Defending Justice

The Essential Contributions of Support Staff in International Defense - An Interview with Cécile Lecolle

The Essential Contributions of Support Staff in International Defense

An Interview with Cécile Lecolle

Edited by Cailan Cumming, Kate Gibson & Paul R. Williams

A Note on Defending Justice

This blog is part of the Defending Justice series, an initiative of the Public International Law and Policy Group (PILPG) to promote an eclectic array of voices within the field of international criminal law. 

As part of our broader efforts to strengthen institutions of justice, this series seeks to create space for dialogue around the varied perspectives and concerns that shape these institutions. With that aim in mind, we interviewed a series of defense practitioners working in international criminal law and distilled their experiences and insights into a series of first-person blogs, preserving the spirit and voice of those interviews.

Editor’s Note

Justice in international criminal law is not solely determined by the strength of arguments or the weight of evidence—it is also shaped by those working behind the scenes. Support staff, often unseen and underappreciated, play a decisive role in the defense of the accused. Through the work of Cécile Lecolle, an experienced case manager and legal assistant, this blog explores the reality of defense support work in some of the most high-profile international criminal cases. Lecolle’s career demonstrates not only the immense responsibilities carried by support staff but also the broader inequities in international justice, including resource imbalances between the prosecution and defense, failures in disclosing exculpatory evidence, and the persistent stigma surrounding defense work. 

Introduction

My journey spans from the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) to the International Criminal Court and beyond. With a background in international public law and a specialization in international humanitarian law, I began my career with an internship at the ICTY, assisting in the judgment writing, and participating in the work of the Presiding Judge on his separate opinion in the Šešelj case

In one of the most contentious trials in the ICTY’s history, the Serbian politician Vojislav Šešelj was charged with incitement to commit war crimes and crimes against humanity.  Prosecutors alleged that Mr. Šešelj’s inflammatory speeches and recruitment efforts fueled ethnic violence during the Yugoslav Wars of the 1990s. His speeches called for the expulsion of Croats, Muslims, and other non-Serb populations, and he was accused of organizing paramilitary groups that committed atrocities. Ultimately, the trial sparked widespread debate about the limits of free speech and the burden of proof required to establish accountability for crimes of incitement.

Motivated to deepen my understanding of international criminal law, I pursued another internship with the defense team for Jean-Pierre Bemba at the ICC. The Bemba case, which involved allegations of crimes against humanity and war crimes in the Central African Republic, demonstrated to me the immense challenges defense teams face in managing extensive evidence. This work led to a paid position as a case manager, where I continued contributing to the Bemba case through the appeal stage. My career path then took me to the Residual Mechanism for Criminal Tribunals, where I worked as a case manager and legal assistant in Arusha. I later joined the Office of Public Counsel for the Defence at the ICC, conducting legal research for defense counsel on complicated and/or novel legal questions.  

My involvement as a legal assistant in the Al Hassan defense team at the ICC, which addressed war crimes and crimes against humanity in Mali, further shaped my career. Al Hassan ag Abdoul Aziz, a former member of Ansar Dine, an Islamist armed group, was charged with crimes committed during the occupation of Timbuktu. The case represented a significant step in addressing crimes that target cultural and historical identity as violations of international law.

In the Mokom case, I again acted as a legal assistant and supported the defense team through its pre-trial phase. Maxime Mokom, a leader in the Anti-Balaka militia in the Central African Republic, was accused of war crimes and crimes against humanity, including murder, extermination, deportation, and persecution. The ICC Prosecutor dropped all charges against Mr. Mokom after the hearing on the confirmation of charges, citing insufficient evidence. This case taught me the importance of exculpatory evidence in preserving the integrity of the judicial process.

I currently work as a legal assistant on the Kony defense team, focusing on the pre-trial phase of the case against Joseph Kony, alleged leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army in Central and East Africa. Mr. Kony faces charges of war crimes and crimes against humanity, including murder, enslavement, and forced enlistment of child soldiers. His case has drawn international attention as the first in absentia confirmation of charges hearing at the ICC, raising significant concerns regarding the rights of the accused and right to a fair trial. In addition to my role in the Kony case, I continue to offer pro bono support to other cases and work part time in France as an Associate Judge at the National Court of Asylum.

For me, defense work is both deeply rewarding and profoundly challenging. It is a formative and multifaceted pursuit, shaped by setbacks, stigma, administrative hurdles, and the ongoing struggle to uphold the rights of the accused. Despite these obstacles, my commitment to the field of defense continues, and I hope this blog provides meaningful insight into the contributions of those who work behind the scenes of the Defense in international criminal tribunals.   

The Role of Support Staff

In international criminal defense, support staff play a crucial and varied role, supporting counsel in every aspect of the case. From the initial stages of case preparation to the final stages of trial, support staff are integral in ensuring that defense teams are able to effectively represent the accused. There is a wide variety of roles within the support staff: interns, visiting professionals, case managers, legal assistants, assistants to counsel, and language assistants. Regardless of the title, most team members contribute broadly to many areas of the case. Whether researching legal precedent, analyzing evidence, discussing strategy with the client, managing case files, or preparing witnesses for testimony, support staff are deeply involved in the case’s progression.

Interns and visiting professionals are typically in the early stages of their careers looking to learn about the work of the ICC and in the case of visiting professionals, applying their specialized knowledge to an area of work. Language assistants are hired to help translate and analyze evidence and court documents in multiple languages, which is essential in ensuring that all evidence is correctly interpreted. Case managers, the first entry-level position within a defense team, are in charge of organizing and managing the case file. They are responsible for tracking deadlines, scheduling meetings, managing communications with the ICC Registry, and handling any administrative tasks. Most case managers are also involved in legal work, such as evidence review and legal research, contributing to the overall case strategy. 

Legal assistants typically have several years of experience in the field and are entrusted with more substantial legal responsibilities. They may assist with drafting legal documents, preparing witnesses, reviewing evidence, and even speaking in court, including questioning or cross-examining witnesses. Assistants to counsel have even more legal experience, and their work is often more strategic. They are trusted to take on the most complex legal tasks, contributing significantly to case strategy and court proceedings. 

One of the most significant responsibilities of support staff is managing evidence. This includes receiving documents from the prosecution, and then organizing, classifying, analyzing, and linking these documents together. This process is especially critical in the pre-trial phase, where understanding and becoming familiar with all the evidence is imperative before stepping into the courtroom. Organizing this mountain of information is no small task, and it requires immense attention to detail and a deep understanding of the case at hand. This is a central part of the work, and one that often requires long hours and a level of dedication that goes beyond the normal working day.

Support staff also often develop close relationships to the client, in some cases spending as much time with them as the rest of the defense team. Legal assistants, in particular, have privileged access to the client, which allows them to have confidential phone calls and visits, and means they are involved in many of the meetings between the support staff and the client. These interactions are at the heart of the defense team’s work, allowing support staff to gain insights into the client’s experiences, provide explanations of legal filings, discuss specific pieces of evidence or allegations, and ensure that they are well-informed and comfortable throughout the process.

Support staff can also play a role in shaping the defense strategy. As the team members who are often most intimately familiar with the case file, support staff serve as the “memory” of the case. By organizing filings, tracking correspondence, evaluating witness statements, and creating links between the evidence and charges, Counsel depend on the support staff to locate information, and be able to recall what has been decided or submitted throughout the case. Over time, as support staff remain involved in a case, they develop an understanding of the geographical, political, and contextual elements surrounding the case and gain fluency in the court’s rules, procedures, and functions. This combination of knowledge enables support staff to play an increasing role in shaping defense strategies. 

To succeed in the role, support staff must possess several key qualities. Time management, organization, and the ability to work well within a team are crucial for success in the fast-paced environment of international criminal defense. Communication skills, both in writing and verbally, are essential, as is the capacity for analytical thinking and attention to detail. Support staff must also understand the law and legal rules and be able to acquire new knowledge as needed. Finally, the support role requires patience, professionalism, and a strong ethical foundation, with individuals that trust themselves and others on the team.

These kinds of qualities enable support staff to successfully confront the challenges faced by defense teams. With little to no formal training available, they are often required to learn on the job—adapting quickly, acquiring new skills, and applying them daily under pressure. The fast pace of cases and the wide-ranging responsibilities leave no choice but to learn quickly and perform to a consistently high standard. Given that defense teams are typically much smaller than prosecution teams, support staff often carry a broader and more diverse workload. The exposure to all aspects of a case allows for significant professional growth, even if it is at the cost of long working hours and limited benefits.

Effective Case Management in Complex International Crimes Cases

In complex international criminal proceedings, effective case management is the backbone of a well-functioning defense team. At the helm of this process stands the case manager. The case manager is the architect of the case file—an extensive and living repository of everything related to the proceedings. The case file includes correspondence, filings, administrative decisions, meeting notes, client communications, witness folders, transcripts of hearings, evidentiary material, legal research, and more. Materials must be accessible, well-indexed, and tracked. Evidence is analyzed and categorized by type, geography, theme, event, or linkage to other evidence or witnesses. The evidence is also evaluated for chronology, provenance, legal weight, and relevance. The case file is not simply a folder of documents; it is the map of the case. Every team member relies on the case file to navigate the complex legal and factual terrain of their case. And when created with care and precision, it becomes the most important tool the team possesses.

