Nov 21 2014

Celebrating 25 Years of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, but where to next?

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Ruth Taylor is a current MSc Human Rights student at LSE. She is also the International Development Manager for Student Hubs, where she leads on the Impact International programme for the UK, which aims to promote global citizenship amongst UK students.

CRC at 25

Celebrating 25 years of the CRC (Photograph: UNICEF UK)

This week the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) is celebrating its 25th birthday. On November 20th 1989, what is now the most ratified treaty in the world came into force, promising the full recognition of civil, political, economic, social and cultural rights for the world’s children. But, while we celebrate all the CRC has achieved it is important to ask what steps the international community can take to further protect and promote the rights of the youngest and most vulnerable within our communities.

To mark the anniversary of the CRC, A World at School – a rapidly-growing coalition focused on global education – hosted the #UpForSchool event, along with the Overseas Development Institute. The event, on 19 November in London, saw prominent speakers such as Gordon Brown, Ann Cotton OBE and Kailash Satyarthi explain why education is so vital for the fight towards realising the CRC in full.

To this end, the new #UpForSchool petition, an initiative of A World at School, aims to be the largest ever campaign for education. If effective, it will put pressure on governments, politicians and leaders to act to protect children from danger and discrimination which prevent them from attending school and reaching their full potential.

Although the CRC is revolutionary in its vision of a world in which the rights of children are universally respected, it largely remains a document of good intent and not much more. To date, no country in the world has fully recognised all of its Articles, and reports of abuse, violence, exploitation and discrimination against children are all too common. For millions of children the world over, the only existence they know is one of hostility and negligence.

However, the situation is starting to change. Young people and advocates from all over the world are raising their voices to ensure that within the next 25 years, measurable and permanent change is made for the benefit of children everywhere.

The speakers at the anniversary event made a powerful case for viewing child poverty as multifaceted. They also argued that world leaders should be pressured to place children at the core of all decisions they make, and that the struggle to achieve the rights of children should, at every stage, be informed by the views of young people.

What has become clear over the past decade is that you cannot heal issues that damage children, without simultaneously tackling issues that are also faced by adults. Environments that lead to violations of child rights can prosper as a result of decisions taken (or not taken) by adults, in an adult world, usually with reference to a States’ standing in a decidedly adult political and economic landscape.

Just because 194 governments have ratified the CRC, this does not mean that child rights are upheld by all nations, especially not over and above their other interests. But through petitions like #UpForSchool, activists across the world are calling on leaders to dedicate money and attention towards eradicating the systems of poverty, inequality and oppression that allow child rights abuses to thrive. Only then can the Convention truly be considered meaningful when confronted by the realities of child trafficking, child labour, child marriage and other forces of child maltreatment.

Kevin Watkins, Chief Executive of ODI, spoke to this point, urging delegates to become impolite in the face of child rights violations, and to become outspoken regarding State behaviour where the rights of children are subordinated to those of adults. When defending children, it is vital to argue against the systemic and widespread abuses we see the world over, and bring into question the reputation and global image of States who have hidden their violations behind the honourable banner of the CRC for so long.

Both Gordon Brown and Kevin Watkins briefly mentioned the need to create an International Court of Child Rights – modelled on the European Court of Human Rights and the Inter-American Court of Human Rights – as a means of ensuring States’ compliance with the CRC. This would be one method of augmenting the CRC’s good intentions with enforceability, and ending the era of impunity for child rights violations.

While attending the event, I was particularly struck by the speeches made by Sharia Ramzan and Kainat Riaz, two teenage girls from Pakistan who were on the bus with Malala Yousafzai that fateful day in October 2012. They spoke with such conviction and such courage that it was hard not to feel compelled to act. Their message was this: we need to realise that the child’s voice is a formidable tool, with the power to shed light on even the darkest corners. Tackling child rights abuses goes hand in hand with supporting children to use their voices to tell the world their stories, and what the reality of child rights looks like to them.

Gordon Brown made a point during his speech that struck me, and I’m sure many others in the audience. He raised the question of why in the last 25 years we’ve managed to make such advances in technology and science and yet fundamentally failed to protect our children and offer them the life-changing opportunity of education. If we wish to see a change in the next 25 years, it is for us to stand up and make it happen.

Posted by: Posted on by Andrew Small Tagged with: , ,

Nov 13 2014

How will the UNHCR’s statelessness campaign affect Africa?

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Bronwen Manby is an independent consultant and Visiting Fellow at the Centre for the Study of Human Rights at LSE.  She previously worked for the Open Society Foundations, which have supported advocacy on the right to a nationality in Africa. This article originally appeared in African Arguments.

UNHCR_statelessnesscampaignOn 4th November 2014 the UN launched a global campaign to end statelessness within ten years. I confidently predict that the result of this campaign will be to ‘increase’ statelessness by many millions of people. This is not because I think that the campaign is misconceived — far from it — but because the statistics on the numbers of stateless persons are currently so inadequate that one of the main impacts of greater attention to the issue will be that currently uncounted populations will come into focus.

This is a good thing.  At the same time, the Global War on Terror, so-called, is bringing a huge push to improve documentation of populations. The effort to ensure that all are documented will certainly mean that some who thought they were nationals, or who got by as best they could, will find that they cannot get the new documents: that they are stateless.   The risk is that this second initiative may overwhelm the first.

What does this mean for Africa?

Since 2006, the UNHCR has begun to count the populations who are stateless (or of undetermined nationality) around the world. For Sub-Saharan Africa the number published in the agency’s Global Trends report for 2013 was the strangely precise 721,303. This total was made up almost entirely of numbers for Côte d’Ivoire (700,000) and Kenya (20,000), with the 1,303 coming from Burundi (1,302) and Liberia (a single person recorded).  A further six countries were marked with an asterisk, indicating that statelessness is known to be a significant, but unquantified, problem: the Democratic Republic of Congo, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Madagascar, South Africa, and Zimbabwe.

The figure of 700,000 for Côte d’Ivoire is in fact a number supplied by the new(ish) government there, made up of “descendants of immigrants” (400,000) and “children abandoned at birth” (300,000).  Notoriously, Côte d’Ivoire’s nationality code failed to provide any clarity on who became Ivorian at independence; while since 1972 the country has had no provision in its law attributing nationality to children of unknown parents. But it is clear that the number of stateless persons is pulled out of thin air, with no basis in any statistical method.

