In the past few weeks, strong evidence has emerged that Hamas committed acts of sexual violence in their October 7 attack. On December 14, UN Special Procedures Experts stated they were "alarmed at increasing reports of sexual violence perpetrated by Hamas and other armed groups against women in Israel on 7 October 2023." Allegations against Hamas detailing sexual violence on October 7 include forced nudity, rape, gang rape, and sexual mutilation.
Defined broadly, sexual violence is "any act of a sexual nature committed against any person under circumstances which are coercive" (International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), Akayesu, para. 688) and "a form of gender-based violence that involves the commission or attempted commission of sexual acts" (International Criminal Court (ICC), Policy on Gender-Based Crimes, para. 31). Sexual violence often forms part of a pattern of abuse and violence which includes killing, inhumane treatment, destruction of property, etc., committed during an attack. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) observed that "sexual violence may occur as a succession of prohibited acts, for example rape being accompanied by murder or forced public nudity" (ICRC, 2016 Commentary to Common Article 3, para. 699).

The idea that using "killer robots" in armed conflict is unacceptable because they are not human is at the heart of nearly every critique of autonomous weapons. Some of those critiques are deontological, such as the claim that the decision to use lethal force requires a combatant to suffer psychologically and risk sacrifice, which is impossible for machines. Other critiques are consequentialist, such as the claim that autonomous weapons will never be able to comply with international humanitarian law (IHL) because machines lack human understanding and the ability to feel compassion.
This article challenges anthropocentric critiques of AWS. Such critiques, whether deontological or consequentialist, are uniformly based on a very specific concept of "the human" who goes to war: namely, someone who perceives the world accurately, understands rationally, is impervious to negative emotions, and reliably translates thought into action. That idealized individual, however, does not exist; decades of psychological research make clear that cognitive and social biases, negative emotions, and physiological limitations profoundly distort human decision-making—particularly when humans find themselves in dangerous and uncertain situations like combat. Given those flaws, and in light of rapid improvement in sensor and AI technology, it is only a matter of time until autonomous weapons are able to comply with IHL better than human soldiers ever have or ever will.

This is essential reading for all international lawyers. It is a very detailed and impartial analysis by Professor Milanovic of the various arguments attaching to the jus ad bellum and the jus in bello, and examines, inter alia, the relevance of art 51 of the UN Charter when violence is committed by non-state actors. To say that there are no easy answers would be an understatement, as the complexities of the situation are compounded by arguments about whether Palestine is, de jure, a state and, if so, the extent, if any, of state attribution for the actions of Hamas.
But what rights does Israel have in this context, when it's innocent citizens have been made the victims of an horrendous and savage attack? The author's view is that the combined effect of all of this uncertainty is such, in his view, that the jus ad bellum is of very little practical use with regard to the war in Gaza. Put differently, this is one of those cases in which the law runs out (leaving IHL aside for the moment, whose importance remains crucial, but which is structurally biased in favour of military necessity). Ethics provides a clearer answer than the law.
"Morally, Israel can only justify taking the lives of innocents by saying that doing so would save more lives in the future. And the burden is on Israel to show that, even if it is not killing civilians intentionally, it is somehow still acting in such a way that will save more lives in the long run. This is not a burden that, in [his] judgment at least, Israel has so far met or is likely to meet. When confronted with this moral question, whether Israel has the right to self-defence under Article 51 of the Charter is largely beside the point."

This post examines which potential branch of international humanitarian law (IHL) is applicable to the hostilities that are currently ongoing in Gaza between Israeli armed forces and Hamas military wing: the law of international armed conflicts (IAC) or that of non-international armed conflicts (NIAC). Classifying these hostilities is a complicated matter which, ultimately, depends on whether Palestine enjoys Statehood under international law and on whether Gaza is an occupied territory under IHL. For those suffering of the conflict, particularly as the conflict rages on, it might be thought untimely to consider the niceties of the IHL framework of classification. This exercise is nevertheless both important and necessary to precisely determine the applicable legal regime of protection of individuals and identify the rights and obligations of belligerents. It is true that, owing to the development of customary IHL, the law of IAC and that of NIAC on the conduct of hostilities – which are very much relevant at this stage of the conflict – are now largely similar. They remain however different regarding the protection of individuals and the accountability for IHL violations under international criminal law (ICL).
In the author's view, good reasons exist for regulating the entire Gaza conflict by the unique regime of IAC.