Case managers also serve as the defense team’s timekeepers. They are responsible for maintaining a detailed calendar that reflects internal work plans, disclosure deadlines, filing submissions, scheduled hearings, and key procedural windows for legal actions. For example, when the defense team files a motion, the case manager tracks the deadline for the response, whether a reply is permitted, and if there is a right for the defense to appeal or request leave to appeal. 

While the ICC provides digital tools for case management, these platforms are complex and far from intuitive. The training available for these tools is limited and often unavailable, leaving case managers to become familiar with the technology on their own. The learning curve is steep, and yet the volume of material to be managed is immense. It is not uncommon for a case to involve tens or hundreds of thousands of documents, plus hours upon hours of audio and video footage.

These challenges are exacerbated by inadequate disclosure by the prosecution. Under Article 54 of the Rome Statute, the prosecution is obliged to investigate both incriminating and exonerating circumstances equally and disclose relevant material to the defense. However, no defense team at the ICC would argue that this is done thoroughly or consistently. The prosecution may miss key exculpatory evidence, either because of oversight, bias in their strategy, or a fundamental lack of understanding of defense theory. Consequently, defense teams must sift through everything themselves—doing the same work as the prosecution, but in much less time and with fewer people. 

During the pre-trial phase in the case against Maxime Mokom at the ICC, for example, the prosecution initially disclosed a set of documents it deemed exculpatory. Upon review, the defense identified numerous additional items that clearly fell within that category but had not been flagged. The Pre-Trial Chamber agreed and ordered the prosecution to repeat the disclosure process, ultimately leading to the identification of hundreds more exculpatory items. But by that time, only two months remained before the confirmation of charges hearing. The defense team then had to work under enormous time pressure to incorporate this evidence into its presentation. In the end, the charges against Mr. Mokom were dropped due to a lack of a reasonable prospect of conviction—a result owed in no small part to the work of the support staff in identifying and elevating exculpatory evidence.

The Mokom case illustrates that much of the critical work begins at the level of case management, and a strong case manager can make the difference between a case going forward or not. While Counsel focuses on shaping legal arguments and testing the prosecution’s evidence, they rely on the integrity and completeness of the information assembled and analyzed by their team. This trust means that the work of case managers carries immense responsibility. The volume of work is staggering and the stakes are high, but when carried with care, this role becomes one of the most impactful in the courtroom. 

Inequality of Arms

The structure and day-to-day work of the defense and prosecution teams in international criminal proceedings are markedly different. Prosecution teams are typically larger and far more specialized. Within a single prosecution team, there may be dedicated units for forensics, disclosure, information technology, mapping, and more. A team member in the prosecution might work full-time on one specific task, such as reviewing metadata or linking evidence to charges. In contrast, defense support staff are expected to juggle a wide array of responsibilities, often all on the same day. During the trial phase of a large case, a defense team may increase to 13–14 people, but more commonly consists of just 6–7 individuals. These include a Lead Counsel, one to three Co-Counsels (who may not be full-time), one Assistant to Counsel, a few Legal Assistants, one or two Case Managers, a Language Assistant, and a handful of interns or visiting professionals.

Though the different mandates of prosecution and defense may justify some variation in support, the disparity in resourcing and staffing can significantly impact the defense’s ability to do its job properly and efficiently. The prosecution often begins working on a case years before the defense is even assigned. They know their witnesses, their theory of the case, and how to proceed. Meanwhile, defense teams need to quickly acquire knowledge that the prosecution has had years of time to develop, such as the political and military context, the actors involved, the structure of the state, and the broader social and conflict history. There may already be thousands of pieces of evidence, hundreds of witness statements, and years of investigative work that must be gone through in a matter of months. For instance, when the defense team was appointed to represent the interests of Mr. Kony before the ICC, the case file already contained over 400 filings—representing years of litigation and procedural development that had occurred without any defense involvement. 

Prosecution teams also benefit from significantly greater funding for investigations, enabling greater fact-finding and evidence gathering than defense teams. In some cases, the sheer scale of the evidence even challenges the bench. In the case against former Côte d’Ivoire President Laurent Gbagbo, Trial Judge Geoffrey A. Henderson noted that he was unable to read the entirety of the prosecution’s case file within the timeframe given. He reflected that in his home jurisdiction of Trinidad and Tobago, he had never sat a trial without having reviewed all the evidence, and found this treatment of evidence deeply unsatisfactory. All of this affects the defense’s ability to respond fully and fairly—an imbalance that can have real consequences for the outcome of proceedings.

Beyond structural disadvantages, the defense also faces persistent stigma and unequal treatment within the international community. There remains a deep-rooted perception—among other legal professionals, NGOs, and even court officials—that the defense teams are merely an extension of the accused. In the Bemba case, for example, our experience in court was marked by clear hostility. Some members of the prosecution and legal representatives exhibited open disdain for Mr. Bemba, which extended to outright animosity toward the defense. 

This stigma persists even in academic and professional settings. At legal conferences, defense practitioners have faced accusations of dishonesty, procedural gamesmanship, or obstructionism—accusations that would never be made against the prosecution. Yet the defense simply does their jobs within the same legal framework and in the same pursuit of justice and due process. The defense is, quite literally, half of the courtroom and, as such, an indispensable pillar of the justice system.

However, there has been some progress regarding support to the defense in recent years. In 2022, defense support staff staged a strike and protested during the Assembly of States Parties (ASP) in The Hague, calling for better working conditions. The demonstration was a response to the lack of basic social protections for defense workers—protections that are afforded to ICC staff, including the prosecution. At that time, support staff had no rights to sick leave, holidays, parental leave, or retirement benefits. Defense personnel worked tirelessly, but without any institutional protection.

The protest aimed to pressure the ICC Registry and the ASP into revising the legal aid policy that was established in 2016. Those of us who were allowed to protest by their Counsel were banned from entering the Assembly, cutting off any opportunity to educate and advocate for our interests with state representatives. Nonetheless, the strike and protest proved to be an inflection point. For the first time, many people, even within the ICC, learned about the real working conditions of defense support staff and had greater sympathy for our cause.

Following the strike and demonstrations, there have been incremental improvements in the legal aid policy. As of 2024, defense support staff now enjoy certain employment rights, such as guaranteed holidays, parental leave, and slightly increased salaries. However, major imbalances persist. Support staff still lack pay parity with similarly positioned professionals in the prosecution, and it is unclear whether our salaries will be adjusted for inflation as theirs are. In 2022, there was a 35–40% pay gap between identical positions across the two teams—and this gap has not been closed.

Poor treatment can also extend to internal team dynamics. Junior support staff are especially vulnerable to harassment, overwork, and lack of protections. Many are expected to work excessive hours without sufficient leave and, due to their precarious status, are often unable to speak up. Their working conditions depend on the goodwill and management of their Counsel. Even excellent Counsel may have no training or background in team leadership, which can lead to mismanagement over the five to seven years that cases can last.

Although the Registry has acknowledged some of the concerns raised by support staff, it has rarely followed up with concrete action or demonstrated genuine concern—failing in its responsibility to protect defense professionals from institutional vulnerability. The 2022 protests brought greater visibility to the struggles of defense support staff, and some improvements followed, but defense teams remain institutionally disadvantaged, undervalued, and under-resourced. These imbalances not only affect the defense’s ability to do their jobs, but also have serious implications for the fairness and integrity of international justice.

Conclusion

Support staff play a vital yet often unappreciated role in international criminal defense. There is immense pressure placed on them: from the overwhelming volume of evidence and unworkable short timeframes, to the lack of resources, and for years, basic employment protections. These dynamics can lead to burnout and even mistreatment, with few avenues for recourse. And yet, it is within this high-pressure environment that many support staff experience rapid professional growth. Despite these challenges, support staff demonstrate exceptional adaptability and dedication, contributing meaningfully to major international cases from early on in their careers. Looking forward, it is essential to reframe how defense support staff are seen—not as junior assistants, but as essential professionals in the international justice system. Ensuring that they are treated with fairness, respect, trust, and professionalism is not only a matter of equitable treatment, but a prerequisite for the legitimacy and effectiveness of the defense.

The Dangers of Selective State Support for International Tribunals - An Interview with Kate Gibson

The Dangers of Selective State Support for International Tribunals

An Interview with Kate Gibson

Edited by Cailan Cumming & Paul R. Williams

A Note on Defending Justice

This blog is part of the Defending Justice series, an initiative of the Public International Law & Policy Group (PILPG) to promote an eclectic array of voices within the field of international criminal law. 

