Marysia Zalewski's work has taught us, as a collective of feminist scholars, to be cautious of neat instruction manuals and coherently set out plans of action; of claims to sure knowledge about danger, violence, and its subjects and remedies; of the fanfare of grand arrivals; and of the quieter staking of ground that has been seemingly won. Zalewski has persistently reminded us in different ways that we/she does ‘not even know what gender is or does’. Far from a flippant response to the emptiness of gender mainstreaming policies, this seemingly simple statement instead serves as a glaring post-it note on the margins of our texts about International Relations theory, feminism, sex/gender and violence— both those that we read, as well as those that we write. However, this lesson is often forgotten in our rush to understand and establish gendered harms as valid and important, and to seek their redress. Gleaning insights from Zalewski's work, this article critically considers possible responses to the 2018 Nobel Peace Prize. Its aim is not to delve into a discussion of the politics or effects of the Peace Prize as such, but to instead use the 2018 Peace Prize as a marker—a moment to consider the possibility for critique in relation to sexual violence.

Attacks against journalists and challenges to media freedom are urgent and global. The sharp decline globally of democratic values which are underpinned in international values highlights the need for a free press and the necessity for states to take concerted action to protect media freedom.

The High-Level Panel of Legal Experts on Media Freedom is an independent body convened at the request of the UK and Canadian governments in July 2019.

The remit of the panel is to provide recommendations to governments on how to better protect journalists and address abuses of media freedom in line with international human rights law.

Drawing on the panel’s new report, the speakers will discuss the use of targeted sanctions to protect journalists and a free press. Can the threat of targeted sanctions help curb the trend of increasing abuses against journalists?

And what legal frameworks and mechanisms will be necessary to ensure targeted sanctions achieve their goal of identifying, preventing and punishing abuses against journalists?
 
This event is organized in collaboration with the International Bar Association’s Human Rights Institute which acts as the secretariat to the High-Level Panel of Legal Experts on Media Freedom.

 

Russia’s ongoing occupation of Ukraine’s Crimean peninsula and support of separatist hostilities in the eastern provinces of Donbas have resulted in 1.5 million internally displaced persons, 3,000 civilians killed, and a growing list of alleged violations of international law and socio-economic hardship.

But Ukraine is struggling in its efforts to hold Russia accountable – either as a state or through individual criminal responsibility - as it cannot unilaterally ask any international court to give an overall judgment on the conflict.

So it focuses on narrower issues, referring them to authorised adjudication and arbitration platforms such as the International Court of Justice (ICJ), European Court of Human Rights, UNCLOS arbitration, and the International Criminal Court (ICC). These options are limited, but still worth taking - and their relevance is proving to be far wider than the Russia-Ukraine conflict.

Policy of cultural eradication

In 2017, Ukraine initiated proceedings against Russia at the ICJ on the basis of two international treaties: the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (CERD), with regard to Crimea; and the International Convention for the Suppression of the Financing of Terrorism (ICSFT), with regard to Donbas.

Under the CERD, Ukraine alleges Russia has carried out a policy of cultural eradication of ethnic Ukrainians and Crimean Tatars in Crimea, including enforced disappearances, no education in the Ukrainian and Crimean Tatar languages, and the ban of the Mejlis, the main representative body of the Crimean Tatars.

Under the ICSFT, Ukraine alleges Russia has supported terrorism by providing funds, weapons and training to illegal armed groups in eastern Ukraine. In particular Ukraine alleges Russian state responsibility - through its proxies - for downing the infamous MH17 flight.

Both these treaties are binding upon Ukraine and Russia and entitle an individual state party to refer a dispute concerning them to the ICJ, but certain procedural pre-conditions must first be exhausted. These include a failed attempt to settle a dispute either through negotiations or the CERD Committee (for the CERD) or unsuccessful negotiations and arbitration (for the ICSFT).