The illegality of Israel's use of force in Gaza and the West Bank, as a violation of the law on the use of force—and so an aggression—and the legal right of the Palestinian people to self-determination, has the following consequences. Israel is obliged to end this use of force immediately—a ceasefire in Gaza, and a complete termination of the broader force-enabled siege of the Strip, as well as a complete withdrawal of its authority in the West Bank, including East Jerusalem. Because this illegality involves breaches of fundamental rules of international law which have jus cogens and erga omnes status, all other states are in a special legal position, with both negative and positive obligations. They are not entirely free in their behaviour in relation to this situation, as if it is only Israel and the Palestinian people that have applicable legal rights and obligations. In the first place, they are legally obliged not to recognize as lawful, or provide any aid or assistance to, Israel's use of force, including through the occupation, in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. This means, necessarily, not affirming that Israel has a right to use this force, and ceasing support, including military support, to Israel for this purpose. In the second place, they are obliged to take positive steps to bring the illegal situation to an end. This means, at a bare minimum, calling for a ceasefire, and, more broadly, calling for Israel to end the occupation. At the moment, some states behave as if they are free to cherry-pick discrete aspects of illegality—commonly, the purported annexation of East Jerusalem, and the implanting of settlements in the West Bank—which they object to or at least refuse to recognize as legally-valid, while staying silent on, and, even, supporting, other more fundamental aspects of illegality. These distinctions have no basis in international law. Indeed, they involve violations of international law by such states in terms of unlawful support and/or the choice to stay silent when there is a legal requirement to object. States need to face up to the more comprehensive nature of the legal position they are in, and what this means for their policies, statements and actions. If, as these states affirm, international law is indeed law, then by definition it is universally-applicable, and not simply something to observe insofar as it aligns with their political preferences. If this is the case, then on fundamental matters where all are legally implicated, they are not free to be selective and apply double standards.

Some international crimes require little information to spot, identify and characterize. Others are more difficult to discern because of unclear law, or a need for detailed factual information. While legal commentators can easily make determinations about the former, there is significant debate about the utility of making assessments about the latter during the conflict in Israel/Gaza. For example, a recent post on EJILTalk! seems to suggest that we should largely wait to make judgments because it is still 'too early to tell'. In this post the author explains why he disagrees.

In recent years a trend among laws of armed conflict scholars has consolidated. This trend is in antithesis to the choral denunciation of mass civilian victimization as unlawful and criminal in other conflict theatres (such as, agreeably, in relation to the war against Ukraine). In contrast, bombing campaigns in Gaza have attracted and continue to attract the highest volume of academic commentaries emphasizing the limits of and derogations to civilian immunity from attacks. The 'unfortunate/tragic but probably proportionate civilian loss of life' formula has been repeated by countless analyses. The issue here is not with civilian harm that can be reasonably considered incidental. The issue is conduct of indiscriminate warfare accompanied by the claim that killing (no matter how many) crowds of civilians of another national group in aerial attacks is always incidental and never excessive.

At the United Nations Security Council, States from every region of the world condemned Israel's use of force in Gaza as disproportionate and called for it to end. That was in 2009. And in 2014. But when the Security Council met a few weeks ago, to consider a draft resolution calling for a mere "humanitarian pause" in Gaza, States did not discuss whether Israel's use of force was proportionate, or disproportionate, as a whole. They did not ask whether Israel's war aims justify the killing of thousands, the wounding of tens of thousands, or the immiseration of millions. The question was never squarely raised.

There will be no land for peace during the conflict in Ukraine. To begin with, Russia's purported annexations of Ukrainian territory by Russia are unquestionably without legal effect under contemporary international law. Moreover, the historical doctrine of conquest that allowed for the transfer of sovereignty over territory following war did not survive the emergence of the prohibition on the use of force. Finally, any agreement between Ukraine and Russia that supposedly resulted in Russian territorial gain would be void in its entirety under the law of treaties. Calls for a peace agreement contemplating territorial transfer are, therefore, legally (and, in my view, practically and ethically) flawed. Only if, after the conflict, Ukraine decided consensually to transfer territory to Russia might a transfer be lawful as cession. That eventuality is hard to imagine.

Dominic Ongwen was convicted and sentenced for numerous atrocities by the International Criminal Court (ICC) in 2021. The Defence focused on the coercive environment that Ongwen was subjected to from his abduction as a boy until his surrender as an adult. The ICC rejected the claim of duress as a ground for excluding criminal responsibility in the context of a past and present coercive environment. This article examines how the ICC interpreted and applied duress in the Ongwen case and evaluates whether a coercive environment can be categorised as a unique defence in the ICC Statute. This is done by scrutinising whether a coercive environment has been raised as a defence in domestic jurisdictions. This paper shows that national courts have not recognised a defence specific to crimes committed in a coercive environment and thus concludes that no such defence can be used by defendants before the ICC.