The number for Kenya is equally unscientific, though people of Nubian, Somali and other groups undoubtedly have problems in obtaining recognition of Kenyan citizenship; problems which have been exacerbated by the series of bombings in Nairobi attributed to people of Somali ethnicity whether with Kenyan citizenship or not, and not solved by provisions in the 2010 constitution for persons established in Kenya since independence to apply for recognition of nationality.

For the other countries, the numbers may add up to several hundreds of thousands of additional people; depending on the methodologies used.  In DRC, the nationality status of the entire Banyarwanda population is generally disputed, and their total numbers may be up to one million according to some assertions (though nobody knows); albeit some will certainly have documents showing Congolese nationality.

In Zimbabwe, the extremely literalist application of rules prohibiting dual nationality left tens of thousands without recognition of Zimbabwean citizenship and struggling to obtain documents from any other country; many were unable to do so. The new 2013 constitution permits dual citizenship except for those naturalising as Zimbabwean, but the Citizenship Act is unaltered since the last amendments in 2003, with no proposals for reform on the table, leaving much room for confusion.

Ethiopia and Eritrea are still failing to deal with the nationality fall-out from their separation and two year war, with many thousands of people of Eritrean descent in Ethiopia still facing challenges in getting Ethiopian documents, though they are not Eritrean. Madagascar has a long-standing population of several tens of thousands of people of Indian descent who have struggled since independence to have recognition of Malagasy nationality.

The fact that South Africa features in the list may surprise: South Africa’s constitution provides for every child to have the right to a nationality from birth, and its citizenship act states that a child born in South Africa who can claim no other nationality is South African. But the law also provides that any such child must have formal registration of birth, and the government (after a major push since 1994 to increase birth registration) is now making it more difficult for foreigners to register the birth of their children, and is contesting applications for South African citizenship in court.

We only know about these cases because national organisation Lawyers for Human Rights is providing legal assistance: other African countries without a human rights group making a systematic effort to help those who cannot get nationality documents do not have the same level of attention, and the problem of statelessness remains invisible.

But the more surprising thing about the UNHCR list is the countries that are missing: Sudan, for example, where the secession of South Sudan in 2011 has created a population of several hundred thousand at risk of statelessness, mainly persons of South Sudanese origin whose Sudanese nationality has been automatically removed by law.

Nigeria’s constitution creates a pure descent-based system of citizenship, with emphasis on the idea of “indigeneity”, but no legal definition of “indigene” and no system for obtaining proof of nationality.  In practice, proof of Nigerian-ness is a “certificate of indigeneity” issued by a local government area — a document for which there is no legal authority.  With the concern over Boko Haram and the introduction this year of a system of biometric ID cards there is every risk that blameless individuals belonging to “suspect” social groups will find themselves suddenly defined as not Nigerian.

Meanwhile, a population of more than a hundred thousand living on the Bakassi peninsula transferred to Cameroonian sovereignty by the International Court of Justice are now left without recognition or documentation of either Cameroonian or Nigerian nationality.

There are also some thousands of former refugees from Liberia, Sierra Leone and Rwanda still living in their host countries after the invocation of the cessation clauses under the 1951 Refugee Convention. They now have no continued recognition of refugee status, nor of their original nationality, nor of the nationality of the country where they now live.

The Tanzanian government has blown hot and cold over the grant of nationality to around 170,000 Burundian refugees from the 1970s who were approved for citizenship but never received their documents; in the last few weeks, certificates of naturalisation have again been promised.

Other groups at risk of statelessness across all countries in Africa include persons following a nomadic pastoralist lifestyle, who often face difficulties in obtaining recognition of nationality in any of the countries where they habitually graze their livestock; members of ethnic groups that cross international borders, where both states see them as belonging to the other; those displaced by conflict, whether internally or across international borders, especially those who are not registered by UNHCR; children of national mothers and foreign fathers, in countries where gender discrimination is still applied; and trafficked, abandoned and orphaned children, including especially those born out of wedlock, whose identity is not documented and who cannot establish nationality on reaching adulthood. Although members of these groups may be theoretically eligible for nationality under the law, they often face insurmountable problems in obtaining recognition of nationality in fact.

Why does this matter? 

A couple of quotes may suffice.  A member of a Fulani pastoralist community living in a village tellingly named Sabon-Gari (“strangers’ quarter”) in the far north of Benin interviewed in May of this year highlighted the consequences even for those apparently most remote from state structures: “Because no country recognises us, we live as if we were in prison”.  Rebel leader — and future prime-minister — Guillaume Soro of Côte d’Ivoire emphasised the foundation of the civil war in that country in the right to a nationality: “Give us our identity cards and we’ll hand over our Kalashnikovs”. For both individual rights and political stability, nationality law matters.

The truth is that it is almost impossible to come up with definitive numbers for stateless persons, or those whose nationality is currently undocumented and who may be stateless.  The line between those who have a nationality and those who are stateless is not necessarily a clear one, and it may only gradually become apparent that a person is, in fact, “not considered as a national by any state under the operation of its law” (the official international law definition).

For me, it is enough that UNHCR simply notes that particular countries have potentially significant numbers of stateless persons, and identifies the reasons why: far better to concentrate on addressing the problems than trying to get the ‘correct’ statistics; and, in any event, identification as ‘stateless’ may not be a helpful outcome for the people concerned, who simply seek recognition of nationality by the country where they have always lived.

The good news is that the African Union institutions are beginning to recognise this problem, as well as the UN.  As a result of advocacy from a group of civil society organisations under the banner of CRAI, the Citizenship Rights in Africa Initiative, the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights adopted a resolution in April 2013 calling for wider recognition of the right to nationality and commissioning a study on the problem. In May 2014, after considering the report, the Commission resolved to draft a protocol to the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights on the right to a nationality in Africa.

This is progress: nationality law has been left up to state discretion for too long, and the lack of real norms has left individual countries to adopt exclusionary laws in a human rights vacuum.  In the meantime, the UNHCR campaign to end statelessness will surely help, by shining a spotlight on the issue and putting more pressure on states to address the issues — even as it will also surely increase the numbers recognised to be at risk.

Posted by: Posted on by Zoe Gillard Tagged with: , , ,

Nov 10 2014

On fantasy island: the seven myths undermining human rights in the UK today

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Bernard Keenan is a PhD student in the LSE Law department and former immigration solicitor. He is researching the operation of Closed Material Procedures in UK law.