Russia challenged Ukraine’s compliance with the pre-conditions, but the ICJ disagreed with Russia’s submission that Ukraine had to resort both to negotiations and to the CERD Committee. For the first time, the court clarified these procedures under the CERD were two means to reach the same aim, and therefore alternative and not cumulative.

Requiring states to avail of both procedures before going to the ICJ would undermine the very purpose of the CERD to eliminate racial discrimination promptly, and ensure the availability of effective domestic protection and remedies.

The relevance of this clarification transcends the Ukraine-Russia dispute. With the rise of discriminatory practices, from populist hate-filled rhetoric endangering vulnerable communities to large-scale persecution such as that of the Rohingyas, the UN’s principal judicial body is sending a clear larger message to the world: such practices are unacceptable and must be dealt with expeditiously and efficiently. If states fail to do so, there are now fewer procedural impediments to do it internationally.

The ICJ also confirmed Ukraine had complied with both procedural preconditions under the ICSFT and that it would give judgement on the alleged failure of Russia to take measures to prevent the financing of terrorism. The outcome of this will be of great importance to the international community, given the general lack of international jurisprudence on issues of terrorism.

The court’s interpretation of knowledge and intent in terrorism financing, as well as clarification of the term ‘funds’, is particularly relevant both for the Ukraine-Russia case and for international law.

As the final judgement may take several years, the ICJ granted some provisional measures requested by Ukraine in April 2017. The court obliged Russia to ensure the availability of education in Ukrainian and enable the functioning of the Crimean Tatar representative institutions, including the Mejlis.

When Russia contested Ukraine’s references to the alleged Stalin-ordered deportation of the Crimean Tatars and the rule of law in the Soviet Union being hypocritical, by arguing that history did not matter, the court disagreed.

In fact, Judge James Crawford emphasised the relevance of the ‘historical persecution’ of Crimean Tatars and the role of Mejlis in advancing and protecting their rights in Crimea ‘at the time of disruption and change’.

These conclusions are important reminders that the historical inheritance of injustices inflicted on vulnerable groups should be taken into account when nations address their imperial legacies.

The court’s provisional measures and Judge Crawford’s position are particularly relevant in light of Russia’s policy of the total - territorial, historical, cultural – ‘russification’ of Crimea, as they highlight the role of the historical background for assessing the alleged discriminatory and prosecutorial policy of Russia’s occupying authorities against the Crimean Tatars.

The ICJ’s judgement on the merits of this as well as other human rights, and terrorism issues of Crimea and Donbas will be an important consideration for the international community in its view of the Russia-Ukraine armed conflict and the sanctions policy against Russia.

The development of this case also has a mutually catalysing impact on Ukraine’s efforts to establish those individually criminally responsible for atrocities in Crimea and Donbas, through domestic proceedings and through the International Criminal Court.

Ukraine’s attempts to seek individual criminal responsibility for gross abuses in Donbas and Crimea at the International Criminal Court (ICC) are assessed in part two of this series, coming soon.

Leaders of the resource-rich Central Asian region have the propensity to remain in power until mortality dictates otherwise. Much like the UK and Brexit, however, few wanted to see Central Asia’s longest reigning ruler, Kazakhstan’s septuagenarian president Nursultan Nazarbayev, crash out without a deal.

The sudden departure of the country’s official leader of the nation with no clear succession plan could have led to investment chaos, intra-elite fighting and the unravelling in a matter of months of a system he had built over decades, à la Uzbekistan following the death of long-serving autocrat Islam Karimov in 2016.

In order to avoid just such a ‘no-deal’ scenario and ensure the continuity of his policies, in March Nazarbayev carefully choreographed his own resignation and the election of a hand-picked successor, President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev, while retaining plum positions and powers for himself.

Tokayev’s assumption of the presidency was accompanied by protesters in the streets, increasing wealth inequality, rising Sinophobia among rank-and-file Kazakhstanis, a hard-to-kick economic dependence on oil revenues and a lack of clarity as to which leader—the old or the new president—would actually be calling the shots. But, amidst this plethora of concerns, as argued in a recent Chatham House report, Kazakhstan: Tested by Transition, one bright spot has been the tangible growth of intra-Central Asian cooperation, with the Nazarbayev-Tokayev ruling duo appearing eager to improve the regional dialogue.