On July 17, State representatives and civil society organizations meeting in New York on the 25th anniversary of the Rome Statute discussed which jurisdiction will actually hold aggression trials of the Russian leadership? Echoing divisions between Western and Eastern European States, remarks by some State officials, including the German foreign minister, conveyed a latent frustration about their inability to agree on the type of tribunal that should prosecute Vladimir Putin and his inner circle. In a nutshell, Western States – led by Germany and the United States – support a "hybrid" tribunal, while Ukraine and a "Core Group" of Friends for Accountability, notably comprising several former victim States of Russian empire, advocate an international tribunal, created through a United Nations General Assembly resolution. It may seem like a technical legal quarrel or branding exercise, but this divergence of opinion about the nature of the proposed tribunal masks deeper questions about the rationales and legitimacy of international criminal law.

Misinformation, disinformation and malinformation are part of the information disorder construct, dominating the information warfare domain. These are key enablers associated with grey zone operations, and an integral part of current adversaries' and competitors' hybrid warfare tool kit. Disinformation, in combination with influence operations, also plays an important role within the concept of hybrid warfare; both from a threat–and own resilience perspective. This article reflects on these information warfare tools and their application by Russia in the current Russo-Ukraine war, offering potentially considerable force multipliers in the information domain for the Russian aggressor. Hybrid warfare and associated threats, specifically focusing on aspects of information warfare, disinformation, deception (typically within the context of political activity or warfare so commonly associated with Russian active measures) and as part of an adversary's grey zone operations approach are all discussed raising awareness towards building resilience by means of a comprehensive approach to counter such threats to national security.

Russia's invasion of Ukraine, which began in 2014 before escalating to full-scale war in 2022, violates the United Nations charter prohibiting the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of nations. Russian forces have committed widespread atrocities during the invasion, including sexual violence, torture, murder, forced detention and deportation and attacks on civilian infrastructure. An unprecedented legal effort is underway to hold Russian leadership accountable. But gaps in international law and limited enforcement abilities mean Russian President Vladimir Putin and his senior officials may never stand trial. Ukraine is pushing for the creation of a new international tribunal to prosecute Russian officials for launching a war of aggression in violation of the U.N. charter. Opinions on the feasibility of such a tribunal are divided; however, some fear it may make a peaceful resolution to the war more elusive.

Although CTL can more harmoniously co-apply with IHL in non-international armed conflicts (NIACs), in international ones combatant immunity will often bar prosecutions. Domestic practice (e.g., of the UK, the Netherlands, and the Court of Justice of the European Union in relation to Al Qaeda and the Tamil Tigers) exposes the same approach: even where CTL and IHL interrelation is not expressly reconciled, CTL was seemingly only invoked for prosecutions in NIACs given the irrelevance of the combatants' immunity issues. To determine whether particular charges against POWs fall under the combatants' immunity during an IAC, the conduct's nature (in particular its relationship to the IAC) and not its formal qualification as a terrorism offence outside of the IAC context, is decisive. While POWs can be prosecuted for the war crime of terror and terrorist acts unrelated to the armed conflict, much violent conduct formally qualifying as terrorism and/or other crimes against national security (e.g., attempts to overthrow the government) in peacetime, will most often be shielded by the combatants' privilege when committed by combatants in the course of hostilities.
[Ed: This article does not address the fairness and impartiality of trials by Ukrainian domestic courts of captured Russians. See the trial of Russian army Sgt Shishimarin, denied the combatant's defence by a Ukrainian court.]

Twenty years ago, the George W. Bush administration invaded Iraq to topple Iraqi President Saddam Hussein and eliminate the weapons of mass destruction (WMD) officials said he had. Getting the American public to support a war against a country that had not attacked the United States required the administration to tell a convincing story of why the war was necessary. For that, it needed the press.
As the Bush administration began making its case for invading Iraq, too many Washington journalists, caught up in the patriotic fervor after 9/11, let the government's story go unchallenged. At Knight Ridder's Washington bureau, journalists started asking questions and publishing stories that challenged the Bush administration's claims that Iraq had an active WMD program and ties to al Qaeda. One thing that set Knight Ridder's coverage apart was their sourcing — forgoing senior officials in Washington for experts and scientists inside and outside the Beltway and more junior staffers and military officers much closer to the relevant intelligence.
Such an approach would also have helped U.S. policymakers. The failed wars in Afghanistan and Iraq show what happens when top officials ignore their subordinates or assemble their own teams of analysts to confirm their biases—and when journalists become stenographers for them. Unfortunately, 20 years on, there is little evidence that the Washington press corps has learned this lesson. If anything, today's bleak media environment has only made it harder to get the story right.