When myth, fantasy and human rights collide

A number of dangerous fantasies currently pervade discussion of human rights law in the UK; worryingly, some of them come from judges themselves. So said Professor Conor Gearty, former Director of the Centre for the Study of Human Rights at LSE and currently Director of the Institute for Public Affairs, at the Wyndham Place Trust Corbishley lecture, held last week at LSE. (Podcast).

The seven myths that Gearty warns of highlight how easy it is to forget the political and historical struggles that underpin the legal status of human rights. The fantasies are as follows:

1. The myth of liberal historical progress. It is easy to kid ourselves that history is one big rationalising march towards progressively higher states of enlightenment. Such views always implicitly take the present moment as a destination, a vantage point to survey and simplify the past. But this view means obscuring or ignoring the struggles, compromises, and contingencies that produced the present situation, forgetting injustices even of the very recent past. The result is the fantasy that we now live in an age of human rights enlightenment, which cannot be reversed. But politics hasn’t gone away, and this over-confidence is dangerous.

2. The common law as the origin and protector of civil liberties. In recent months and years, the UK Supreme Court has encouraged common law revivalism, seeking to base arguments and decisions on English law as opposed to European Convention rights. This is based on the myth that the common law is the best protection for rights in the UK. This rosy revisionism ignores the fact that common law rights were historically derived from property ownership, and fundamentally concerned with protecting it. Common law rights have nothing to do with a concept of human dignity or universality. For instance, the common law said nothing about racial discrimination, the suppression of women, privacy, or the right to free association. Historically, common law rights were more frequently invoked to block progressive change in British society – change that only came about through political struggle translated into positive law by Parliament.

What is more, this recent common law revivalism must be understood in the context of controversial judgments over the past 15 years or so, most notably the case of Jackson, in which courts have suggested that Parliamentary sovereignty – the fundamental principle of English political arrangements – is merely a common law invention. The scene is now set for a situation in which judges may even refuse to recognise the validity of an Act of Parliament, should they deem it to be contrary to the common law notion of the British constitution. Democracy in England, it seems, is now limited to whatever the judges decide it requires; a truly remarkable and constitutionally dangerous situation.

3. The delusion that the Human Rights Act overrides Parliamentary sovereignty. While the judges construct a jurisprudence of legal supremacy over political supremacy, a different fantasy is promoted in the UK public imagination – a myth dishonestly encouraged by David Cameron’s government – that the Human Rights Act forces the British government to obey the decisions of a bunch of foreign judges in the European Court of Human Rights over in Strasbourg, and so we need to take the power back. This is simply wrong. As it stands, the Human Rights Act 1998 makes clear that if an Act of Parliament conflicts with ECHR human rights law, the Act of Parliament prevails. Yet it takes political courage for government to be honest about this, courage that Cameron’s coalition apparently doesn’t have.

The irony is that this myth is being peddled in order to gain support for a move to repeal the Human Rights Act. Yet if Parliament repealed the Human Rights Act, which upholds Parliamentary sovereignty, it would open the door to the form of common law judicial activism mentioned above. Judges have already stated in terms that they will not acknowledge Parliamentary sovereignty if they aren’t happy with the legislation’s impact on rights. Repealing the Human Rights Act would create uncertainty, exacerbating the potential for an acute constitutional crisis. Repeal will lead directly to the problem it pretends to solve.

4. The myth that Strasbourg is supreme. Strasbourg judgments are not directly implemented in the UK, but as we saw above, the government seems to want to pretend that they have no choice but to implement the decisions. This is untrue. If the government wants to implement a judgment from Strasbourg, the relevant minister can make the amendments. If it does not, it simply does nothing. Either way, the architecture of the Human Rights Act leaves the ultimate decision to HM Government, and accountability lies with Parliament.

5. The fantasy of the neutral judge. Recently, some senior judges have made supposedly neutral calls for the Strasbourg court to row back on developments it has made to the meaning and substance of human rights in the ECHR. They say this should stop and instead the court must go ‘back to basics’, limiting decisions to the ‘plain’ meaning of the written list of rights. But this kind of call for ‘originalist’ approaches to jurisprudence is not neutral at all. It is fundamentally political; specifically conservative, seeking to limit the application of human rights law to fewer situations than it currently does. We should recognise such disguised rhetoric for what it is.

6. The myth that Strasbourg decisions must be followed by the UK courts. Section 2 of the Human Rights Act 1998 upholds the ultimate authority of the UK Supreme Court in interpreting the law of the land. Section 2 requires English judges to ‘take into account’ Strasbourg decisions, but they are legally empowered to reach different conclusions to the Strasbourg court on all human rights issues. The proof is the case of prisoner’s voting rights, in which the Supreme Court ruled contrary to Strasbourg’s decision, and yet that is precisely the case used by the government and press to dishonestly agitate for repeal of the Human Rights Act. The Human Rights Act already contains the answer to the problem it is accused of creating.

7. The fantasy of English exceptionalism. The assumptions behind the political distrust of human rights law and the fantasies detailed above rest on an outmoded view of England’s role in the world, and on what really matters to the people living here. It reflects an elitist, exceptional vision of Britain, rooted in nostalgia for the lost Imperial dream. Indulging this dream, amplifying these fantasies, only takes us further down a dangerous road.

It may seem counter-intuitive to argue for the protection of human rights law by way of a strong defence of Parliamentary supremacy. But Professor Gearty’s intervention is a political one. It is underpinned by his commitment to republican values, in the classic sense of res-publica: that society is fundamentally a political community and that politics is of fundamental importance. This leads to a conception of rights not as something metaphysical good or universally self-evident, but as legal instruments that we, as a public, have democratically agreed on as being a common political good. We must therefore preserve the possibility of repealing the Human Rights Act, should we decide to do so. And this political freedom is reflected in the structure of the Human Rights Act itself.

The danger comes from those who would peddle fantasies about the status of rights in our society for other disguised political ends. Historically, people struggled and died for political recognition of rights. Rights are rooted in politics. Today, we must guard against both cynical political attempts by press and politicians to mislead about the reality of the situation and conservative interventions by judges that, however well intentioned, will do more harm than good.

Posted by: Posted on by Andrew Small Tagged with: ,

Nov 6 2014

Do we need to rethink the right to democracy?