As part of our broader efforts to strengthen institutions of justice, this series seeks to create space for dialogue around the varied perspectives and concerns that shape these institutions. With that aim in mind, we interviewed a series of defense practitioners working in international criminal law and distilled their experiences and insights into a series of first-person blogs, preserving the spirit and voice of those interviews.

Editor’s Note

This blog presents the reflections of defense lawyer Kate Gibson, who has appeared as counsel in some of the most significant cases in international criminal law. Drawing on her extensive experience before domestic, international, and hybrid tribunals, this blog examines the critical role states play in supporting international courts and how selective support can affect investigations, security, the rights of the accused, and the overall accountability process. Gibson offers practical recommendations for strengthening state engagement and shares her perspective on the institutional reforms needed to uphold fair trial guarantees in international courts. From the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), the Special Court for Sierra Leone (SCSL), and the International Criminal Court (ICC), Gibson’s work reveals both the promise and the deep flaws of the international criminal justice project, shedding light on some of the most overlooked aspects of the justice process.

Introduction

I have been involved in international criminal trials since 2005, representing former heads of state, military commanders, and victims in cases before a range of international criminal courts and tribunals. My former clients include the former Vice President of the Congo, Jean Pierre Bemba, Congolese militia leader Bosco Ntaganda, former Liberian President Charles Taylor, former President Radovan Karadzic of the Republika Srpska, and former Rwandan Minister Justin Mugenzi. Over the years, I have seen how international tribunals can step in to provide accountability where national systems are unwilling or unable to do so, but I have also witnessed how selective support for these justice mechanisms can undermine the goals that these institutions aim to achieve.

My path to appearing on behalf of accused before international criminal courts was not a deliberate one. Having left private practice in Australia to study international law at Cambridge University, I was fortunate enough to be offered an internship at the newly established International Criminal Court (ICC) in The Hague. Once in The Hague, I was determined to meet as many people as I could who were appearing before the Courts, and learn about what it was like to practice as an international criminal lawyer. 

This led me across the path of a young Dutch lawyer, Caroline Buisman, who was working as a Defence Legal Assistant in a defense team at the ICTR in Arusha. After we became friends, she asked if I would consider filling in for her during a trial session in Arusha, while she completed another trial at the ICTY. I was reluctant. It seemed mad to get on a plane to go and meet and work for people accused of being the masterminds of the 1994 Rwandan genocide. But once I stepped into the role, I came to understand the immense responsibility—and privilege—of defending accused and contributing to the shared goals of international justice. In the defense seat, I saw what it meant to contribute to the work of international institutions by fulfilling the defense’s role of testing the prosecution’s case, and advocating for fairness in the face of overwhelming public and political pressure. 

Over the course of two decades working in the defense field, international criminal justice has repeatedly proven itself to me to be imperfect. The courts are generally far from the communities affected by the crimes, and trials take place years after the events occurred in unfamiliar languages and legal cultures. Yet these institutions play a vital role, particularly in contexts where domestic judicial systems lack the capacity to conduct fair and transparent trials; in environments with insufficient political will to pursue justice; or in places in which trials could reignite conflict. 

The ICTR, for example, was established because Rwanda’s judiciary was considered in the aftermath of the genocide to be unable to address crimes of such severity and scale, especially within the social and political tensions found in Rwanda’s post-conflict society. The ICTY was seen as a necessary alternative to domestic prosecutions in the newly independent states of the former Yugoslavia, where political instability and ethnic divisions made the prosecution of international crimes impossible. In this context, the ICTY was seen as a neutral forum. Likewise, the Special Tribunal for Lebanon was set up in light of judicial corruption and political threats that made impartial justice unattainable in domestic courts. In addition to these tribunals, many countries have referred investigations and prosecutions to the ICC when lacking the capacity, resources, or desire to pursue them domestically.

After many varied experiences across the different international courts, I remain an avid proponent of the international justice project. However, these experiences have shown me that accountability is weakened when support for justice is selective. Too often, states and their domestic judicial systems cooperate enthusiastically with prosecutors, but give minimal support to defense teams or those acquitted or released by international courts. Defense investigations are hampered by bureaucracy, lack of access, and political resistance. And the decreasing resources dedicated by states to legal aid programs risks relegating the defense to a procedural formality, rather than recognizing defense teams as a fundamental counterweight to the prosecution.

If international justice is to live up to its ideal, a shift in culture is needed. This will require the courts to engage with states and reinforce that their commitment to international justice must extend past the front end of the process, that of investigation and prosecution of crimes. Unless state support includes support for defense teams, and for those acquitted or released by the courts, we risk eroding the legitimacy of these institutions and the entire international criminal justice project with it. With this in mind, this blog reflects on these challenges of selective support to international criminal trials, and offers ideas for a way forward. 

Selective State Support

State support is vital to the functioning of international criminal courts. These institutions depend on consistent and comprehensive state engagement, without which courts and tribunals cannot effectively pursue their mandates, enforce arrest warrants, secure evidence, or ensure the protection of witnesses. For both the defense and prosecution, support and cooperation from states is absolutely necessary in order for us to carry out our work. In practice, however, state support for international justice is often deeply selective. 

On one end of the spectrum, are states who seek to actively undermine the work of international courts, when perceived to be working against the interest of the state or their allies. This opposition to international justice has manifested in many different forms, ranging from the refusal to arrest and surrender accused, to the broad-ranging sanctions placed on individual ICC Judges by the United States government in 2025. This kind of outward hostility to the work of international courts is visible, and blatant. This blog focuses not on this kind of open opposition to international criminal trials, but rather will examine the impact of states who claim to be supportive of the international justice project, but who offer that support selectively. Meaning, those states who will choose when and how to cooperate and provide assistance based on what they consider as helpful to what they view as the goals of international justice. This starts with an examination of these perceived goals, and how these color the support provided to different actors within international criminal courts and tribunals.  

Accountability Culture and the Focus on Convictions

The starting point for many states, particularly for State Parties to the ICC, is the idea that the Court was established to “prevent impunity” for international crimes. In simple terms, to ensure that perpetrators of the worst atrocities in our collective modern history are no longer allowed to get away with it. With this overarching goal of preventing impunity as the starting point, it is easy to see how the purpose of international criminal trials is then seen by states as securing the conviction of these perpetrators, and facilitating lengthy prison sentences which reflect the gravity of the charged events. For this reason, we regularly see enthusiastic cooperation of states in those aspects of the courts’ work which appear to align with the goals of securing convictions; investigating and preparing cases, evidence collection, and facilitating the arrest and surrender of accused. In short, support for the “front-end” of international justice, and the work of the Office of the Prosecutor. 

 The problem is that criminal trials are not an exercise in convicting defendants. When conducted fairly, criminal trials are a narrow and almost clinical exercise wherein finders of fact determine whether the prosecuting authority has met its burden of proof on each of the elements of the charged crimes. This is, necessarily, an exercise that can end in one of two possible outcomes, an acquittal or a conviction. However, when convictions are considered to be the goal of international justice, acquittals are then seen as being failures, or as something having gone wrong. 

I experienced this most acutely following the acquittal of the former Vice President of the Congo, Mr. Jean-Pierre Bemba. Having been convicted at first instance and sentenced to 18 years imprisonment, Mr. Bemba’s conviction was then overturned on appeal by a majority of the ICC Appeals Chamber. At the time of his release in June 2018, I had been representing Mr. Bemba for nearly a decade, in a trial and appeal process that had been long, exhausting, and rendered infamous by the prosecution and conviction of his former case manager and co-counsel for offences against the administration of justice. 

The outrage that greeted Mr. Bemba’s acquittal and release was impossible to predict, and equally impossible to navigate. The poison and vitriol directed towards him, his defense team, the prosecutors who had apparently failed in their duty to secure a conviction, and even the majority Judges who had orchestrated this apparent travesty of justice, was prolonged and personal. When we reflect now years later on this reaction, it seems that much comes down to the widely held understanding that international criminal trials are successful when they result in convictions. Shortly after Mr. Bemba’s release, for example, we saw one of the ICC’s greatest supporters, Japan, expressing its deep concern about ICC acquittals, and urging the ICC to take steps “to prevent such unusual circumstances from happening again”. 

When states and institutions treat any outcome short of a conviction as a failure, justice becomes distorted. There will be cases which properly result in acquittals. For these to be treated by states as a failure, means that we have moved away from a criminal trial process, and towards an exercise in simply securing convictions. Victims and affected communities deserve accountability in order to move forward, but this justice must be meaningful. The quality and independence of justice—its evenhandedness, its integrity—is what gives it meaning for victims.

Meaningful justice does not come from prosecuting the easiest targets or securing convictions at any cost. It comes from ensuring that every trial is robust, balanced, and rooted in due process—supporting not only the voices of victims, but also the rights of the accused. Rather than securing convictions, the goal of international criminal justice is fair trials—trials that include a rigorous and independent defense, and where the outcome is determined by impartial fact-finders and led by the evidence.

The Impact of Selective State Support on Fair Trials

For these reasons, state support for international justice is overwhelmingly directed towards efforts to investigate and prosecute, to the detriment of the other aspects of an international criminal trial. This impacts on the efficacy of defense teams in many ways. 