In a contentious resolution by the UN Human Rights Council on 12th July 2023, the 28 majority-states (reacting to the public burning of religious texts) commit themselves by condemning "any advocacy of religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence" and by underscoring "the need for holding the perpetrators of these acts of religious hatred to account". Given the persistent, international problem of hate speech in the name of Islam that causes violence (terrorism included), such public commitments by countries like Algeria, Malaysia, Morocco, Pakistan, Qatar, Somalia and Sudan are encouraging. The new TOAEP book helps us all to take a look at ourselves in the mirror, and to consider more effective measures to counter religion-based or -related hate speech in addition to the human rights law approach (which is often rejected by the 'religious actors' behind serious hate speech). The book focuses on hateful expression in the name of religion that amounts to incitement to actual violence or systemic discrimination (which can sometimes constitute persecution as a crime against humanity). Part III offers explanations and discussions of relevant international law (including the scope of ICCPR Article 20(2) which underlies the dispute in the Human Rights Council last week), as well as of some philosophical and religious normative frameworks.

International law prohibits States from intervening in the internal and external affairs of other States, but only if the method of intervention is coercive. Building on recent developments in State practice, especially in the cyber context, this article argues that coercion can be understood in two different ways or models. First, as coercion-as-extortion, a demand coupled with a threat of harm or the infliction of harm, done to extract some kind of concession from the victim State – in other words, an act targeting the victim State's will or decision-making calculus. Second, as coercion-as-control, an act depriving the victim State of its ability to control its sovereign choices.
The article argues that many of the difficulties surrounding the notion of coercion arise as a consequence of failing to distinguish between these two different models. Coercion-as-extortion consists of imposing costs on the victim State, so as to cause it to change its policy choices. This is precisely how coercion has traditionally been understood in this context, as "dictatorial" intervention. Coercion-as-control, by contrast, is not about affecting the victim State's decision-making calculus – the victim State's leadership may even be entirely unaware of the actions taken against it – but consists of a material constraint on its ability to pursue the choices that it wanted to pursue. Consider here, for example, a cyber operation against the elections in another country, which may be entirely unrelated to any demands or threats by the coercing State.
In developing these two models of coercion the article extensively discusses the role of intention in coercion and the possible approaches to conceptualizing the threshold of harm. It also explains how debates on coercion in the non-intervention context have been shaped by the problem of justification. On one hand there is an intuition that some forms of coercion are justified. On the other hand, the prohibition of intervention is regarded as a categorical rule admitting of no exceptions. This incentivises approaches that narrow down the scope of prohibited intervention, e.g. through the exclusion of economic measures from the concept of coercion. The article cautions against such moralized conceptions of coercion, arguing that the reserved domain element of prohibited intervention is a better vehicle for accommodating problems of justification. In particular, coercive measures taken to enforce compliance with prior international legal obligations generally cannot constitute prohibited intervention in the internal or external affairs of the target State, although they may violate other rules of international law.

Aggressor state A occupies territory belonging to victim state V. After decades, V decides to go to war to recover its territory, although hostilities have long subsided. Are such 'wars of recovery' lawful under international law? Should they be? Recent conflicts have generated a heated scholarly debate on this question, which has ended in stark disagreement. A permissive approach argues that wars of recovery are lawful instances of self-defence, while a restrictive view claims that situations of prolonged occupation are territorial disputes that should be settled peacefully. This article uncovers the theoretical premises that underlie both approaches. As it shows, the dilemma reflects a larger tension within the contemporary international law on the use of force – mainly, between its traditional focus on state rights such as territory and sovereignty and a competing view that seeks to place individual rights at the core of the legal regime. As the article shows, deciding on the question of wars of recovery requires making commitments in four normative spheres: instrumentally, it requires considering questions of international stability, and, non-instrumentally, it requires considering questions of justice as well as possible justifications for killing and sacrifice. These considerations, however, result in instability owing, among other factors, to the fluctuating effects of the passage of time, which follow our normative assumptions about the legal order. Ultimately, the article suggests that those engaging in debate on wars of recovery make explicit their normative assumptions on the ends of jus ad bellum and that, in any case, even if wars of recovery would be deemed legal, they would still remain heavily contestable owing to strong competing reasons against them.