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Nicolette Stickland studied the MSc Human Rights in 2012-2013.  Before that she studied BA History and Politics at the University of Oxford.  She is currently working at the think-tank CentreForum, helping with their events programme and conducting research into community schooling.

ballot boxSince the official birth of modern human rights discourse, which started with the adoption by the United Nations’ General Assembly of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948 (UDHR), the ‘right to democratic participation’ has been consistently included in some form or other in all major human rights instruments.  In the UDHR it is included in Article 21. In the case of the European Convention on Human Rights, the first additional Protocol (1952) includes a specific and remediable article on the right to democracy (Article 3): ‘The High Contracting Parties undertake to hold free elections at reasonable intervals by secret ballot’. This represents the fundamental core of democracy: the demos (the people) having frequent and genuine choice of who governs them. Yet despite the codification of this democratic basis, democracy is widely proclaimed to be in crisis across nearly all western democracies, and it can be argued that at least in part this decline is linked to a faulty conceptualisation of the right to democracy, both in rights instruments and in popular discourse.

Data from the International IDEA database of elections, looking at worldwide turnout in parliamentary elections over the period 1945-2001, shows a steep decline in voter turnout since the mid-1980s. Analysis by Pintor, Gratschew and Sullivan showed that so-called ‘established democracies’ have seen a steady decline in voter turnout since the 1970s. In the UK, turnout by 2010 had fallen to 65.1%, less than two-thirds of those eligible to vote. Concurrently there has been a decline in support for the historically dominant, politically mainstream political parties across Western societies, with declines both in membership of these parties and in those who would classify themselves as strong and consistent supporters in electoral terms. According to the House of Commons Library, in 2012 just 1.1% of the UK electorate was a member of one of the three main parties, Conservatives, Labour or the Liberal Democrats. Cross-european data demonstrates that this marked decline in party membership is repeated in countries across Europe. Even more troubling, declining orientation in favour of existing democratic establishments across Western societies has usually been paralleled by an increase of support for extremist parties, which espouse if not openly anti-democratic values, at least illiberal and sometimes anti-rights ones. Some of the more frightening examples include Greece’s Golden Dawn party, which has hard-line anti-Semitic and homophobic views and has been linked with attacks on political opponents, or the German National Democratic Party, a neo-Nazi party which calls for a return to Germany’s pre-World War II boundaries.

Part of the reason for this apathy and even anti-democratic feeling seems to be that democracy is often viewed as only an entitlement rather than a participative right; a passive gift from a benign state rather than a foundation for a reciprocal and productive relationship between that institution and its individual citizens. Even in the established and historical democracies of Western Europe and North America, where we hubristically lament the lack of ‘a culture of democracy’ in other parts of the world, the democratic right seems to have retracted to consist solely of guaranteeing free and fair elections. Once that is done, the reasoning seems to go, that box is ticked and that right is fulfilled.

Of course as the European Convention protocol states, ‘free elections at reasonable intervals by secret ballot’ remain the most important part of the right to democracy. Yet they are not the whole part. Added emphasis should be placed on some form of inclusive reciprocity, of the right to be fully informed and involved in the political life of your country on a deeper and more meaningful basis than simply marking a cross on a ballet once every five years (or not even that, as is the case with more than 30% of the electorate in Britain). The central foundation of the right to democracy as an active right is education, allowing ordinary citizens to be placed on a footing in which they feel equipped to put across their views, to organise and agitate for reform and policy change; to challenge their elected politicians at their own game. While not taking away from other subjects, it would not be too much of a financial or time burden to include just an hour of compulsory weekly Citizenship courses up to age 16 in British schools.

Greater efforts should also be made to ensure that the democratic right to participate is a constant and ongoing one, not a transitory and periodic one. This does not mean reducing the time between general elections, or having referendums on every piece of legislation. But it does mean engaging more regularly and directly with the electorate.  Increased use of technology and social media, including weekly radio phone-ins, Twitter question sessions and the UK government petitions website should be embraced across parties and become a standard feature of the political landscape.

By viewing the right to democracy as a participative right we can have some hope of restoring the legitimacy of our democratic arrangements and of responding on a more legitimate and universal basis to global issues.

Posted by: Posted on by Maria Werdine Tagged with: ,

Oct 9 2014

No monkeying around: animals can and will have human rights

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Alasdair Cochrane is a Lecturer in Political Theory at University of Sheffield. His main research interests include: contemporary political theory, rights theory, human rights, environmental ethics, animal ethics and bioethics. Between 2007 and 2011 Alasdair Cochrane was Fellow and then Lecturer in the Centre for the Study of Human Rights at LSE. This article originally appeared in The Conversation.

Get with the programme, humans (Eric Kilby CC-BY-SA)

Get with the programme, humans (Eric Kilby CC-BY-SA)

A US appeals court is currently hearing the case of a chimpanzee named Tommy and is to decide if he has the right to bodily integrity and liberty, just like a person. The case, brought by the Nonhuman Rights Project, which is concerned about Tommy’s living conditions, is hugely significant.

The questions debated in this New York court have implications beyond the question of whether former circus animal Tommy should be moved from the shed in which he is held captive to a chimp sanctuary with conditions more conducive to his well-being. What is really being considered is whether human rights can transcend the species divide.

At first, this question might seem extremely odd. After all, isn’t the very point of human rights that they belong only to humans? Surely the clue is in the name. But names can limit our moral imaginations, often with terrible results. Before the idea of human rights was established in the aftermath of the horrors of World War II, there was the older idea of the rights of man. When it was argued that these rights excluded half the human population, defenders of the status quo pointed out that the clue was in the name.

In the same way, the question of whether human rights can transcend the species divide is simply a way of asking who we include when we talk about basic rights. Nobody now regards the old limits of sex, race, nationality, religion and property ownership as justifiable reasons for excluding others from basic rights. But is species?

Traditionally, the justification for reserving a special class of basic protections exclusively for humans was based on religious grounds. The argument went like this: “We humans alone possess souls, so we alone merit the special rights that God has granted us.” But in contemporary societies that are marked by religious pluralism and atheism this argument is no longer viable.

More common contemporary arguments for keeping our privileged political and legal status are based on our cognitive complexity. But this justification has been convincingly challenged too. The cognitive abilities of other animals, such as chimpanzees, are now much better understood and a range of skills thought exclusive to humans, such as tool and language use, have been witnessed in chimps and other animals.

It is also a simple fact that not all human beings – such as young infants and the seriously mentally disabled – possess the advanced capacities that are thought to establish these basic rights. It is precisely these vulnerable individuals who are considered to be most worthy of the special protections that basic rights offer, yet we don’t extend them to animals.

