In 2023 the 1998 Belfast/Good Friday Agreement marks its twenty-fifth anniversary. For many the Agreement projects a global image of a successfully concluded end to conflict. However, key aspects of the agreement remain under-enforced or simply undelivered: in particular, provisions related to significant and wide-ranging guarantees addressing human rights and equality of opportunity. As a result, socio-economic and cultural deficits persist, undermining the capacity to achieve a ‘positive peace’. In this article we address the question of how transformative the Agreement and associated reforms have been in addressing the root causes of the conflict and the structures that underpinned it. In doing so, we deploy Clara Sandoval's typology of different forms of societal change – ‘ordinary’, ‘structural’ and ‘fundamental’ – to guide our thinking and analysis, and tackle the most fundamental of questions in peace agreement literature and practice: whether, in fact, peace agreements can undo the fundamental causes that trigger and sustain violence. The article outlines the transformative promise of the Agreement, the multiple interlocking factors that have undermined that promise and the role of civil society in sustaining that transformative potential. Our conclusions point to a more nuanced understanding of what constitutes the ‘ordinary’ in transitional settings and a caution against the hyperbole of the transformative. We view transformative change as slothlike in its emergence, specifically grounded in progressive and cumulative re-orderings that can accompany peace processes. Rather than a moment of radical change, transformation follows from the cumulative impact of symbolic gesture, specific legal provision, procedural practice, mechanisms of accountability, and an engaged and vibrant civil society.

Much discussion over Russia's 2022 invasion of Ukraine focuses on the inability to charge aggression. However, another approach might be available: charging this under the ICC crimes against humanity (CAH) residual clause. First proposed in 2010 by Benjamin Ferencz, who lamented the circumscribed reach of aggression under the ‘Kampala Compromise’, the proposal has met with scepticism, primarily given that textbook aggression targets military forces, not civilians. Yet, civilian populations disproportionately bear the brunt of the violence of modern aggression (often being its direct targets). Russia's 2022 invasion is but the most recent and compelling example. Thus, this article resuscitates Ferencz's proposal, arguing that Russian leaders could be charged with using illegal force as a CAH under the residual clause. This approach would have practical advantages: initiating aggression in the Kremlin links liability to Putin much more directly for killing Ukrainian civilians, and charging it as CAH opens human victims to ICC participation and reparations. There are theoretical advantages, too, with utilitarian/retributive objectives better satisfied. Moreover, Ferencz's approach is better than recently proposed alternatives: using aggression merely as a gravity/liability modes/sentencing enhancer or alleging breach of the right to self-determination as the residual clause gravamen (arguably creating problems with victim group identification).

This article explores the legal situation relating to the Sea of Azov in the light of the Russian suspension of shipping on 24 February 2022. While this act received little scholarly or political attention, there is a debate concerning the legality of the suspension of shipping, mainly whether it is governed by the law of naval blockade under the laws of naval warfare. The article analyses the situation from the perspectives of both international humanitarian law (IHL) and the law of the sea (LOS) and examines how the interaction between the two legal regimes affects the analysis. The article supports the conclusion that the Russian conduct does not constitute a naval blockade but may be an accepted practice within the legal regime of naval warfare. In addition, it holds that LOS affects both the laws of naval warfare and the status of the Sea of Azov. Furthermore, the article raises doubts as to the relevance and applicability of the legal concept of naval blockade in modern international law.

After being kidnapped by the FARC-EP guerrilla group in 1994, the Colombian war reporter Herbin Hoyos created the radio show Las Voces del Secuestro (roughly, The Kidnapped Voices). Every morning, for 24 years, the families of those abducted by the guerrilla group sent out public messages of remembrance, hoping that their loved ones, deep in the jungles of Colombia, would be able to hear the broadcasts on their radios. Although the show closed in 2018, its legacy lives on, not only in the collective memory of many Colombians but also as an exhibition at the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Museum in Geneva (Switzerland). This article examines this show as a dispositif of power and knowledge that (re)produces a particular understanding of law, justice and memory. The show was used by far-right actors in Colombia to mobilise against the recent (2016) peace process – its crown jewel, the Special Jurisdiction for Peace (JEP). As the JEP tackles the question of the FARC-EP kidnapping through its macro-case 01, the shadow of the Voces looms large over Colombia's transitional justice system. In the longest non-international armed conflict in Latin America, even radio waves served the continuation of war by other means.

Since Russia's full-scale aggression against Ukraine, there have been thousands of instances of civilian casualties, damage to the natural environment and cultural property, destruction of buildings and infrastructure, blockading of ports, siege, capturing installations containing dangerous forces, and other consequences that accompany hostilities. In addition to the fatalities related to humans (civilians and combatants alike) and their property or environment, the war in Ukraine has also accounted for non-human tolls – namely, the destruction of animals or damage to their habitats.

The primary objective of this article is to study three patterns of animal suffering documented during Russia's invasion of Ukraine: (i) targeting zoos and killing zoo animals; (ii) extermination of the Black Sea dolphin population; and (iii) eating pigeons or other pets in besieged localities, and to analyse these patterns in the light of applicable rules of international humanitarian law (IHL).

The idea of this research is to underline that war can have a significant effect on various categories of animals, and Russia's invasion of Ukraine is just another example of this. The article also discusses how, and the extent to which international law can provide protection for animals in armed conflict, and whether there are any gaps in the applicable IHL rules related to the protection of animals.