On May 3, 2023, Russia accused Ukraine of attempting to "assassinate" President Vladimir Putin by launching two armed drones at the Kremlin in Moscow. Russia's press service categorized the incident as a "planned terrorist attack," and President Putin blamed Western "special services" for enabling "acts of sabotage." Putin's charge is not new. Since the beginning of Russia's war of aggression in Ukraine, each State has accused the other of sabotage.
Commentators, analysts, and scholars also use the term sabotage to describe clandestine, hostile acts. For example, the Kyiv Post, The Atlantic, and the Associated Press (AP) have reported on "cases of sabotage" in Ukraine, Russia, and even third-party countries. In March 2023, the AP published a story about "guerillas from Belarus … carrying out acts of sabotage on their country's railways" to impede the Russian army. Former Russian Duma member and anti-Putin activist Ilya Ponomarev claims that "[sabotage] is happening everywhere, and that's why nobody can say that it's the work of Ukrainian intelligence or Ukrainian saboteurs." On June 5, 2023, CNN reported that "U.S. officials believe that Ukraine has developed sabotage cells inside Russia."
Yet, despite ubiquitous use of the term and a recent flurry of allegations, international law does not define sabotage. Indeed, legal scholars have generally treated it as an ancillary subject. This post examines the term's etymology and the nature of sabotage in armed conflict.

The Supreme Federal Court of Brazil will soon rule (under a constitutional review case called Acao Direta de Inconstitucionalidade no. 5032, commonly referred to as ADI 5032) whether members of the armed forces that commit crimes against civilians during peacetime should be tried before civilian or military courts. This judgment is critical for Brazil, a country with a long (and recent) period of authoritarian military rule (1964-1985) but without comprehensive transitional justice mechanisms and State accountability for human rights violations.
While the current Brazilian Constitution (adopted in 1988) restricted the institutional role of the military, starting from the 1990s, governments began to routinely employ the Armed Forces in public security contexts – from fighting organised crime in the Favelas or the Amazon rain forest to assisting local security forces with mega-events, such as the 2016 Olympics and the 2014 World Cup (often called "operations to guarantee law and order"). This resulted in a complex and conflictual institutional context: unresolved political and human rights issues combined with increasing reliance on the military for public security matters, often resulting in civilian deaths and claims of excessive use of violence.

This article addresses what Ambassador Rein Tammsaar, Estonia's Permanent Representative to the United Nations, wrote in Just Security arguing in favour of a Special Tribunal for the Crime of Aggression. The author appreciates the Ambassador's optimism, but he doesn't share it. It is true that a resolution has not been introduced and rejected, but it is hardly "mere speculation" to be sceptical of General Assembly support. On the contrary, the author's scepticism is based on five interrelated considerations.
1. voting patterns in the GA on Russia-related resolutions show that, although large number of states have been willing to vote for resolutions that merely condemn Russia's aggression against Ukraine, far fewer have been willing to vote for resolutions that impose actual consequences on Russia;
2. lack of geographic diversity in the 2 main groups specifically discussing the creation of an aggression tribunal;
3. not all Western states support an STCoA. The G7 has formally endorsed an internationalized tribunal over an international one. The G7 includes the US, the UK, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, and Canada;
4. the fate of the draft General Assembly resolution circulated toward the end of 2022 to support an international tribunal; and
5. dearth of statements in support of an STCoA in the lead-up to the General Assembly adopting Res ES-11/6, "Principles of the Charter of the United Nations underlying a comprehensive, just and lasting peace in Ukraine" — on 23 Feb. 2023.
These five considerations augur ill for an STCoA — particularly the dearth of interest in the Global South and the collective opposition of the G7, powerful states with vast diplomatic resources and influence.

This editorial considers the support currently being supplied to Ukraine following Russia's ongoing full-scale invasion, which began in February 2022. Western states have provided significant aid to Ukraine in the form, inter alia, of modern weapons and training. This editorial asks whether that support is in itself a use of force in prima facie violation of Article 2(4) of the UN Charter and customary international law. A related question that is also considered is whether NATO member states (and others) are currently exercising the right of collective self-defence in relation to their support for Ukraine.