Many argue that we need a special class of rights that are exclusive to the human species simply because we have different needs and interests to other animals. It would, for example, be absurd to extend the right to a fair trial or the right to marry to other animals. And of course they are right to argue that. But this point ignores that it would be absurd to extend such rights to many human beings too. Human babies do not need the right to marry and no one would suggest they would. Human rights are differentiated, with different groups of humans often possessing quite different basic rights. There seems no obvious reason why this practice should not also extend beyond human beings.

Critics of the Tommy case would warn that we need to draw the line somewhere. Once we cross the species divide and grant basic rights to certain animals, what is to stop us awarding them to plants, rocks and electricity pylons? Perhaps not much. And indeed, Ecuador and Bolivia have already recognised the rights of Mother Nature in their constitutions.

I share the common view among human rights theorists and practitioners that basic rights are about protecting an individual’s well-being.  And to have well-being is not merely to benefit from certain goods, but also to experience the benefits of those goods. On this view, then, basic rights should not be extended to all things, but certainly should be extended all other animals who possess conscious life.

A decision on Tommy’s status is due in the next few weeks but whatever the outcome, it is clear that more cases and more decisions are coming. It is only a matter of time until the species sectarianism of human rights is overturned and becomes as anachronistic as the rights of man.

Posted by: Posted on by Zoe Gillard Tagged with: ,

Oct 8 2014

Access to Remedy: an International Tribunal for Business and Human Rights?

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Hilary Stauffer is a Visiting Fellow at LSE’s Centre for the Study of Human Rights. She is an international lawyer with extensive experience working on projects in the U.S., Europe, Africa, and Asia. Her specialties include International Law, Rule of Law, Human Rights, Humanitarian Affairs and Diplomacy.

"Miners at Work Potosi" by Christophe Meneboeuf

“Miners at Work Potosi” by Christophe Meneboeuf

On 29 September 2014, global law firm Clifford Chance, Notre Dame Law School and the Business and Human Rights Resource Centre co-hosted a panel discussion to examine the possibility of developing an International Arbitration Tribunal on Business and Human Rights.  The proposal was put forward by Lawyers for Better Business (L4BB), an organisation which advocates for increased corporate social responsibility, and the discussion was the latest in a series of consultation exercises L4BB is undertaking to probe the strengths and weaknesses in its proposal.

Attendees were comprised of business and human rights advocates, academics, lawyers and NGOs activists. It was a full house, which is not surprising given that interest in this field is increasing at an exponential rate (reflected, for example, by the abundant resources provided by LSE’s own Investment and Human Rights project).  The discussion was wide-ranging and spirited, and no dominant consensus emerged on any issues. Given the diversity of attendees, there were numerous competing views put forward for further consideration, which will be incorporated into future drafts of L4BB’s proposal.

Dialogues such as these are a vitally important part of the maturation of the business and human rights debate, which for many years languished as a neglected off-shoot of corporate social responsibility.  From its origins in toothless ‘Environment, Health & Safety’ policies that companies proliferated in the late 1990s, business and human rights concerns first turned to fair labour practices and supply chain management—issues which remain at the forefront of many NGO activities. However, since the promulgation of the United Nations’ Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights and their subsequent unanimous endorsement by the Human Rights Council in 2011, the business and human rights field has become the new Wild West of corporate social responsibility, with several competing initiatives angling for prominence. This chaotic atmosphere was reinforced in June 2014 by the creation of an ‘inter-governmental working group’ under the auspices of the UN to explore the development of a binding treaty ‘to regulate, in international human rights law, the activities of transnational corporations and other business enterprises.’

The Guiding Principles have three main pillars: the State duty to protect human rights, the corporate responsibility to respect human rights, and access to remedy for victims of human rights abuse.  All of these concepts are still in their infancy, at least with regard to business enterprises.  Nevertheless, it is the concept of ‘access to remedy’ that many observers find the most intriguing, and it is precisely this concept that the proposed International Arbitration Tribunal would address. At its core, the proposal asks ‘how do we bring multinationals to the table?  Would they be more likely to take part in a civil process where the outcome could be reasonably predicted’? Seeking, perhaps, to avoid the litigious naming-and-shaming techniques that have been employed by NGOs in recent years with varying degrees of success, the answer appears to be: ‘maybe’.

The proposed Tribunal is grounded in the alternative dispute resolution world of arbitration and mediation.  Criminal courts are generally not competent to regulate human right abuses, as the remedy for such violations is almost always financial restitution as opposed to criminal sanctions. Civil courts are thus better situated to adjudicate such claims, but may have to contend with severe backlogs, judges and lawyers unfamiliar with human rights law, or questions of extraterritorial jurisdiction. It is this last point which presents a significant stumbling block: human rights abuses committed by multinational corporations often take place in developing countries, whose judicial systems may be under-developed, under-resourced and ill-suited to hear such claims. However, the hurdles to bring such cases in courts in Europe and the United States are significant, both logistically and jurisdictionally. Thus, victims are left with no real recourse.

The International Arbitration Tribunal for Business and Human Rights could provide a useful alternative forum in which to address these issues. Housed in a neutral location and staffed by experienced negotiators, participants would voluntarily consent to avail themselves of its services, thus nominally lessening the adversarial nature of the proceedings.  The Tribunal could introduce some much sought-after certainty in the adjudication of human rights violations: disputants would know in advance what the catalogue of potential claims were, and therefore what the possible penalties could be, all of which might induce multinationals to embrace a process that avoided the ambiguous outcome of a court case.

Nonetheless, this rosy outlook may be overly optimistic. Panel participants at the panel event identified several potential weaknesses with the draft proposal as it currently stands, which L4BB will have to address in subsequent drafts. Foremost in many minds was the source of law the Tribunal would use in making its decisions—international human rights law is not an option, because its obligations attach to State parties, not individuals or corporations. (At present, the Tribunal’s proponents suggest that national tort laws may be the best option.) Two panellists debated the merits of mediation versus arbitration: the former process is conciliatory in nature, the latter imposes a quasi-judicial ruling.  Several attendees questioned whether either corporations or victims would have an incentive to participate. NGOs in particular were concerned about the potential transparency of any proceedings, but corporate litigators who were present noted that arbitration hearings are usually confidential. And underlying all other issues was the question of who would fund the Tribunal.

There are no easy answers. Business and human rights is currently very much in vogue, but providing an access to an effective remedy for victims of human rights violations remains an enduring challenge in all branches of international law. Time will tell if the proposed International Arbitration Tribunal is viable. However, in the interim, its creators should be commended for thinking of a creative alternative to the dysfunctional status quo.