Investigations

Central to the role of defense counsel is conducting effective investigations. From my own experience, I can say unequivocally: cases rise and fall depending on the quality of the investigations. Proper investigations must be able to involve gathering evidence, visiting the location of the charged crimes, interviewing witnesses, and verifying the facts that form the foundation of the trial. The ability to conduct unimpeded investigations is central to our work in defending clients. All these investigative tasks require, at a minimum, authorization from states. 

States respond differently to the defense because prosecutors investigate with the weight and authority of the court behind them. A letter from the Office of the Prosecutor carries institutional power and is more likely to receive cooperation from states. Defense teams, by contrast, face enormous challenges in securing the same level of cooperation. At the ICC, defense teams are required to submit any request for investigative assistance (RFAs) through the Registry, which adds another level of bureaucracy and delay. Then, according to ICC Registry’s own statistics, 75% of defense requests for cooperation of state parties go unanswered, reflecting the reality that states do not see it as part of their cooperation with the ICC to assist the efforts of defense teams to investigate on behalf of their clients. 

 In simple terms, if the defense is unable to visit physical sites, interview prisoners, access archives or sensitive records, or speak to victims, we cannot adequately challenge the prosecution’s case or build a meaningful response on behalf of the accused. A huge part of our work, and our ability to contribute to the fairness of the trials, is undermined. 

There is also an issue of security. In the Bemba case, for example, the defense was unable to investigate in the Central African Republic, being the country in which the crimes were alleged to have occurred. As such, we tried to speak with Central Africans who had been in the country at the time of the events, but had since moved outside the country, and were living in neighboring countries like Chad, Cameroon, or the Central African Republic. The problem being, these were not ICC States Parties, and did not recognize the authority of the Court, or the privileges and immunities of defense counsel. An official letter from the ICC stating that we are on mission carries little to no weight there, meaning that as defense lawyers we are investigating in a situation of significant personal risk.

This stands in stark contrast to investigations at earlier tribunals like the ICTY and ICTR, which were established under Chapter VII of the UN Charter. In Rwanda and the former Yugoslavia we were always safe. During official missions we had UN credentials, UN vehicles, UN security, and facilitated passage around these countries. That infrastructure does not exist for the ICC. Both prosecutors and the defense lack that level of institutional support or security. The impact is especially acute for defense as we are investigating outside of institutional infrastructures, and are often investigating actors that may be complicit in the alleged crimes.

Victim and Witness Cooperation

Another major challenge lies in engaging with witnesses and victim communities. In some situation countries, I have been overwhelmed by the willingness of victims and witnesses to meet, engage, and educate us about the conflict and atrocities they have suffered. This has not always been my experience. International criminal investigations regularly occur in the context of authority of the victor state whose narrative is being advanced through the trial process, and survivors know that there will be consequences from deviating from this official narrative, let alone from implicating the state authorities in criminal conduct. In this context, victims and witnesses have regularly refused to speak to those they perceive as working on behalf of the defense, which means we are investigating the side of the story that many are reluctant or afraid to tell.

This was my experience investigating in Rwanda. I had the privilege of representing three different accused before the ICTR in Arusha, in very different cases and contexts. In 2008, I was co-counsel to Jean-Baptiste Gatete, the former bourgmestre of Murambi commune in Rwanda during the genocide. He was accused of the murder of one of his neighbours in Murambi, and we had received  credible information that he had not been involved. We managed to find and interview other direct neighbors who agreed to meet with us, and recounted in detail what had happened on the morning of the charged event, and their accounts corroborated the fact that our client was not present. 

But when we asked them to provide witness statements, they refused to be involved and asked me never to tell anyone that I had spoken to them, or even to write down their names. They feared retaliation or ostracization. It was heartbreaking. I felt helpless, knowing that someone might be wrongfully convicted and I had no way to stop it. Prosecutors likely experience similar frustrations when they cannot secure needed evidence. But the regularity with which we are blocked from conducting meaningful investigations in a state which has an interest in the conviction of their former military or political adversaries is another concrete obstacle arising from selective state support. 

Exclusion and Funding

Defense teams at the ICTY and ICTR received sufficient resources and funding to effectively represent their clients. This is not the case at the ICC. This is not simply a question of the dramatic decrease in the resources made available to defense teams. This stripping back of resources is part of a larger structural problem, being the marginalization of the defense within international justice institutions. Defense counsel are systematically excluded from key forums, including the Assembly of States Parties. We are denied the opportunity to speak to states about the obstacles the defense faces or to advocate for changes that would improve the fairness and legitimacy of trials. This ensures that legal aid, set by the Assembly of States Parties, remains at insufficient levels, hindering our ability to effectively do our jobs. 

A solution here is for states to be sensitized to these issues and to the people and work of the defense. We are not “pro-perpetrator.” We are part of the legal process that tests the evidence, guards against wrongful conviction, and ultimately strengthens the credibility of the courts. If we are excluded from the conversations regarding the work of the Court, or not given the tools and support to do our jobs, then the entire international justice project suffers.

Forgotten Outcomes: Life Before and After Trial

When states limit their support to the front-end of international criminal trials, international courts lose the ability to secure support for other integral aspects of the trial process, such as the provisional release of suspects or defendants, or their re-integration into society after their release. This requires defense counsel to spend years providing pro bono support and assistance to clients who come out of the end of an international criminal justice process which renders them stateless, homeless, and with no hope of reuniting with their families. This has been the consistent reality for many former suspects and accused, including those who have been acquitted by the courts, or even released without charges ever having been confirmed. The international courts’ inability to secure state support for defendants is one of the overarching failures of the international criminal justice system which risks damaging the legacy of its proceedings. 

Pre-Trial Detention

While states are often eager to support high-profile arrests and the detention of individuals accused of international crimes, the same level of support does not exist for other aspects of the trial process. One of these aspects is provisional release. The case of Maxime Mokom provides a stark example. Mr. Mokom was arrested on the basis of an ICC arrest warrant in March 2022, and held in pre-trial incarceration for 19 months as a suspect, despite no charges ever being confirmed against him. According to the Rome Statute, pre-trial detention requires credible concerns that a suspect might flee or interfere with the justice process. 

In Mr. Mokom’s case, there was no such evidence. As such, in March 2023, he was deemed eligible by the Pre-Trial Chamber for provisional release with standard conditions: a host state to receive him and regular check-ins with local authorities. But not one of the ICC’s 125 member states saw it as their responsibility to facilitate his provisional release. As such, he remained in prison for no other reason but the selective support of ICC States Parties.

 As his defense team, we contacted the Assembly of States Parties and met with individual member states, emphasizing that Mr. Mokom’s continued detention was unlawful and constituted a violation of his rights. Yet no state saw it as their role to facilitate his release. The result? A suspect who was never charged remained in ICC detention for 19 months, until the Prosecution withdrew all charges, citing an absence of available evidence, and stating that there were no longer any viable prospects for conviction. If the ICC has no ability to facilitate provisional release, then it is unable to perform one of its core functions. The result being that there is no prospect of provisional release for ICC suspects and defendants, even those who do not fulfill the statutory grounds for pre-trial incarceration. The practical impact of selective state support is concrete, and significant. 

Post-Acquittal Release

In international criminal justice, there is an understandable focus on the trial itself. Yet, the full range of outcomes for accused persons goes far beyond a trial. Some suspects are held in pre-trial detention for years only to have the charges dropped. Others are acquitted of all charges, or later on appeal. Some are convicted and serve short sentences, and others long sentences. In certain cases, individuals have been first acquitted of particular charges, and later convicted of these charges on appeal. These divergent outcomes are an inherent part of any fair legal process, but what follows them reveals deep flaws in how the international community treats those it once detained.

We can see from experience that the international courts and tribunals have never consistently put in place a plan for what happens to the defendant after the trial ends, particularly where the trial ends in an acquittal or a sentence that does not result in the defendant dying in prison. The system is unresponsive to the issues of return, reintegration, and the basic protection of rights for those released. Statelessness becomes an issue, particularly for defendants who fear persecution, retaliation, or illegal detainment if they return to their country of citizenship. Many of these individuals are unable to rejoin their families, live normal lives, or access basic services. Some are left without identity documents, legal status, or any institutional support. The human cost of this apathy is significant.

Turning back, for example, to the case of Mr. Mokom, where the ICC Prosecutor withdrew the charges after 19 months of pre-trial detention. The withdrawal of charges led to Mr. Mokom’s release from the ICC Detention Facility. It did not, however, put him back in the position he had been in prior to his arrest and surrender to The Hague. Unable to safely return to the Central African Republic, Mr. Mokom is stateless, homeless, and survives only with the aid of local church groups while he waits to see if he is able to secure asylum in a safe third state. This, despite the ICC Registry sending numerous Requests for Assistance to ICC States Parties asking them to provide him with a home. Although the charges were dismissed, the stigma of being an ICC suspect remains. His release offered neither freedom nor dignity, and has exposed him to a life of poverty and insecurity, and the potential inability to ever reunite with his family. Again, states do not see they have a role to play in this back-end of international justice, despite their cooperation being the only path for former suspects and accused. 

