astronomy, and been taken seriously in politics and the financial world. In many of the cultures of Asia, especially in the Indian subcontinent, it continues to thrive, and I have encountered its use in business transactions in India and Egypt. The Supreme Court of India has described it as a science in recent years. I have got to know the underlying traditions and hidden methodologies of cultures in emerging markets. This has helped me understand that our current way of thinking in the West can be matched by subtle and equally effective thought systems elsewhere in the world, especially in Asia.   For the last 40 years, since the creation of the personal computer and then of the Internet, electronic gaming, and social media, large sections of the human race have spent their days staring downwards, fixated on their computer screens and iPhones. We have forgotten to look around us at nature and above us at the skies. We have instead immersed ourselves in an artificial world of electronic technology that can separate us from our links with the cosmos and its cycles. As we contemplate and attempt to address the environmental and social consequences of this way of living, the COVID-19 pandemic has at least given us a chance to slow down, think about our relationship with nature and the rhythms of the cosmos and the natural world, and seek to again understand and realign ourselves with those rhythms before it is too late.   The Dark Skies movement originated in Arizona and is now growing rapidly worldwide, alongside such phenomena as rewilding. It aims to reassert humanity’s birthright to observe clear night skies free from the light pollution that damages our health and sense of being part of a wider Universe. Observing the majesty of the cosmos at night and imbibing the rhythms of nature will hopefully encourage us to treat our planet with more respect as we go about our daily business of earning a living.   At the beginning of this article, I mentioned the understanding I developed in my work in emerging and developing markets of other cultures—understanding of how they thought and operated—and how important this was to my ventures. Similarly, I have come to understand the thought systems developed by many cultures around the world relating to cosmic cycles and the workings of nature. This has broadened my thinking about the intelligence of our ancestors, the hidden power in ancient systems of thought, and how we might use this reconnection with the natural world and the workings of the Universe to our advantage in the future life of humanity.  Jonathan Jones   Jonathan Jones is an international commercial lawyer. In his time in the multinational world, including at ICI and Inchcape, he specialised in developing businesses in emerging markets, working in China, Russia, India, South-East Asia, and much of Latin America as well as doing business in Europe, the US, Africa, and the Middle East. He contributed to the setting up of The Economist ’s Emerging Markets Unit and has spoken on commercial legal issues in many countries. Most recently, Jonathan also worked in the NGO world for seven years on numerous substantial development projects in Africa and Asia, with Save the Children and Comic Relief. Jonathan is a keen student, writer, and speaker on history and archaeology and holds an MA in Cultural Cosmology. He is currently writing a book on humanity’s economic connections with the cosmos from early times to the current day.