The concept of holding commanders responsible for the behavior of their subordinates is as ancient as it is contentious. It is natural to refer to the Chinese strategist and philosopher Sun Tzu for one of the earliest expressions of the impact a commander has over the conduct of subordinates, dating back to the fifth century BCE: "When troops flee, are insubordinate, distressed, collapse in disorder, or are routed, it is the fault of the general. None of these disorders can be attributed to natural causes." The Roman statesman Cicero resounded the assertion that a commander must bear some responsibility for the transgressions of subordinates as far back as the first century BCE. Historically, various theatres of war have put to the test the question of command responsibility for crimes committed by subordinates, and judicial bodies subjected its legal implications to vehement discourse. This does not come as a surprise when one considers the high stakes involved in such criminal legal discourse where commanders face trial—and the potential loss of life or liberty—for atrocity crimes attributed to them, despite those crimes not being directly committed by the commander.

This article argues that both Russia and China will re-invigorate and expand their international espionage activities. Russia's renewed vigour in engaging in aggressive espionage campaigns is due to the current setbacks that it is facing as a result of its ill-fated invasion of Ukraine. The sanction-induced prohibitions that limit access to state-of-the-art technologies will unleash renewed enthusiasm to obtain these latest technologies by covert means, be it HUMINT and/or cyber espionage. The future robustness of China's aggressive espionage activities is projected to be fuelled by its systematic 'de-coupling' from those nations leading in science, engineering and technology,such as the United States, as well as the growing opposition to the use of developmental institutions such as the Confucius Institute and the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) as intelligence collection platforms. This article predicts that as Russia and China become 'outsiders', they will becoming increasingly aggressive in their espionage campaigns as pragmatic states acting in survival and developmental mindsets, and it elaborates on some of the more relevant forms of espionage employed.

This April, UN member state delegates gathered in New York to start considering the Draft Articles on Prevention and Punishment of Crimes against Humanity at the UN General Assembly's Sixth (Legal) Committee. The meeting represented an important step in the path towards the development of an international treaty specifically on crimes against humanity. The Draft Articles were adopted by the International Law Commission (ILC) in 2019 already, after six years of discussion, but further action by states was blocked since by geopolitical wrangling in the Sixth Committee. This only changed in late 2022. It does not seem far-fetched that Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine earlier that year contributed to renewed interest in this topic and the desire to move forward.
Crimes against humanity refer to those crimes sufficiently grave as to "deeply shock the conscience of humanity" (preamble to the Draft Articles). They include, among others, murder, enforced disappearance, extrajudicial executions, torture, persecution, rape and other forms of sexual violence, and apartheid, when knowingly committed as part of a widespread or systemic attack against a civilian population, during peace or wartime.

The decision by the United Kingdom (UK) in March 2023 to transfer depleted uranium tank shells to Ukraine provoked a fierce reaction from senior Russian political and military officials. President Vladimir Putin warned that Moscow would "respond accordingly, given that the collective West is starting to use weapons with a 'nuclear component'."Sergei Shoigu, Russia's Minister of Defence, claimed that the decision left "fewer and fewer steps" before a potential "nuclear collision" between Russia and the West. Given the heated rhetoric, this post assesses the legality under the law of armed conflict of the use of depleted uranium shells as a means of warfare, as well as the compatibility of the UK's decision on transfer with its obligations under international law, including disarmament law.

Russia is well known for employing hybrid warfare tactics, including the use of lawfare to achieve its aims. Those same tactics are now being used by Ukraine in its pursuit of global sanctions against Putin. This week the International Criminal Court at The Hague (ICC), the world's first permanent criminal court, issued an international arrest warrant for Russia's president Vladimir Putin and Ms Maria Alekseyevna Lvova-Belov, a Russian politician and the Russian Commissioner for Children. The arrest warrant alleges that both are responsible for war crimes, namely the "deportation of population (children) and that of unlawful transfer of population (children) from occupied areas of Ukraine to the Russian Federation." Such acts qualify as war crimes under articles 8(2)(a)(vii) and 8(2)(b)(viii) of the ICC's Statute, the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court. This development is significant in terms of its potential legal and diplomatic consequences, but also in terms of what motivated Ukraine, as a non-state party to the ICC, to accept the court's jurisdiction and allow for any investigation of crimes committed – even by the Ukrainian military.