Post-Trial Resettlement

The psychological toll of prolonged detention and the deprivation of liberty cannot be overstated. For those of us who have worked closely with detainees, we have seen firsthand how detention fundamentally changes people. Years in custody can leave deep mental health issues and negatively impact how the detainee functions in society. Even after release or acquittal, individuals face immense barriers in rebuilding their lives. Psychosocial and reintegration support, including assistance with employment and reunification with family, are all essential components of post-trial assistance, however today many of those released do not enjoy even basic freedoms.

The situation of the former ICTR defendants in Niger is a particularly troubling example. Despite its significant successes, a continued obstacle to the ICTR’s legacy is the ongoing statelessness of its acquitted and released people, six of whom have been stranded under house arrest in the Republic of Niger for several years. This crisis began on 5 December 2021, when nine ICTR acquitted or released persons were transferred to Niger by the International Residual Mechanism for Criminal Tribunals (IRMCT), pursuant to a Relocation Agreement between the government of the Republic of Niger and the United Nations, signed on 15 November 2021. 

These former defendants, all of whom had been acquitted or had completed their sentences, had spent years in legal limbo in Arusha, Tanzania. Among them was my client, Mr. Prosper Mugiraneza, a Rwandan lawyer and former prosecutor, who has himself studied international law in Europe and was even admitted to the ICC's List of Assistants to Counsel. After a 9-year trial process, Mr. Mugiraneza was acquitted of all charges by the ICTR Appeals Chamber in 2013. Despite this, he remained isolated in a safehouse in Arusha for years without identity documents and without the ability to work or reunite with his family. No state would accept him. France, where his wife and children live, refused to offer him asylum.

A plan was eventually brokered to relocate the men to Niger, a plan that was negotiated without any input from the nine former defendants. They were promised residence permits, a pathway to legal identity documents, and a one-time payment of $10,000 USD. Despite the obvious risks, Mr. Mugiraneza saw this as his only hope to obtain a passport that would allow him to finally see his family again, decades after they had been separated. Just two weeks after arriving, they were arrested, likely due to pressure from the Rwandan government, and stripped of their documents. They have now been detained in a house in appalling conditions for three years, with no freedom of movement, little food, no air conditioning, and in constant risk of malaria. Two of the men have died in extremely distressing circumstances. Mr. Mugiraneza, though acquitted more than a decade ago, will likely die in this house. This is a result of the ICTR having no plan for those acquitted or released after serving their sentence. 

When those acquitted by an international criminal court remain incarcerated despite their acquittals, this undermines the value of convictions, and accordingly the justice process itself. If the system can deprive a person of their liberty, but cannot restore it, then the legacy of these institutions is at stake. This gap has persisted for decades, and is a direct result of the failure to make any plans for what will happen to suspects and accused before their liberty is taken away. Social reintegration and protection of human rights and dignity of those released are integral parts of justice and accountability. 

There is undoubtedly hypocrisy at play: states claim to champion human rights and support international justice, but their commitment ends at the prison gates. For many states, international criminal justice is seen primarily as a mechanism for punishment. Reintegration, rehabilitation, or even basic liberty for released individuals is then someone else’s problem. The message this sends is deeply troubling—if you are not convicted, you are still not free, and your rights are still negotiable. If states support human rights and international justice, then this should include giving those released a chance at a dignified life at the completion of the justice process.

Post-Trial Proceedings 

In the aftermath of trials, much of the responsibility for finding solutions to post-trial issues falls on defense lawyers. International courts, however, provide funding for post-trial work only in very limited and exceptional circumstances. This leaves defense counsel bearing the burden of post-trial legal processes on their own, often without the necessary resources or institutional support. Unfortunately, there is a widespread assumption that these post-trial challenges are the defense lawyers’ problem, not the responsibility of the Tribunals themselves.

Unlike the Tribunal’s Registry, the President, or the court itself—who possess diplomatic clout and the power to engage governments—defense lawyers have no such leverage. We cannot simply walk into embassies or demand action from governments. Despite this, the international criminal courts rarely use their institutional power to support detainees after trials conclude. The expectation that defense counsel will devote years of unpaid, unresourced work to these complex issues is unrealistic and unfair. We continue, however, to advocate for ourselves, our clients, and for legal aid that covers post-trial support through publications, events, and continuing to raise awareness about these issues with states.

Ways Forward

Ensuring the Rights of the Accused

Even putting to one side those states who actively and publicly seek to undermine the work of international courts, the work of these institutions is compromised by the selective support of its proponents. States’ focus on the front end of criminal trials, and viewing the defense as an obstacle to the goals of international criminal justice, is arguably the greatest risk to the overall fairness and legitimacy of the resulting criminal process. The deprivation of liberty without a clear plan for reintegration risks not only the wellbeing of defendants but also the legacy of the work that so many of us have dedicated our professional careers to. 

Solutions are available. When tribunals arrest and detain individuals, they should also develop a long-term plan for the defendant if and when they are released. This plan should include assistance to help the former defendant rebuild their lives and reintegrate into society once their time in custody ends. Tribunals need to leverage their political and diplomatic authority to ensure that those who have been detained have access to essential support upon release. This includes assistance in securing identity documents, work permits, asylum status, psychosocial care, and housing.

A fundamental part of this process also requires adequate legal aid funding, including for post-conviction matters. Institutionalizing these protections and support mechanisms is crucial not only to uphold the rights of defendants but also to preserve the integrity and humanity of international criminal justice as a whole. The ICC’s legal aid policy must also be revised to ensure that defense teams have the necessary resources to give meaning to the equality of arms as between the Prosecution and the Defense. The international courts must dedicate resources to engaging with states about the importance of their support and cooperation to the defense, to allow it to fulfill its responsibilities effectively.

At the institutional level, greater inclusion of defense lawyers is essential, along with work to dismantle existing structural and logistical obstacles. Defense counsel must have a seat at the table, not just in the courtroom, but in policy discussions, institutional planning, and operational support. When international and hybrid courts are established, the structure and policies put in place must safeguard the ability of both the prosecution and defense teams to carry out their mandates safely and effectively. That includes protecting the security of personnel and ensuring field investigations are possible.

Equally important is a shift in how we talk about the work of international criminal justice, including its aims, culture, and the role of the defense in it. When those most affected by international crimes come to see these tribunals as biased or one-sided, the credibility of both individual trials and the Tribunals is placed at risk. What is needed is a cultural shift, both among states and within international institutions, away from a focus on convictions as the principal marker of success. 

The goal must be fair trials, where the evidence is tested rigorously and impartially, and international courts are found to be neutral and independent forums capable of delivering accountability that is accepted as legitimate by all sides. This requires states to reconsider their obligations to international justice and to recognize that cooperation with the defense is just as important to the overall legitimacy of the criminal justice process as cooperation with the prosecution. 

Only by addressing these structural imbalances and recalibrating the culture of international justice can we ensure that these courts fulfill their promise—not as tools of victor’s justice or symbolic punishment, but as genuine forums of accountability for victims.

Defending before the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia - An Interview with Anta Guissé

Defending before the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia

An Interview with Anta Guissé

Edited by Cailan Cumming, Kate Gibson & Paul Williams

A Note on Defending Justice

This blog is part of the Defending Justice series, an initiative of the Public International Law and Policy Group (PILPG) to promote an eclectic array of  voices within the field of international criminal law. 

As part of our broader efforts to strengthen institutions of justice, this series seeks to create space for dialogue around the varied perspectives and concerns that shape these institutions. With that aim in mind, we interviewed a series of defense practitioners working in international criminal law and distilled their experiences and insights into a series of first-person blogs, preserving the spirit and voice of those interviews.

Editor’s Note

In this blog, defense lawyer Anta Guissé reflects on the unique dynamics of hybrid tribunals, drawing from her extensive experience at the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC). As a defense lawyer for Khieu Samphan, a former high-ranking leader of the Khmer Rouge regime, Guissé discusses the historical narratives and local context that influenced her case, as well as the advantages of conducting tribunals in situ. Her first-hand experiences highlight how the symbolic nature of the ECCC trials, the immense pressure to secure convictions, and inconsistencies in applying modes of liability can undermine the foundational principles of law and justice. Guissé is a strong advocate for the integrity of the legal process and judicial discussion, and for uncovering the judicial truth and recognizing victims regardless of the trial’s outcome. Rather than building international criminal law around the desire to convict, Guissé challenges us to let the fundamentals of the rule of law work, regardless of public opinion, moral pressure, or political interference.

Introduction

My journey into international criminal defense was somewhat serendipitous. At the time I began my career, international criminal law had not yet developed into the specialized field it is today. In those early years, many of us working in international law came into the field through our experience in human rights or domestic criminal law. My own domestic career involved intervening on behalf of both the accused and victims, an experience I now draw upon when defending the accused before international tribunals.