Kazakhstan has long shaped its identity as a Eurasian state that has acted as more of an intermediary between Russia and Central Asia than as an integral part of the Central Asian region. But since 2017, in particular, Kazakhstan has been increasingly looking for opportunities to boost hitherto weak cooperation with its Central Asian neighbours. While this is first and foremost owing to the liberalization of Uzbekistan’s large market, there are other factors at work that get less airplay.

One such factor is a perceptible disentangling from the Kremlin’s policy directions as Kazakhstan has come to view Russia’s foreign policy as increasingly neo-colonial. The example of the Russia-led Eurasian Economic Union is in many respects more off-putting than inspiring, and Nur-Sultan does not want to be locked tightly into the union’s economic orbit. And in distancing itself slightly from Moscow in order to limit Russian leverage in its affairs, Nur-Sultan has shown itself to be more open to Central Asian regional initiatives.

As part of the leadership’s plan to offset oil dependence, Kazakhstan aspires to become the transport, telecommunications and investment hub for Eurasian integration. The intense focus on connectivity and the development of logistical arteries and infrastructure could have the knock-on effect of boosting trade within the Central Asian region and reducing transit times, which are currently greater than in most other parts of the globe.

In addition, demographic trends and educational shifts that favour ethnic Kazakhs, together with a growing ethno-nationalist narrative, have allowed the state’s leadership to identify more closely with Kazakhstan’s common Central Asian heritage and, by extension, a common Central Asian region—although Kazakhstan’s leadership still remains eager to demonstrate that the country is not just another ‘stan’. The coming to power of President Mirziyoyev in Uzbekistan appears to have made Kazakhstan more aware of the interconnectedness of the two countries in terms of geographical location and potential economic complementarities, as well as culture and history.

Not least, there is a growing recognition among the Central Asian states themselves—including isolationist Turkmenistan to a degree—that deepening regional trade is mutually beneficial, especially given the constraints associated with Russia’s economic problems. The strengthening of Kazakhstan’s ties with Uzbekistan has slowly kick-started regional cooperation as a whole: trade turnover between the Central Asian states in 2018 grew by 35 per cent on the previous year.

But both Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan are keen to stress that there is no discussion of integration or institutionalization, not least because previous attempts at integration have been overtaken by Russia, leaving Central Asia without its own coordinating body.

The official consensus in Kazakhstan is that Uzbekistan’s economic reforms after years of isolation will spur ‘a healthy rivalry’ and ultimately boost Kazakhstan’s own economy, in so far as the competition for foreign investment will require both countries to work harder to improve their respective business and regulatory environments.

At the unofficial level, however, some Kazakhstani analysts view Uzbekistan’s rise as potentially unprofitable, given the possible diversion of some investments and market activity from Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan. Moreover, Uzbekistan has the advantage of having undergone a clear change of executive, while it remains unclear which developments await Kazakhstan once First President Nazarbayev leaves the scene for good.

It can certainly be argued that Uzbekistan does pose a potential threat in the long-term to Kazakhstan’s entrenched position as Central Asia’s economic powerhouse: Uzbekistan’s population is one-and-a-half times bigger, even if its nominal GDP is three times smaller. Uzbekistan has a bigger market and a well-developed industrial sector, and is already the regional leader in terms of security. But it is not as though the world’s interest is moving from Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan; rather, Uzbekistan is in the process of trying to catch up.

Despite this relatively upbeat picture, Kazakhstan’s combined trade with the other Central Asian states accounts for less than 5 per cent of its total volume of foreign trade—a figure that cannot begin to equal its trade with Russia, China, and Europe. As a result, Kazakhstan will continue to give greater importance to positioning itself as a global player than as a regional leader.