The support neutral States are providing Russia and Ukraine has ignited a debate over neutrality. It is one of existential magnitude for Ukraine. Indeed, the survival of Kyiv in early 2022 can be attributed in significant part to external support, particularly the delivery of Javelin anti-tank systems. Later, HIMARS rocket launchers helped Ukrainian forces retake territory occupied by Russia. Western intelligence also made possible the sinking of the Russian Black Sea flagship, Moskva, and strikes on command and control facilities. And the forthcoming transfer of tanks to Ukraine will enhance the effectiveness of the anticipated Ukrainian offensive eastward. But, at the same time, Iranian drones have enabled Russia's continuing attacks, including against civilian infrastructure, throughout Ukraine, and Russia has been mounting operations from (neutral) Belarus.

What protection must be accorded prisoners of war (POWs) in international humanitarian law (IHL)? How might this protection scheme shed light on the role of personal status categories in IHL? Many of the protections accorded POWs closely track the increasingly robust fundamental guarantees accorded all conflict-related detainees. Some POW protections, though, reflect a different protective logic. Indeed, POWs are overprotected with respect to the humanitarian baseline because of special considerations of fairness, honor, and respect tightly linked to the specific requirements for POW status. This line of analysis (1) makes clear the standard of treatment for POWs; and (2) helps clarify the role that status categories play in contemporary IHL.

The Sovereign Base Areas (SBA) are two parts on the island of Cyprus, with a combined territory of 99 square miles, over which the UK exercises sovereignty. They were created by the Treaty of Establishment 1960, which is also the international agreement that granted the Republic of Cyprus its independence. The article maps out the implications of the Chagos Archipelago Advisory Opinion for the SBA. It argues that the process through which they were created disregarded the wishes of the Cypriot people and was, therefore, not in accordance with the right to self-determination.

One argument occasionally made in favour of the possibility of Russia's expulsion from the UN in its entirety – and thus from the Security Council – is that the procedure for expulsion as set out in Article 6 of the UN Charter only requires a "recommendation" from the Security Council before the General Assembly can vote on it, and the General Assembly would therefore be free to disregard that recommendation in its entirety if it wants to.
In arguing that Russia is not a "peace-loving State" within the meaning of Article 4(1) of the Charter, the Ukrainian Ministry of Foreign Affairs has referred to the ICJ's Order on provisional measures of 16 March 2022 in Allegations of Genocide under the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (Ukraine v. Russian Federation), where the Court ordered Russia to "immediately suspend the military operation that it commenced on 24 February 2022 in Ukraine" and to "ensure that any military or irregular armed units … take no steps in furtherance of the military operations". The ICJ held – in a case brought by Ukraine itself, and for which the recognition that the Russian Federation is the continuing State of the USSR was quite essential to Ukraine's argument – that the Russian Federation, at least insofar as the Genocide Convention is concerned, is the State continuing the USSR's position as a State party to that convention. The claim that Russia is the State continuing the international legal personality of the USSR is also extensively supported by national case law and State practice. The Russian Federation was not a new State taking the place of the USSR; instead, it was simply the same State under a different name and with a rather reduced territory and population. Russia, as far as the UN was concerned, was simply the Soviet Union by another name.
In Part 2 the counterargument that is occasionally offered namely that Ukraine, as an original member of the UN, has at least as much right as Russia to claim the USSR seat, was without force, as the former UN principal legal officer Larry D. Johnson advised, there was in fact a process around the change of name: Secretary General Perez de Cuellar, recognizing the UNSG's very limited role in the question of credentials, simply circulated President Yeltsin's letter and left it up to the Member States to decide. No member of the United Nations – including, notably, Ukraine – objected to Russia's continuance on the Soviet seat, and the UN continued as if nothing had happened but a change of name and flag.

Last June, the Navy divers, operating under the cover of a widely publicized mid-summer NATO exercise known as BALTOPS 22, planted the remotely triggered explosives that, three months later, destroyed three of the four Nord Stream pipelines, according to a source with direct knowledge of the operational planning.
Two of the pipelines, which were known collectively as Nord Stream 1, had been providing Germany and much of Western Europe with cheap Russian natural gas for more than a decade. A second pair of pipelines, called Nord Stream 2, had been built but were not yet operational. Now, with Russian troops massing on the Ukrainian border and the bloodiest war in Europe since 1945 looming, President Joseph Biden saw the pipelines as a vehicle for Vladimir Putin to weaponize natural gas for his political and territorial ambitions.
[Ed: the attacking a dangerous installation and the concomitant deliberate release of hundreds of millions of cubic metres of natural gas into the environment is a war crime under the Rome Statute]

The war in Ukraine is shaping up to be one of the bloodiest of the 21st century, with both sides reported to be losing hundreds of soldiers each day as the conflict moves towards its first anniversary. But quite how many people are dying in this bitter struggle depends on who is doing the reporting.
Norway's defence chief, General Eirik Kristoffersen, claimed recently that Russia has suffered 180,000 casualties to Ukraine's 100,000, not counting 30,000 Ukrainian civilian casualties. The chairman of the US joint chiefs of staff, General Mark Milley, claimed that Russian casualties are "significantly well over 100,000 now". US intelligence has reportedly suggested this figure is around 188,000.
But truth is said to be the first casualty of war and it is certainly possible that Kristoffersen and Milley are downplaying the number of Ukrainian casualties while overestimating Russia's.