It was through my former employer, Raphaël Constant, who had served as defense counsel for the former Rwandan military leader Théoneste Bagosora, that I first learned about international tribunals. After leaving his office, I was hired as a legal consultant for a defense team at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), and after working as a consultant in another case, I became a co-counsel in a third case. I subsequently joined the ECCC when my former co-counsel in my last case before ICTR (Kalimanzira v. The Prosecutor), Arthur Vercken, invited me to join the Khieu Samphan case—one of the most defining cases of my career, and the focal point of this blog. 

Defending clients in the context of mass atrocities is a challenge many are not willing to take on, but is one that I have found to be worth confronting since the beginning of my career. Ultimately, presenting the position of the client is the same in any practice of law, but when dealing with crimes of mass atrocities a defense lawyer is forced to examine events from multiple perspectives and keep an open mind amongst the immense pressure to follow the commonly accepted view of history and the prevailing narratives surrounding those events.  International criminal defense has not solely been a professional pursuit to me, but also a service to judicial truth focused on the responsibility of my client—a truth that can only emerge when both the defense and prosecution are fully empowered to understand and present the facts of a case in court. 

What follows are some of my reflections on the complex intersections of law, politics, and justice in the work of the ECCC, and the indispensable role of the defense in upholding the integrity of the international criminal justice system. It begins with a brief overview of the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC)—its origins, structure, and the historical context that shaped it. It then turns to the distinctive challenges of defending in a hybrid, in situ tribunal including the procedural dynamics of a court with mixed legal traditions, the significance of working across legal cultures and languages, the limitations on defense, and the tensions between symbolic justice and legal fairness. 

Through the lens of Khieu Samphan’s case, this blog examines how political pressures, funding constraints, time, and evolving modes of liability—particularly the use of joint criminal enterprise—shaped the trial process and strained legal integrity. Finally, it considers what, if anything, hybrid tribunals like the ECCC have contributed to the evolution of international criminal law, and what lessons that can be drawn to strengthen the international criminal justice system and the future work of international tribunals. 

Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC)

Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge regime, led by Pol Pot, seized power in 1975 and established the country as Democratic Kampuchea, a classless ‘agrarian utopia’ created by forcibly evacuating cities, abolishing currency, subjecting the population to intense labor under brutal conditions, and targeting perceived enemies, including intellectuals, minorities, and dissenters. This vision, influenced by both Marxist-Leninist and nationalist ideals, contributed to the policies that caused mass suffering and death. The result was catastrophic: an estimated 2 million Cambodians—or one in four people—perished due to executions, starvation, and forced labor in what became known as the Cambodian genocide. The regime collapsed in 1979 following Vietnam’s invasion.

The Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia was established in 2004 to provide long awaited justice. This hybrid tribunal, combining international and Cambodian legal frameworks, aimed to prosecute senior and non-senior leaders of the Khmer Rouge that were considered to be the most responsible for the crimes of genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, destruction of cultural property, and select Cambodian Penal Code offenses. Operating in Phnom Penh, the ECCC sought to deliver justice in situ, embedding the process within the local context.

The ECCC tried a handful of high-profile cases. Case 001 convicted Kaing Guek Eav, head of the S-21 prison, for crimes against humanity. Case 002, the tribunal’s centerpiece, targeted senior Khmer Rouge leaders Nuon Chea, Khieu Samphan, Ieng Sary, who died during proceedings, and Ieng Thirith, who was found unfit to stand trial due to progressive dementia. Split into sub-trials, Case 002/01 addressed forced evacuations and executions of soldiers, while Case 002/02 tackled forced marriage, genocide, and other atrocities. Cases 003 and 004, which involved investigations of other Khmer Rouge officials, were mired in political controversy and never reached trial. Despite challenges such as political interference, funding shortages, and slow progress, the ECCC delivered significant verdicts, though its legacy remains debated.

Hybrid Court In Situ

Location

The ECCC’s physical and political location was deliberate. The court was technically situated in Phnom Penh, but in reality it sat on the outskirts of the city, in a military compound that had been artificially included within the capital’s boundaries as part of the negotiated arrangement between the Cambodian government and the United Nations. This physical separation was not insignificant, it contributed to a sense of insulation from the political heart of the city, and from the more acute political pressures that in situ tribunals often face. It also, perhaps intentionally, placed the proceedings more out of view from the public.

The fact that proceedings were held in the country where the crimes occurred shaped every aspect of our work. Being on Cambodian soil brought the defense team closer to the history, culture, and people most affected by the Khmer Rouge regime. Being in Cambodia allowed us to walk the ground—visiting key sites, meeting survivors, and seeing with our own eyes the places the alleged events occurred. 

Public pressure and safety concerns often accompany in-country tribunals, but I felt less at-risk than my counterparts in other cases at the ECCC. The events I was litigating had occurred forty years earlier, and my client Khieu Samphan held little significance to the public, especially to younger generations who were not as familiar with him. Our team was able to speak and act with a measure of independence that, in many international legal contexts, can be hard to come by. ​​But not all of the accused at the ECCC were seen the same way. In Cases 003 and 004, which involved individuals who remained closer to the contemporary political elite, the tribunal came under far greater political interference from the Cambodian government and these cases ultimately collapsed. 

Perceptions of Local Communities 

Despite being physically located in Cambodia, the ECCC often felt distant from the lives of everyday Cambodians. In theory, the tribunal’s presence on national soil was meant to bring justice closer to the people, foster awareness, and offer a sense of collective reckoning with the past. But in practice, many Cambodians were unaware that the tribunal was even operating. Among those who did know, opinions varied widely.

For one, a significant portion of the population had little personal memory of the Khmer Rouge regime. The crimes prosecuted had occurred more than 40 years earlier. Many people simply hadn’t been born yet, or were too young to remember. The crimes during the Khmer Rouge era, for many, was not a matter of lived experience but of distant history—something they had learned about, but not something they felt intimately connected to.

From where I sat, it felt like people were watching from afar. It is not a popular perspective, especially from the standpoint of the official ECCC outreach and communications efforts. They worked hard to engage the public. Buses were organized to bring villagers to court and sometimes people would wake up as early as 3 a.m. to travel long distances just to be present in the courtroom for a few hours. That level of commitment speaks volumes. But at the same time, it does not necessarily reflect widespread engagement or understanding. Whether or not the trials resonated with the general population depended heavily on the community. Some communities were better informed, often because of the targeted outreach or the presence of civil society organizations, while others remained detached.

The reality is that the legal proceedings were complex and often inaccessible. The hearings were dense with legal argument, procedural back-and-forth, and references to international jurisprudence. For many in attendance, especially those without legal training or prior exposure to international criminal law, it was difficult to follow. Some tuned in during major moments, like when a judgment was handed down, or when the trial was featured in a television program. Victims, too, came to court and followed the process closely, particularly those who had participated directly as civil parties. But beyond those moments, it is hard to say that the general public was actively following the trial day to day.

Cambodia’s political climate at the time was also tense. Democracy was increasingly hollowed out. Human rights abuses were ongoing, and political opposition was curtailed. In such a context, it is understandable that many Cambodians had more immediate concerns than a decades-old accountability process. Daily survival, political uncertainty, and social struggles were far more pressing for most people than the inner workings of the courtroom. In the end, while the ECCC aimed to bring international justice home, the connection between court and community was often limited—shaped as much by politics and daily realities as by legal process or historical memory.

Political Context

Understanding the crimes committed under the Khmer Rouge regime requires situating them within the broader geopolitical landscape of the time. Any analysis of what happened in Cambodia between 1975 and 1979 that overlooks the Vietnam War, the Cold War, and the resulting climate of nationalism and suspicion toward foreign influence misses crucial context. The crimes did not occur in a vacuum. The Khmer Rouge’s ideology and actions were shaped, in part, by Cambodia’s fraught relationships with its neighbors and the broader international order. Cambodia became a battleground, both literally and ideologically, between communist and anti-communist forces. The Khmer Rouge regime was intensely nationalistic and paranoid about foreign influence, which shaped an ideology that sought to purge Cambodia of capitalist systems and fueled internal purges, border attacks, and the targeting of ethnic minorities like the Vietnamese and Cham people. Understanding this climate of suspicion helps explain why the regime viewed large segments of its own population as traitors or enemies.

Revolution and nationalism can carry different meanings to people with differing histories. For countries that gained independence through long and protracted struggles, concepts like revolution can hold a different moral and political weight. Understanding the Khmer Rouge’s ideological mission as an extreme outcome of a radicalized, nationalistic response to perceived external and internal threats provides context as to why certain policies were pursued. This context informed some of our defense positions. We did not seek to excuse crimes or minimize suffering, but we aimed to explain the conditions and motivations that shaped individual and collective actions at the time. These historic and factual layers matter, and it is our role as defense lawyers to bring them to light. Unfortunately, in international criminal trials, we are often given very little space, either in terms of time or pages, to fully articulate this context.