Posted by: Posted on by Maria Werdine Tagged with: , ,

Sep 26 2014

Beware the Beating Drums of War

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Maria Werdine Norris @MariaWNorris is a final year PhD candidate at the London School of Economics and Political Science. She is researching the British Counterterrorism strategy and legislation, with a focus on nationalism, security and human rights.

Photograph: Chris Radburn/PA

Photograph: Chris Radburn/PA

Over ten years ago, Tony Blair spoke to Parliament on the eve of the vote on the Iraq War: “the outcome of this issue will now determine more than the future of the Iraqi people. It will determine the way Britain and the world confront the central security threat of the 21st century.”

The Iraq War has indeed determined how the UK and the world deal with the security threat of terrorism: bombs and rhetoric. Earlier this week, the United States started a bombing campaign against ISIS, the terrorist group that calls itself the Islamic State. Today, after a long debate in Parliament, the UK has decided to follow suit.

We live in times of nebulous, permanent insecurity, where we rely on the words of political leaders to tell us whether or not we are safe. Barack Obama tells us that there can be no reasoning with this brand of evil, this network of death. David Cameron says that this is about psychopathic terrorists that are trying to kill us. Senior EU officials warn that a major terrorist attack is inevitable. Michael Fallon, the Defence Secretary, cautioned that this campaign could last for years. But this is not a new campaign. It is the so called war on terror of over a decade ago. We have been here before. We have been here for a long time.

The humanitarian situation in Syria and Iraq is unsustainable. But as a justification for the latest round of military intervention, we are told of the 500 British citizens and around 3,000 Europeans  have gone to fight in Syria; we worry and speculate over the British accent of the ISIS militants appearing on YouTube. Coming as it does on the heels of a long campaign of highlighting the ISIS threat to the UK, the suspicion is that this latest round of bombs has very little to do with humanitarian aid.

Are bombs the best way to fight ISIS, let alone the best way to help the people of Syria and Iraq? It is difficult to say when we are not presented with alternatives. All we have are the words of elected officials immersed in a culture of secrecy. And just like a decade ago, there is a lack of public scrutiny on the nature of the threat. We are told that to release detailed information on the threat from ISIS would damage national security. This creates what Gareth Peirce (2012, p10) calls the dangerous circularity of national security:

“Deference is fed in part by ignorance, and ignorance is fed in turn by claims that secrecy is essential.”

This deference and ignorance in turn creates what Rosa Brooks irreverently calls a state of threatiness, where we cannot articulate why something is a threat, or offer evidence to back up our claims.

But in a ‘state of threatiness’, we remain in the dark. And the dark is a dangerous place to be if you care for human rights. In the dark, we believe in the false dichotomy constructed between liberty and security. Countless human rights violations have taken place during this war. Abu Ghraib, water-boarding, enhanced interrogation, sensory deprivation are words that should be imprinted in our minds. There are still over 100 prisoners in Guantanamo Bay, and at least 30 of them are on a hunger strike. Over a dozen of those on hunger strike have been force-fed. Over 4,000 people have been executed without a trial in Pakistan, Yemen and Somalia under the CIA Drone Programme. And after all this time, we still have not had a functioning Torture Inquiry in the UK.

All of us who care about human rights, and about the humanitarian crisis in the Middle East should be wary of inflated threats that are not subjected to scrutiny.  And we should have no doubt that the war that started so many years ago is nowhere close to ending. After eleven long years, we remain in the dark, hearing the beating drums of war, whilst our government keeps holding its finger to the dam, hoping that it won’t burst and engulf us all.

Posted by: Posted on by Maria Werdine Tagged with: , , , , , , , ,

Sep 16 2014

Irom Sharmila : The World’s longest hunger strike in World’s largest ‘democracy’


Ravi Nitesh is an India-based human rights activist. He is the founder of Mission Bhartiyam, an organisation working in the fields of peace & harmony, human rights and environment. He is a core member of Save Sharmila Solidarity Campaign, a nation-wide campaign in support of Irom Sharmila and the repeal of AFSPA.

Irom Sharmila Chanu

Irom Sharmila Chanu

In India, the world’s largest ‘democracy’, there is an activist named Irom Sharmila Chanu (popularly known as “Iron lady of Manipur”) who has been on hunger strike since November 2nd, 2000. Her hunger strike is the longest in the world and is still continuing.

Irom Sharmila is demanding the repeal the Armed Forces Special Powers Act 1958 (AFSPA). She started her hunger strike after the ‘Malom incident’ (also known as the Malom massacre), wherein 10 people, who were waiting at bus stand in Malom, were killed in the indiscriminate firing of the Assam Rifles. Irom became so affected by this incident that she decided to go on a protest against the AFSPA which permitted this and similar such incidents.

The AFSPA is a law which grants arbitrary powers to the armed forces. It empowers the armed forces (even non-commissioned officers) to shoot on mere suspicion, to arrest without warrant, to destroy property and to enter and search under section 4. But it doesn’t stop here.

The AFSPA also provides legal impunity to the armed forces. In the case of arrests without warrant, while the normal procedure elsewhere in India is to produce the person before the magistrate within 24 hours of arrest, section 5 of the AFSPA states that ‘Any person arrested or taken in to custody under this act shall be made over to the officer in charge of the nearest police station with least possible delay, together with a report of the circumstances occasioning the arrest’. A loophole has been created by the ‘least possible delay’, wherein no time frame is mentioned thereby creating an ever-increasing list of cases of disappearance.

The AFSPA was imposed in north eastern states of India (except Sikkim) and was later extended to Jammu & Kashmir as a counter insurgency law. It was passed by parliament without much debate and in spite of the objections of a few parliamentarians who were from the concerned regions. Since then, this law has continued in the same manner and this ‘counter insurgency’ strategy has not been changed or reviewed.

The law has resulted in extra-judicial killings, rapes, torture, disappearances and fake encounters with security forces. From the local public and organisations, to national and international organizations and individuals, many have come together to oppose this law. But because of section 6 of the AFSPA, which holds that no prosecution can be allowed against security personnel without prior permission from central government, the government has not allowed a single sanction for prosecution, despite several proven examples of human rights violations.