This article was originally published in The Diplomat.

Russia’s ongoing occupation of Ukraine’s Crimean peninsula and support of separatist hostilities in the eastern provinces of Donbas have resulted in 1.5 million internally displaced persons, 3,000 civilians killed, and a growing list of alleged violations of international law and socio-economic hardship.

But Ukraine is struggling in its efforts to hold Russia accountable – either as a state or through individual criminal responsibility - as it cannot unilaterally ask any international court to give an overall judgment on the conflict.

So it focuses on narrower issues, referring them to authorised adjudication and arbitration platforms such as the International Court of Justice (ICJ), European Court of Human Rights, UNCLOS arbitration, and the International Criminal Court (ICC). These options are limited, but still worth taking - and their relevance is proving to be far wider than the Russia-Ukraine conflict.

Policy of cultural eradication

In 2017, Ukraine initiated proceedings against Russia at the ICJ on the basis of two international treaties: the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (CERD), with regard to Crimea; and the International Convention for the Suppression of the Financing of Terrorism (ICSFT), with regard to Donbas.

Under the CERD, Ukraine alleges Russia has carried out a policy of cultural eradication of ethnic Ukrainians and Crimean Tatars in Crimea, including enforced disappearances, no education in the Ukrainian and Crimean Tatar languages, and the ban of the Mejlis, the main representative body of the Crimean Tatars.

Under the ICSFT, Ukraine alleges Russia has supported terrorism by providing funds, weapons and training to illegal armed groups in eastern Ukraine. In particular Ukraine alleges Russian state responsibility - through its proxies - for downing the infamous MH17 flight.

Both these treaties are binding upon Ukraine and Russia and entitle an individual state party to refer a dispute concerning them to the ICJ, but certain procedural pre-conditions must first be exhausted. These include a failed attempt to settle a dispute either through negotiations or the CERD Committee (for the CERD) or unsuccessful negotiations and arbitration (for the ICSFT).

Russia challenged Ukraine’s compliance with the pre-conditions, but the ICJ disagreed with Russia’s submission that Ukraine had to resort both to negotiations and to the CERD Committee. For the first time, the court clarified these procedures under the CERD were two means to reach the same aim, and therefore alternative and not cumulative.

Requiring states to avail of both procedures before going to the ICJ would undermine the very purpose of the CERD to eliminate racial discrimination promptly, and ensure the availability of effective domestic protection and remedies.

The relevance of this clarification transcends the Ukraine-Russia dispute. With the rise of discriminatory practices, from populist hate-filled rhetoric endangering vulnerable communities to large-scale persecution such as that of the Rohingyas, the UN’s principal judicial body is sending a clear larger message to the world: such practices are unacceptable and must be dealt with expeditiously and efficiently. If states fail to do so, there are now fewer procedural impediments to do it internationally.

The ICJ also confirmed Ukraine had complied with both procedural preconditions under the ICSFT and that it would give judgement on the alleged failure of Russia to take measures to prevent the financing of terrorism. The outcome of this will be of great importance to the international community, given the general lack of international jurisprudence on issues of terrorism.

The court’s interpretation of knowledge and intent in terrorism financing, as well as clarification of the term ‘funds’, is particularly relevant both for the Ukraine-Russia case and for international law.

As the final judgement may take several years, the ICJ granted some provisional measures requested by Ukraine in April 2017. The court obliged Russia to ensure the availability of education in Ukrainian and enable the functioning of the Crimean Tatar representative institutions, including the Mejlis.

When Russia contested Ukraine’s references to the alleged Stalin-ordered deportation of the Crimean Tatars and the rule of law in the Soviet Union being hypocritical, by arguing that history did not matter, the court disagreed.

In fact, Judge James Crawford emphasised the relevance of the ‘historical persecution’ of Crimean Tatars and the role of Mejlis in advancing and protecting their rights in Crimea ‘at the time of disruption and change’.

These conclusions are important reminders that the historical inheritance of injustices inflicted on vulnerable groups should be taken into account when nations address their imperial legacies.