The debate on how to prosecute the international crimes linked to the aggression of the Russian Federation against Ukraine is ongoing (for example, here, here and here). One of the most prominent aspects of the debate concerns the question of how to prosecute the persons who are allegedly most responsible for such crimes, particularly, the head of state of the Russian Federation and commander-in-chief of its armed forces, Vladimir Putin.
The prevalent view is that, apart from prosecution in their own country, heads of state may only be prosecuted in an international court. Underpinning such view is a decision of the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in the Arrest Warrant case. In this case, the ICJ considered that – despite the fact that heads of state, heads of government and foreign ministers enjoy "full immunity" from foreign jurisdiction and inviolability – they can be prosecuted before "certain international criminal courts". Hence, the debate has so far focused on the possibility of his prosecution at an international criminal court or tribunal. The debate has been particularly alive in what concerns aggression, the "supreme international crime".

As the conflict in Ukraine is about to enter its second year, Ukraine and the West are accelerating efforts to ensure that Russian President Vladimir Putin doesn't get away with his illegal war. That has meant the West supplying weapons that were previously off the table, but it has also meant renewed attention to accountability. In November, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky made clear that justice is a key condition for peace. "This," he explained, "is what stokes the greatest emotions." But while there are courts where Russians can be prosecuted for war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide, a major piece is missing: there is nowhere to try Putin and other top Russian leaders for launching the war in the first place. For this, a special tribunal for the crime of aggression is needed.
Scholars and diplomats have pointed out the double standard they see in calls to create a special court to try the crime of aggression by Russia when no mention has been made of holding U.S. or British leaders to account for the 2003 invasion of Iraq, which violated the UN Charter by launching a war without clear Security Council authorization. (The United States argued that the Security Council had authorized military intervention when it gave Iraq "a final opportunity to comply with its disarmament obligations," but few agreed. ) That war set off a cascade of cataclysmic events and contributed to the rise of the Islamic State (or ISIS) and the Syrian refugee crisis.

The call for a Special Tribunal for the Russian war of aggression in Ukraine is necessary since the jurisdiction of the ICC in the case of a crime of aggression is limited to State Parties, so both the attacking State and the victim State must be parties to the Statute. It was of course already known before the Russian invasion of Ukraine that this jurisdictional regime is much too narrow – why should the victim State, which is also a territorial State, not have jurisdiction over a crime of aggression committed on its territory?
When the crime of aggression was included in the ICC Statute in the course of the first review conference in Kampala in 2010, a broader jurisdictional regime was politically not feasible. In fact, the existing jurisdictional straightjacket was also promoted by France, the United Kingdom and the USA, i.e., the very Western States which now feel compelled to demand a UkrTrib, albeit being unclear whether they will join a respective treaty at all or whether they will refrain from doing so for fear of setting a precedent which could later turn against them.

You might have heard of killer robots, slaughterbots or terminators – officially called lethal autonomous weapons (LAWs) – from films and books. And the idea of super-intelligent weapons running rampant is still science fiction. But as AI weapons become increasingly sophisticated, public concern is growing over fears about lack of accountability and the risk of technical failure.
Already we have seen how so-called neutral AI have made sexist algorithms and inept content moderation systems, largely because their creators did not understand the technology. But in war, these kinds of misunderstandings could kill civilians or wreck negotiations.

In 2023, non-governmental organizations such as Human Rights Watch and Stop Killer Robots will continue their calls for a new international legal framework to regulate autonomous weapons systems. Some States and scholars are optimistic about the possibility. These optimists often analogize to nuclear weapons regulation to illustrate that States sometimes have been willing to limit their own flexibility in strategic and sensitive areas – such as the one posed by the AI "arms race."
However, this analogy is flawed. There are good reasons to be skeptical about the prospects that States will achieve a new, robust multilateral agreement that implicates development of lethal autonomous systems or other "national security AI."