Irom Sharmila Chanu has been on a hunger-strike to repeal this law. The Manipur government lodged a case of “attempted suicide” when she started her strike in 2000. But in all case hearings, Irom Sharmila has always maintained that she does not want to commit suicide, instead she loves life and is fighting for people. She has re-iterated several times that, “I love my life but I want justice and peace”. Under section 309, the maximum punishment awarded is of up to one year and so every year, the court release and re-arrest her for the same case. During one such release, in 2006, Sharmila went to Delhi and offered a floral tribute on the memorial of Mahatma Gandhi, the father of the nation who also chose the path of hunger-strike during the colonial period. She then resumed her strike in Delhi.

The Manipur government has kept her prisoner in a security ward of Jawaharlal Nehru Hospital, Manipur, where she is force-fed through nasogastric intubation. She has not taken even a morsel or a drop of water through her mouth for 14 years. But still in these 14 years, the government has not taken any step to talk to her.

On August 19th 2014, the Imphal court ordered the release of Irom Sharmila on the grounds that there was “no supportive evidence for attempted suicide”. Sharmila was finally released, however, the government quickly registered a fresh case and re-arrested her after two days. During the arrest, she was dragged by security personnel and dumped in a jeep.

During her hearing at New Delhi in May, I had the opportunity to meet her. It was quite surprising and inspiring to see how she was so full of positivity and hope. In spite of suppression by the government, she expressed her hope for democracy. She never became irritated and did not say anything against the government.

I also met her during the court trial when the court was adjourned for lunch. It was revealed by the nurses who had accompanied her that Sharmila had been in court since the morning but, due to delay in court proceedings, it had not been possible to feed her through the nasal tube. The court was not bothered. I felt sad to see a lady who has not eaten for 14 years waiting for the court’s lunch break to end, but it had not bothered her. During the hearing, she again re-iterated that she loves her life and is not committing suicide. The court did nothing except give her the date for the next hearing.

This has been happening for 14 years in the ‘world’s largest democracy’. Irom continues to protest against the AFSPA, the AFSPA continues to violate human rights and the Government and judiciary continues to turn its back.

Posted by: Posted on by Maria Werdine Tagged with: , , , ,

Aug 12 2014

Guilty verdicts for Khmer Rouge killers – now let Cambodia’s wounds heal

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UN Photo/John Isaac.

UN Photo/John Isaac.

Peter Manning is a Fellow at the London School of Economics. His doctoral research focused on the relationship between the Khmer Rouge Trials and memory in Cambodia. Peter is a member of the LSE Centre for the Study of Human Rights research group Atrocity, Suffering and Human Rights and co-curated the LSE Human Rights Centre display of the ‘Reflections of the Khmer Rouge’ exhibition (original exhibition by DC-Cam). In 2008/9 Peter was appointed Visiting Research Fellow at the Centre for Social Development, Phnom Penh. This article originally appeared on The Conversation.

More than 40 years after the Year Zero horror of Cambodia’s Killing Fields, two of the most senior Khmer Rouge leaders have been found guilty of crimes against humanity and sentenced to life imprisonment.

Khieu Samphan, 83, the former Khmer Rouge head of state, and Nuon Chea, 88, a leading party ideologue, were prosecuted in the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC) for crimes committed under the “Democratic Kampuchea” regime, under which 1.7m people died of starvation, disease or were executed between 1975 and 1979.

The verdicts represent a moment of historic reckoning with Cambodia’s tragic past and are a significant landmark in the work of the troubled ECCC. Victims’ groups recognised by the ECCC have met the sentences with broad approval and the verdicts will undoubtedly contribute to some sense of accountability among those Cambodians who remain keen to see former Khmer Rouge figures prosecuted.

Khieu Samphan

Khieu Samphan: crimes against humanity

Mini trials

Despite the conclusion of this landmark trial, it is worth offering some cautionary reflections on this milestone. The guilty verdicts offered today are the outcome of proceedings that were increasingly winnowed and hastened in order to work as a “mini” trial.

In 2013, with one eye on the ailing health of defendants, the ECCC began a process of expediting its prosecutions against former leaders by breaking proceedings into more manageable “mini” cases.

Each of these will focus on a specific event or site – and today’s guilty verdicts in case 002/01 are for crimes against humanity perpetrated during the evacuation of Phnom Penh in 1975 only. They therefore reflect and acknowledge only a small part of Cambodia’s experiences of the Khmer Rouge.

Genocide charge

The pair will face the hugely significant charge of genocide in the next “mini” trial as the ECCC starts case 002/02 later this year. Yet the poor health of the defendants means that the next set of prosecutions may not be completed.

The failure to do so would mean that the longstanding and thorny question of genocide recognition in Cambodia goes unanswered. This would be a blow for many Cambodians given the historic reluctance of the international community to recognise genocide in Cambodia.

Moreover, the specific experiences and fate of some minority groups under the Khmer Rouge, such as the Muslim Chams and ethnic Vietnamese, would not be acknowledged as an important part of this tragic story. The likelihood that the ECCC will offer a partial and incomplete picture of the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge seems at odds with claims that the court can act to consolidate a historical record of Cambodia’s atrocities, or “set the record straight”.

There are further sobering issues to bear in mind. The first relates to the mandate and framing of the ECCC prosecutions. The ECCC can and will only prosecute “senior leaders” and most responsible persons.

The roles of large numbers of lower-level Khmer Rouge perpetrators, although often implicated during the ECCC proceedings, will go largely unexamined.

Nuon Chea

Nuon Chea: brother number two

Still hurting

It is important to remind ourselves that such lower-level perpetrators still live with and among victims. Many lower-level Khmer Rouge also lost friends and relatives to the internal purges of the Democratic Kampuchea regime and during the subsequent years of protracted civil war in Cambodia.

There are outstanding questions concerning reconciliation within Cambodian communities and we still need to better understand exactly how former perpetrators of atrocity have come to live in relative harmony in Cambodian society today. These are questions that the ECCC cannot attend to.

A final cautionary point concerns the relative indifference and apathy of many Cambodians toward the ECCC. Longstanding mistrust toward Cambodia’s judicial institutions, frustrations about the costs and delays with the court process, and the failure of the ECCC to properly account for the roles of various international actors in Cambodia’s history of political violence has led to many Cambodians losing interest in the ECCC.

Many in Cambodia’s human rights circles are also reluctant to recognise the legitimacy of a basic desire in many sections of Cambodian society to leave the past where it is.

Thinking about the rulings in the wider context of prosecutions for the gravest international crimes, it was inconceivable that there could have been anything other than guilty verdicts. It is worth reminding ourselves that all international criminal proceedings will always be symbolic and incomplete. For all its limitations – limitations that we should be at pains to remind ourselves of – the ECCC has offered verdicts today that will begin to help a nation draw a line under a terrible period in its history.