The court’s provisional measures and Judge Crawford’s position are particularly relevant in light of Russia’s policy of the total - territorial, historical, cultural – ‘russification’ of Crimea, as they highlight the role of the historical background for assessing the alleged discriminatory and prosecutorial policy of Russia’s occupying authorities against the Crimean Tatars.

The ICJ’s judgement on the merits of this as well as other human rights, and terrorism issues of Crimea and Donbas will be an important consideration for the international community in its view of the Russia-Ukraine armed conflict and the sanctions policy against Russia.

The development of this case also has a mutually catalysing impact on Ukraine’s efforts to establish those individually criminally responsible for atrocities in Crimea and Donbas, through domestic proceedings and through the International Criminal Court.

Ukraine’s attempts to seek individual criminal responsibility for gross abuses in Donbas and Crimea at the International Criminal Court (ICC) are assessed in part two of this series, coming soon.

Chatham House’s recent paper, Woody Biomass for Power and Heat: Impacts on the Global Climate, highlights how the use of wood for electricity generation and heat in modern (non-traditional) technologies has grown rapidly in recent years, and has the potential to continue to do so. EU member states’ national targets for renewable energy generation agreed in 2009 have helped ensure that the EU is now the world’s largest producer and consumer of wood for energy. And although other member states use wood more extensively for heat, the UK is the EU’s largest user for electricity generation, mostly sourced from the US and Canada.

Wood for energy often has a positive image: a natural product of growing forests. The biomass energy industry, which has grown rapidly on the back of government subsidies, likes to contrast it with dirty coal or oil. They point to the government’s sustainability criteria, which notionally guarantee a reduction of at least 60 per cent in greenhouse gas emissions compared to the fossil fuels the biomass replaces.

The problem with this happy picture, however, is that in fact biomass, when burnt, emits more carbon per unit of energy than most fossil fuels. The exact amount varies with the type of biomass and the type and age of the power plant, but figures from the Drax power station, Europe’s largest consumer of wood pellets, show that in 2013 it emitted about 13 per cent more carbon dioxide per unit of energy generated from biomass than from coal.

How is this consistent with meeting the government’s requirement for a 60 per cent reduction in emissions? Only by completely ignoring the carbon emitted when the wood is burnt; the sustainability criteria measure only supply-chain emissions from harvesting, processing and transporting the wood. (Direct land-use change – for example, clearance of the forest for agriculture or urban development – also falls outside the criteria, but biomass for energy generally originates from existing forests.)

This treatment of combustion emissions as zero – and thus, the awarding to wood the same kind of financial and regulatory support as other renewables such as solar PV and wind – is justified on the basis that the carbon contained in woody biomass is part of the natural forest cycle. The carbon released during combustion was absorbed by forest growth in the past and will be reabsorbed by forest growth in the future; in contrast, fossil fuels originate outside this cycle and their combustion adds carbon to the atmosphere.

But this argument rests on a basic fallacy. Carbon is carbon, wherever it comes from, and if you burn wood for energy, you increase carbon dioxide concentrations in the atmosphere (by more than if you had used fossil fuels), and thereby contribute to climate change. The fact that the carbon emitted was absorbed by growing trees in the past is simply irrelevant. After all, when it’s harvested you don’t have to burn it; you could use it for construction or furniture or window frames or a host of other uses, fixing the carbon in wood products rather than emitting it to the atmosphere.

Climate impacts

It is true that continued forest growth will absorb carbon in the future, but the process is a long one, taking decades or even centuries if whole trees are harvested and burnt. Replacing large mature trees, with plentiful leaf cover absorbing large volumes of carbon dioxide, with small young ones mean that the rate of carbon uptake will be far lower for years. On top of that, the impact of harvesting itself releases soil carbon into the atmosphere, further accelerating climate change.