Hybrid Framework

In addition to the location, the court’s hybrid framework brought unique perspectives, tools, and challenges. Every chamber and organ, including investigative judges, prosecutors, and defense, had to be composed of both Cambodian and international members. Judicial decisions had to be reached jointly by national and international judges, meaning every step of the judicial process required careful communication across cultural and legal traditions.

This structure profoundly shaped how the court and teams operated and created an environment of strong collaboration. Cambodian lawyers and local translators brought essential linguistic, legal, and cultural fluency to the team. All court documents had to be filed in Khmer, French, and English so that every judge could follow proceedings in their working language. Working across three languages was demanding, but our trilingual jurist Seng Socheaya became the team linchpin who held everything together. 

A mixed national-international team was essential in shaping each lawyer’s legal and professional approaches into a unified vision that took local customs and norms into consideration. Even the seemingly straightforward task of preparing questions for a witness became challenging when approached from different legal traditions and cultural norms. What might be a perfectly acceptable question in a Western courtroom could be misunderstood—or even offensive—in a Cambodian context. Local norms shaped not only how questions were asked, but how witnesses responded, and how the evidence was interpreted. In the end, the hybrid structure of the ECCC, while complex and sometimes unwieldy, was essential to its legitimacy and effectiveness.

        Investigations

The investigative process at the Extraordinary Chambers was unique in its procedural grounding within the Cambodian legal tradition, which itself draws heavily on the French civil law system. This had a tangible effect on how evidence was gathered, presented, and evaluated throughout the trial process. The Prosecution conducted its investigation and presented it to the investigating judges, while the defense played a limited role in the investigation phase. Although defense lawyers could submit requests to the investigating judges, they could not conduct field investigations as they often do at other international tribunals. As a result, defense teams at the ECCC were confronted with an immense case file with unfamiliar evidence, which presented a greater obstacle to the trial process than in any other international or hybrid tribunal. On my part, I only arrived in the case at the trial stage.

This created significant hurdles in preparing an effective defense, particularly given the scale and complexity of the charges, which spanned more than four years and involved events across the entire country. The volume of evidence which we were required to review was staggering as the investigating judges could admit virtually anything into the record—including entire books. In my perspective, this overwhelming amount of material was the greatest challenge, and marks one of the most striking differences between domestic and international defense practice.

Witness statements were obtained in a formal way before the investigative judges, a process I was more familiar with as someone trained in civil law systems. Common law systems place more weight on the adversarial process, with cross-examination serving as the principal method of testing the reliability and truthfulness of evidence. While this method was present at the ECCC, the pre-trial investigative process laid a far more substantial foundation for the eventual trial proceedings. In addition, most of the interviews at the ECCC were recorded, allowing both the Prosecution and Defense to assess how the statements had been produced. For instance, we could determine if the statements were in response to an open, direct, or leading question. Through this our team had a clearer sense of if the translation of statements was poor or inconsistent, if the victim may not have understood the question, if the question was asked in an aggressive way, or if the victim may have been nervous in providing his or her answer. The national lawyers were especially important in verifying and analyzing the contents of the statements.

In other international tribunals, like the ICC, witnesses are only heard in the field by prosecution investigators. The defense only receives the finalized statement, and does not have insight into the investigative or interview process. Teams do not have information about the context in which the statements were made, making it difficult to evaluate the witness statements and assess the quality or reliability of the evidence. The ECCC model on that specific aspect offers important lessons for international courts like the ICC, particularly in demonstrating how greater transparency in the investigative and interview process can enhance the evaluation of evidence and the fairness of trials.

Funding and Timing

In theory, international criminal law is about fairness, due process, accountability, and closure for victims. In practice, international criminal tribunals are politically and financially driven, shaped by the interests and expectations of the states and institutions that create and fund them. Donors do not fund tribunals expecting acquittals. The money comes with expectations, often unspoken but deeply understood: justice, in the eyes of many funders, means convictions. It means holding someone responsible, visibly and symbolically. If trials result in acquittals, the tribunal is seen by many as a failure.

The ECCC was supposed to be co-funded by the Cambodian government and international donors, but the Cambodian side often failed to meet its obligations. When that happened, operations ground to a halt—interpreters would strike, proceedings would pause, and uncertainty would set in. Eventually, another donor would always step in to bridge the gap, but not without delay and disruption. A court that existed to serve impartial justice found itself constrained by the funding cycles and political priorities of distant capitals.

The tribunal was enormously expensive, but for all its ambition and symbolism, the ECCC heard only a handful of cases. The length of the trials, the complexity of the hybrid system, and the layers of translation and coordination made the process slow and costly. These tensions were compounded by time constraints. The ECCC began its work decades after the crimes and many of the accused were elderly and in poor health. From the outset, there was a race against the clock to ensure that trials concluded before defendants died or became unfit to stand trial. This urgency led to a series of procedural choices, such as severing case 002 into multiple, smaller trials. The idea was to simplify the case into specific issues and expedite the process. But in practice, it had the opposite effect.

Rather than streamlining the proceedings, severance led to duplication. Issues litigated in the first trial 002/01 resurfaced in the second 002/02. Legal determinations from one case influenced the other in ways that undermined procedural fairness. We found ourselves constantly revisiting arguments and rulings, trying to untangle their consequences for our defense strategy, and litigating issues that impacted the fairness of procedures in the second trial. The clock was always ticking, but the shortcuts meant to save time ended up costing more of it.

And as proceedings dragged on, money and motivation ran thin. Donors became less enthusiastic. Resources dwindled. The brunt of the time pressure fell to the defense team who were expected to review thousands of pages of evidence under short timeframes, perform under impossible deadlines, and respond quickly to shifting legal frameworks. Looking forward, there are lessons to be learned. Prosecutors might consider bringing fewer, better-supported charges. Narrowing the scope to focus on the strongest evidence could result in shorter, more effective trials and it would also help preserve the credibility of the institutions.

Defending the Principles of Law

At the center of international criminal trials is the determination of individual criminal liability. These courts ultimately are not truth commissions, nor are they tasked with writing history. Their mandate is legal, and their aims are rooted in principles of law. For defense counsel, this means our job is not to deny the tragic crimes that occurred or to dismiss the suffering of victims. Rather, it is to test the prosecution’s case and the alleged implication of our client within the proposed evidence.

Objectivity is the starting point. A defense lawyer must work constantly to remove preconceived notions and personal reactions in order to analyze the evidence as neutrally as possible. The defense hopes—and expects—that judges and observers do the same. In my experience, the most dedicated defense lawyers hold profound respect for the victims and for those who have suffered, but ultimately are required to question whether their client is legally and individually responsible for specific acts. That is the fundamental purpose of the defense lawyer.

Symbolic Justice

International and hybrid tribunals tend to operate under immense political and symbolic pressure. The accused often become stand-ins for entire regimes or histories of violence. When only a few individuals are tried for mass atrocities, the pressure to convict those individuals increases, especially in the early stages of a tribunal’s life. At the ECCC, moral outrage, public sentiment, and political optics sometimes threatened to override the principles of law. But defense lawyers have a duty to hold the line. We are not there to deliver moral verdicts. We are there to ensure that legal standards are upheld, even when the events in question are horrifying and the public demands punishment. If symbolism is permitted to eclipse substance, then the tribunals risk undermining the foundation of the system it seeks to uphold.

       Jurisprudence

The trials at the ECCC were designed to represent justice on a grand scale. But that symbolism could sometimes overshadow the substance of the law. The Court was supposed to judge the accused according to the legal framework that existed in Cambodia between 1975 and 1979 but in practice, the jurisprudence applied to their cases was often drawn from international rulings that came decades later—particularly from the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) and International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. That meant retroactively applying legal standards that had not existed at the time of the alleged crimes and that the accused could not forsee, raising fundamental concerns about legality and fairness.

In my case at the ECCC, the central legal issue was whether it was justifiable to convict my client Khieu Samphan, who held a particular leadership position at the time of the conflict, for acts he neither committed nor ordered, in locations he had never set foot in. Could he have known, between 1975 and 1979, that he bore legal responsibility for certain crimes under a theory of liability that did not yet exist? That was the question my team posed to the Chamber. We maintained throughout that our submission was both factually and legally correct. While the verdict ultimately did not reflect our position, the full submission reveals legal and factual issues that are far more complex than the conviction suggests. 

Legal Integrity

One of the major challenges in the Samphan case involved the principle of legal integrity—the idea that the law must be applied consistently and fairly, without bending principles to achieve a desired outcome. The mode of liability that the prosecution ultimately used to secure the conviction, that of joint criminal enterprise, did not appear in the original indictment. Instead, it was introduced and built into the case over time, during the trial itself. Joint criminal enterprise, a doctrine developed by the judges of the ICTY, permits conviction for crimes that an accused did not commit or intend, if those crimes were foreseeable outcomes of a common criminal plan. It remains highly controversial, in part because of its attenuated connection between the accused and the acts in question.