Posted by: Posted on by Bernard Keenan Tagged with: , , ,

Aug 1 2014

Steps Towards Statelessness

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Hilary Stauffer is a Visiting Fellow at LSE’s Centre for the Study of Human Rights. She is an international lawyer with extensive experience working on projects in the U.S., Europe, Africa, and Asia. Her specialties include International Law, Rule of Law, Human Rights, Humanitarian Affairs and Diplomacy.

POLITICS Passport 1On 28 July 2014, one of the more controversial provisions of the United Kingdom’s new Immigration Act came into force: the power to deprive naturalised British citizens of their passport, even if doing so would make them technically stateless. Civil libertarians, human rights activists and even the House of Lords were all understandably alarmed at this prospect, which nonetheless managed to make its way through a belaboured legislative process to eventually become law.

The move comes amidst the Coalition Government’s larger efforts to strengthen its counter-terrorism policies in response to the perceived threat from radical Islam, but the impetus for this particular amendment to the nation’s immigration laws appears to stem from a legal battle the Government lost last year. In the Al-Jedda case, the respondent—a native-born Iraqi who became a naturalised British citizen—was captured by US forces in Iraq in 2004 on suspicion of terrorist activities. He was eventually transferred to the custody of British forces in Iraq and held for three years, although never charged. Shortly before his release from British custody in 2007, his British citizenship was revoked.

Mr Al-Jedda eventually moved to Turkey, where he remains. His case became cause for controversy when he appealed against the deprivation order, arguing that the revocation of his British passport had rendered him stateless, as he had lost his Iraqi nationality upon become a naturalised citizen of the United Kingdom. The Home Office responded that because he would have subsequently been able to ‘regain’ Iraqi citizenship (and eventually did), he was not ‘technically’ stateless, and therefore the point was moot.

The resulting series of appeals was litigated all the way to the Supreme Court, who decided in Mr Al-Jedda’s favour in October 2013, ruling that the British Nationality Act of 1981 was fairly unambiguous on this issue when it stated that ‘[t]he Secretary of State may not make an order [to deprive a person of citizenship status] if he is satisfied that the order would make a person stateless’. Whatever other contributing factors may exist (including, for example, the possibility of whether the person in question could ‘quickly and easily re-acquire another nationality’) were of no consequence. The question, the Court said, was ‘simply whether the person holds another nationality at the date of the order depriving him of his British citizenship’.

While the introductory text for the new Immigration Act (which amends the Nationality Act) does not explicitly declare that it was drafted to address the Court’s ruling in Al-Jedda, it seems indisputable that this is precisely its purpose. Section 66 of the Immigration Act states that despite Nationality Act’s unequivocal prohibition on rendering someone stateless, the Home Secretary can go ahead and do it anyway, so long as:

  • the ‘citizen’ in question is a naturalised (rather than native-born) one;
  • the Government is ‘satisfied that the deprivation is conducive to the public good’ because the person in question has conducted himself ‘in a manner which is seriously prejudicial to the vital interests of the United Kingdom’; and
  • if there are ‘reasonable grounds for believing that the person is able, under the law of a country or territory outside the United Kingdom, to become a national of such a country or territory’.

To allay any concerns about arbitrary deprivation of citizenship, periodic reviews of revocation orders will be carried out. Possibly undermining this check on arbitrariness is the fact that decisions to revoke citizenship can be taken in secret, if the Government feels it necessary for reasons of ‘national security’ or ‘public interest’. Moreover, such orders can be retroactively applied, meaning that in making her decision to render someone stateless, the Home Secretary can take into account allegedly troubling behaviour that took place before the new Immigration Act was in force. Ex post facto laws are frowned upon in many democracies, and in fact prohibited by the Constitution of the United States.

Another disquieting aspect of these new statelessness provisions is not listed anywhere within the text of the Act itself, but was made evident during legislative debates about the Act before its adoption: revocation of citizenship is intended to occur when the person in question is out of the country. During deliberations regarding the Act, several MPs highlighted how administratively challenging it would be to deport a person if they had been deprived of their citizenship and left stateless ‘while present in the UK’. The House of Commons and House of Lords also examined this issue in their Joint Committee on Human Rights, querying whether it was kosher to deprive someone of nationality for the sole purpose of deportation. ‘The Government’, the Committee noted, ‘made clear that it intends to exercise the new power, leaving individuals stateless, when they are abroad’. This is a simple solution to the practical considerations at hand, although obviously deeply disturbing from a moral, ethical and procedural standpoint.

The legal implications of the new law are staggering, not only from a human rights perspective, but also in regards to inter-state relations. As Oxford professor Guy Goodwin-Gill pointed out in a paper submitted to Parliament about the possible repercussions of the new Immigration Act, when a State allows a non-citizen to enter, this manifests ‘a series of legal relationships with the State of which he is a national’. Crucially, this includes the receiving State’s right to ‘terminate the non-citizen’s stay by deporting him to the State which issued his passport’. Professor Goodwin-Gill emphasised that ‘returnability’ and the State of nationality’s obligation to admit its citizens ‘are central to the passport regime’, all of which are negatively impacted if someone’s citizenship is revoked after they have left their own country and legally entered another one.

In addition to possibly causing the UK to breach its international legal obligations to other States, the statelessness provisions of the Immigration Act may cause the UK to fall foul of its human rights commitments. The International Commission of Jurists calls statelessness ‘one of the most profound and serious human rights challenges in the world today’, and notes that stateless persons are ‘faced with immense barriers to legally travel, reside, work, study or receive health care’. This makes them ‘highly vulnerable to arbitrary detention, deportation, cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment and other human rights violations’. It is a mystery why the United Kingdom, which has ratified all the major United Nations’ human rights treaties and the European Convention on Human Rights (not to mention incorporating the ECHR domestically through the Human Rights Act), would undermine a legal regime it helped to create and often calls on others to abide by.

The Immigration Act is certain to prompt a number of legal challenges, both on human rights and more procedural grounds, as it effectively creates a two-tier system of citizenship, with one tier having significantly fewer legal protections than the other. As the new provisions begin to bite and these cases begin working their way through various jurisdictions, the Government may come to regret its impetuous decision to repudiate the Supreme Court’s decision in Al-Jedda. In the meantime, all naturalised British citizens beware.

Posted by: Posted on by Sara Ulfsparre Tagged with: , , , , ,