The impact on the climate of using sawmill or forest residues for energy rather than whole trees is undoubtedly lower, since these tend to be wastes from other industries which harvest trees for their own purposes, and do not imply any additional harvesting. Sawmill wastes which, if left to themselves, would rot and release their stored carbon into the atmosphere in a matter of months or years, are in many ways the ideal feedstock; it makes sense to use them for energy rather than leave them to decay. However, mill residues are already intensively used and there seems little room for expansion; a survey in the US in 2011 found that over 99 per cent of mill residues were already used, mainly for energy and wood products such as particleboard.

Forest residues are the parts of harvested trees that are left in the forest after log products have been removed, including stumps, tops and small branches, and pieces too short or defective to be used; these can amount to as much as 40–60 per cent of the total tree volume. Their impact on the climate if used for energy varies significantly. While the smallest pieces tend to rot and release their stored carbon into the atmosphere quite quickly, if left in the forest, they are generally not suitable for use for energy, as they contain too much dirt and ash to be burnt cleanly. Larger pieces are more suitable but take much longer to decay; burning them for energy instead of leaving them in the forest thereby increases carbon concentrations in the atmosphere for years or decades. And on top of that, a portion of the carbon and other substances contained in the residues is transferred to the soil as they decay; their removal from the forest for energy may reduce both soil carbon and the levels of the nutrients trees need to grow, again with negative impacts on the climate.

The biomass industry generally likes to claim that it uses mainly mill and forest residues, though on closer inspection the categories they report often contain whole trees, perhaps classified as ‘unmerchantable’ or similar. (This is not helped by the fact the categories used by Ofgem, for example, to whom UK biomass users have to report, are confusing and potentially overlapping.) Several independent studies, however, have concluded that the use of mill and forest residues is in reality substantially lower; pellet plants in the US – the UK’s main source of supply – in fact source about 75 per cent whole trees.

Setting aside these arguments about feedstock, however, can it be safely assumed that future forest growth allows us to treat biomass as carbon-neutral? If the trees would have grown anyway, even in the absence of the biomass energy industry, it cannot be assumed that their future absorption of carbon cancels out the carbon emitted when wood is burnt. If the rate of carbon absorption in forests remains the same whether or not some of the harvested wood is burnt, then clearly, the best outcome for the climate in the short and probably medium term is not to burn it, but to use it for wood products or leave it to decay slowly in the forest. This is not an academic argument: the current global rate of emissions of greenhouse gases is incompatible with the aims of the Paris Agreement and may risk triggering irreversible tipping points in the Earth’s climate system. We need to reduce carbon emissions now, not in several decades’ or centuries’ time.

The biomass industry likes to point to the expansion of US forests in recent decades to show that forests overall have been absorbing more carbon even while increasing volumes are burnt for energy – sometimes implying that this forest growth has been encouraged by the demand for energy. But in fact US forest expansion started in the 1950s, decades before European subsidies stimulated the expansion of the modern biomass industry. And there is little evidence of recent overall forest growth in the US southeast, the location of almost all the pellet plants supplying European demand. In any case, the point is not whether US (or European) forests are expanding, but whether they would have grown at a different rate if part of their wood had not been burnt for energy. If they would have grown at the same rate, or faster, in the absence of biomass energy use then it cannot be assumed that using wood for biomass is good for forests, or the climate.

Redirecting public money

There is no question that renewable energy policy and forest policy both have a critical role to play in the mitigation of climate change. But governments have limited resources to deploy in their support, which is why the Chatham House paper questions whether it is really a good use of public money to subsidise activities which release stored forest carbon into the atmosphere, thereby increasing carbon emissions and accelerating climate change.

I argue instead that support should be limited to those feedstocks which genuinely reduce carbon emissions over the short term – i.e. mill residues and post-consumer wood waste. This would not only have a positive direct impact on the climate but would also release more resources for genuine zero-carbon technologies, such as solar, wind or tidal – and perhaps also for programmes encouraging afforestation and the more extensive use of wood in buildings and products. Use it, don’t burn it.

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