The commission of large-scale international crimes (namely, crimes against humanity, war crimes, and genocide) could result in populations fleeing from their homes, seeking protection. There is an increasing number of victims of these crimes who have been forcibly displaced and currently live in settlements widely known as refugee camps. Victims of international crimes have the right to receive reparations for the harm they have suffered. This means that international criminal tribunals, particularly the International Criminal Court, will have to consider reparations for victims in refugee camps in the near future when the victims seek to enforce their right to reparations. To date, the delivery of reparations in these contexts has not been analysed adequately in the academic literature; this is the gap that this article aims to discuss. The article explores the extent to which it is suitable and feasible to deliver reparations in refugee camps. One of the main arguments is that living in a refugee camp could compound the crime-related harm already sustained by victims. This feature, along with the instability of the situation of victims and the infrastructure of the camp, constitute key characteristics of refugee camps and should each be taken into consideration in delivering reparations. As this article suggests, the instability of the victims’ situation will inform which modalities of reparations are suitable to be delivered in the context of a refugee camp. Subsequently, the compounded harm and the camp's infrastructure will inform which particular reparative measures, corresponding to each modality, will be suitable and feasible – respectively – to be delivered. The methodology includes desk-based and qualitative research and analysis of primary and secondary sources and case studies.

The Hungarian government has been utilising emergencies to expand its political power instead of upholding constitutionalism and the rule of law. This strategy has given the government almost unlimited power to enact emergency decrees, even when the state and the population are not in immediate danger. The ninth amendment to the Fundamental Law of Hungary has raised concerns about the government's use of emergency powers, granting the executive branch even more authority during exceptional times by allowing the government to prolong the ‘state of exception’ indefinitely and maintain pandemic-related emergency measures to respond to potential consequences of the war in Ukraine. As a result, the executive body has been able to exert significant political control without proper parliamentary oversight.

The article seeks to raise awareness about the non-application of the norms of international humanitarian law (IHL) of international armed conflicts in situations of so-called internationalised armed conflicts – namely, when a non-state armed group (NSAG) that is engaged in an armed conflict against the territorial state enjoys a degree of support from another state. Debates in academic circles and international case law have focused largely on the appropriate test and threshold for establishing the relationship between the NSAG and the supporting state. Practice, however, shows that regardless of the legal test, the foreign state support to the NSAG in a (or an initially) non-international armed conflict is so politically charged that it leads to a complete non-application of the law of international armed conflict by the relevant actors. The article demonstrates its conceptual findings through four case studies: the armed conflicts in Donbas, Nagorno-Karabakh, Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Yemen. Regardless of strong indications of foreign state support to the NSAG in these armed conflicts, no relevant actors applied the IHL norms of international armed conflict. The article provides broader suggestions on the possible avenues for remedying the issue.

This article contributes to the understanding of why states resort to targeted, or smart, sanctions to meet the threat of cyber intrusions and whether this type of response is a forced measure or an effective tool to halt, prevent and punish attacking states. The tools of analysis used in the article are legal positivism and political theories, including Mancur Olson's theory of groups and Francesco Giumelli's analytical framework for assessment of sanctions. The authors address the effectiveness of sanctions as a reaction to cyber-enabled activities through the lens of regulation introduced in the United States, the European Union and the United Kingdom, which are the most developed counter-cyber sanction regimes, analysing publicly known cases of cyber-related sanctions.

The International Criminal Court (ICC) is a legal institution embedded in international politics. Politics shaped the Rome Statute of the ICC, which is rooted in norms and rules of European lineage and security interests of party states. Politics constrains and influences the operation of the Court, which has adapted in response to oversight and governance of the Assembly of States Parties, and to political actions extrinsic to institutional rules. The ICC also has political effects in situation states. A brief history shows that application of Rome Statute triggers across state parties with different social conditions skewed geographic distribution of its investigations and prosecutions towards Africa, a structural bias that catalysed a legitimation crisis for the ICC. Subsequent exercises of expansive jurisdiction aimed at nationals of non-African, non-party states – including Israel and some of the world's great powers – have dampened African complaints and advanced the ICC agenda, but intensified non-legitimacy claims by powerful non-party states. To survive, Court organs must follow legal mandates, yet be responsive to pressing international political demands, continuously risking the legitimacy of the ICC as a legal institution and adverse political reactions by antagonised governments. Careful management of the tension between law and politics at the ICC may modestly reduce antagonism towards the Court, but that tension cannot be resolved, and confrontations over the ICC's legitimacy are certain to recur.

An expert panel formed by Stop Ecocide International has proposed an amendment to the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court which, if adopted, would create a new international crime of ecocide. However, the panel's proposal is compromised throughout by anthropocentrism in the sense that it places too much emphasis on the needs of humans and not enough on the needs of the environment. It is argued here that this anthropocentric dilution of ecocide resulted from the panel's lack of standing, influence and confidence on the international stage. Its weakness pushed it towards a strategy of producing something palatable to states in the hope of securing their support. That strategy will prove futile. The article considers whether other actors, such as the international courts or experts working in different contexts, might be better placed to design the blueprint for ecocide. It concludes, tentatively, that the International Law Commission remains the architect best positioned to set out a bold vision of ecocide.