This shift in the trial process felt as though the legal system had been subtly recalibrated to ensure a conviction. This is a problem that many defense lawyers face in international criminal law. Despite the appearance of adherence to the law, the reality is that no judgment in international criminal law is ever based on law alone. Social context, political expectations, and the legal, personal, and cultural backgrounds of judges all exert an influence. A judge may feel morally opposed to acquitting someone who is seen as a symbol of a brutal regime, even if that is what the law requires. That pressure can shape how modes of liability are interpreted and applied, and what kinds of evidence are considered sufficient to establish criminal responsibility. 

The definitions of crimes are clear, but the modes of liability for the accused are not. The uncertainty in how judgements are rendered makes the defense’s work highly unpredictable and undermines the rights to a fair trial. But defense lawyers ultimately do not make the final decision, and it is someone else who bears that final responsibility. We can only present the applicable law, apply it to the facts, and argue the elements as rigorously as possible. Even in defeat, we hope that the legal reasoning we advance through our submissions will be seen and acknowledged by others. At the very least, we aim to leave behind a clear and principled record that others can examine and use in the future—one that upholds the integrity of legal reasoning, even when the conclusion is politically or morally contested.

The work of a defense lawyer does not stop at the courtroom door. In my client’s case, he was more than 80 years old and struggled with the conditions of detention. We had to continually litigate to secure better conditions for him and ensure that his basic human rights were respected. This work outside of the courtroom matters. It is part of maintaining the fundamental integrity of the law: that every person, no matter who they are or what they have been accused of, has rights. Detention during trial is not about punishment; it is about safeguarding the process while preserving the rights of prisoners. Upholding those rights, both inside and outside the courtroom, is also central to the defense lawyer’s role.

Understanding the Basis for Conviction

My client, Khieu Samphan, was an educated man who had studied in France. We got along well and he enjoyed discussing French literature and politics, and had a broad curiosity about the world. But despite this rapport, there were also significant generational gaps, especially when it came to explaining the legal theory underpinning his prosecution. The idea of joint criminal enterprise was difficult to transmit—not just to the client, but also to many lawyers and judges. How do you explain to someone that they are being held criminally responsible for crimes they neither ordered, committed, nor knew about because their presence at a meeting is interpreted as joining a common plan? It is a profoundly complex legal construct. 

Samphan read extensively about the Khmer Rouge from the outside—what others had written about the regime that he had been part of. He was not wealthy, nor did he profit from the regime in the way some others might have. He spent years living in the jungle in basic conditions, and then in prison. I imagine that for an elderly person, confronting such a radically different version of the reality that you had lived, as told by others, was difficult.

Despite his old age, Samphan was committed to understanding his trial and prosecution. He read every document in the case file. He actively participated in the defense and was capable of pointing out issues. He could become frustrated, and understandably so. After a hearing he might say, “I have never even been there, I do not know this place!”. I would have to explain the nuances of joint criminal enterprise—that by attending certain meetings, the prosecution argued he became responsible for crimes committed elsewhere. That is a tough idea to accept for a criminal lawyer, let alone the accused himself. By the end of the trial, I believe Samphan understood the implications of joint criminal enterprise and why, in the eyes of the tribunal, he was there.

This understanding does not just matter for the accused, it matters for the victims too. It is important that victims understand the legal basis for a conviction or acquittal. Otherwise, they may feel that justice has not been done if the direct perpetrator is not the one on trial, or when the legal requirements for criminal responsibility of the one accused were simply not met. 

Reflections on the Tribunal’s Legacy

Overall, many of the legal principles that emerged from the ECCC were problematic, and I hope they do not shape the future of international criminal law. I left the tribunal with deep reservations about what the ECCC contributed to developing legal doctrine, particularly in regards to its use of joint criminal enterprise and its departure from the principle of legality. Still, there is one silver lining: when you fight your case and finish your submission, the judges are required to issue a reasoned decision. The legal arguments are there, on record, for other lawyers, scholars, and future practitioners to evaluate against the decision. They can read the submissions, the judgment, and the reasoning, and come to their own conclusions. Few people are reading the thousands of pages that make up these decisions. But perhaps in the future—when the dust has settled—there will be more appetite for that kind of close reading and reflection.

Still, the ECCC was not without some value. One positive contribution was the demonstration that a hybrid model of justice could be implemented within a national legal system like Cambodia’s. It also exposed Cambodian judges and lawyers to a different model of justice. Cambodian society is deeply codified, and for many national defense lawyers there had long been a sense of hesitation or deference toward prosecutors and judges. Working alongside international defense lawyers showed what a strong, adversarial defense could look like in practice and the judges became more open to this approach. I believe that that experience was meaningful. But ultimately, it is up to Cambodian lawyers and judges to determine what they took from it and how they will build on it in the years to come.

Ways Forward

One of the enduring challenges in international criminal law is how to meaningfully acknowledge and address the suffering of victims. In any large-scale atrocity, not every crime can be prosecuted, nor every victim represented in court. A good prosecutor must build a case around the strongest evidence, which means focusing on specific incidents and locations where the credibility of witnesses and documentation is highest. This inevitably leaves many victims feeling frustrated and unseen when the violence they endured falls outside the charges or is not directly linked to the accused.

Currently, international criminal law ties victim compensation to a conviction. This is a major flaw in the system. Victims suffer harm regardless of whether a conviction is secured. In some national systems, like in France, compensation is still available even when an accused is acquitted—acknowledging that the harm itself is real and deserving of redress. International law needs to move in this direction.

In addition, justice cannot be reduced to symbolic trials of a few high-ranking individuals but rather these tribunals must be part of a broader system that supports national courts in prosecuting a wider range of perpetrators and crimes. It is an illusion to think that only elite actors or high-profile figures are responsible for atrocities. Such crimes occur within systems—enabled by institutions, policies, and social environments. Trials can illuminate these enabling structures, but they cannot dismantle or reform them. Tribunals do not mark the end or the concluding chapter of a conflict, but rather true prevention of mass atrocities require a commitment to confronting the broader social and political conditions that allow these crimes to occur in the first place.

We like to imagine that international criminal law represents the highest ideals of justice—that it is the most advanced, principled system. But the reality is more complex. Like any legal system, it is flawed. In fact, it often requires extraordinary intellectual and legal contortions to convict people who were not physically present when the crimes occurred. The system, as it stands, demands legal constructions that would be unthinkable in most national jurisdictions. Based on this, I believe it is important for international practitioners to have experience in domestic jurisdictions in order to retain a grounded sense of what criminal liability should mean. In this way, these practicioners do not lose sight of the principles that anchor criminal law—principles that can easily become abstract or distorted at the international level. 

Conclusion 

Reflecting on the experience of defending at the ECCC brings with it a mix of hard-learned lessons, professional concerns, and cautious hope. The tribunal was shaped by its exceptional nature: the scale and gravity of the crimes charged, the sheer volume of evidence, and the long passage of time between the atrocities and the judicial response. These factors made the task of delivering justice uniquely challenging.

The proximity of the court to the alleged crimes provided a rare opportunity for contextualized justice and working in-country, alongside Cambodian lawyers and judges, brought a partnership and immediacy to our work. The hybrid structure—though often politically and logistically strained—allowed for moments of genuine collaboration and mutual learning. We witnessed changes in how national actors perceived the role of the defense and saw the emergence of a more adversarial, rights-respecting understanding of justice. For Cambodian defense lawyers, this exposure may have been particularly significant, as it offered an alternative model to traditional courtroom hierarchies.

At the same time, there were serious limitations. Defense teams had little opportunity for field investigations and limited time to review an already completed case file. And while the symbolism of the trials drew some international and local attention, it often amounted to performative justice rather than meaningful redress for victims. 

The development of legal doctrine at the ECCC left troubling legacies, particularly in its interpretation of joint criminal enterprise and the principle of legality. Too often, international criminal law has relied on abstract constructs to secure convictions of those far from the physical crime scenes, distorting fundamental legal principles. That distortion is not just technical—it speaks to a deeper challenge in international criminal justice. When legal principles are bent to meet political or symbolic aims, the legitimacy of the entire system is called into question. Justice, especially in this context, must resist the urge to perform. It must remain principled, predictable, and firmly grounded in law.

Moving forward, several lessons are clear. International trials must be more realistic in scope and timing. They cannot carry the full burden of transitional justice alone. National jurisdictions must be better supported and equipped to handle a broader range of cases, and the assumption that only high-level perpetrators matter must be re-examined. Donor support is critical and it must go beyond convictions—it must also support the rights of the accused and the adequate functioning of the defense. 

In the end, the legitimacy of international criminal law depends not just on convictions or symbolism, but on the integrity of the process itself. And for that process to be truly just, it must resist the pressure to sacrifice principle for expedience, or to bend the law in service of public opinion. For defense counsel, the task remains as demanding as it is necessary. We are called not just to defend the accused, but to uphold the principles of law. Even when it is unpopular. Even when it is inconvenient. Because it is in those moments that the integrity of the system is tested and hopefully, preserved.