For our June edition of The Dispatch, The Reckoning Project’s monthly column, Director of Research and Analysis, Roman Avramenko, reflects on more than a decade documenting atrocities, and on the widening gap between the scale of modern war crimes and the international system's ability to deliver justice.
Justice’s Moment of Truth
By Roman Avramenko
Looking back at a decade of my experience documenting atrocities across four conflicts where I have worked, a grim picture emerges: while the number of violations of International Humanitarian Law (IHL) is constantly growing, the justice system meant to address them is rapidly degrading.
Arrest warrants issued by the International Criminal Court (ICC) are routinely ignored, and the very institution that issues them falls under sanctions by some of the most powerful states in the world. The UN Security Council, which is supposed to be the primary guarantor of global security, is completely paralyzed due to the abuse of the veto power by its permanent members, allowing aggressors to evade any accountability. Initiating proceedings in third countries remains as difficult as ever, while the Ukrainian national justice system is literally buckling under the massive weight of over 170,000 open criminal proceedings.
Developments on the frontlines are not faring any better for IHL. In total, I have spent perhaps 18 months over the course of 12 years documenting frontline and occupied territories, witnessing this trend firsthand. Granted, back then many acts of torture, unlawful detentions, and indiscriminate attacks were also committed, causing devastation and casualties. Yet, I felt more confident that I would return unharmed from a documentation mission.
Even when I knew that a Russian sniper was likely watching through the crosshairs of his rifle scope from a slag heap as I, wearing my neon-yellow jacket (trying my best to signal that I was a civilian), videotaped the damaged homes of Mariinka in the Donetsk region of Ukraine.
Today, I wouldn't even need to get out of bed in my house near Kyiv for a Russian drone or missile to strike me. And for residents of frontline towns, merely stepping outside is enough for an FPV drone operator to steer explosives toward them with sniper precision. As for the town of Mariinka I mentioned, it no longer physically exists at all— it was leveled to the ground by Russian artillery strikes and bombing.
Years ago, international organizations could still negotiate temporary ceasefires to monitor violations and deliver aid. Today, even UN humanitarian convoys come under attack, while the world's response rarely extends beyond expressions of "deep concern."
We increasingly see that international symbols like the Red Cross no longer offer any protection. The same goes for the marking for journalists. During recent frontline security training for TRP, journalist participants debated whether wearing PRESS markings now makes them more, not less, likely to be targeted. The fact that such a discussion is even necessary speaks volumes about how the protections of international law are eroding.
This is all leading to the blurring of the line between the protected individuals and persons and objects that constitute legitimate military targets. That boundary, which IHL has attempted to draw clearly since its inception in 1899, is now fading away like a marker with vanishing ink.
So, which way will the scales tip? The question is whether we have already passed the point of no return, after which the volume of crimes will snowball while the means to counter them dwindle. Will we reach a point where all distinctions between the military, medics, journalists, and humanitarian workers vanish, and everyone wears the same gray clothes?
Yet, I continue to believe that humanity has the power to reverse this trend. Even now, Russia's war against Ukraine is the most documented war in history. No matter how thick a fog of war the criminals attempt to shroud their actions in, not only the battlefield but also the information regarding the atrocities committed is becoming transparent.
Our work at TRP’s Research Lab, which I head, has demonstrated just how, in a short period of time, the Lab exists, a handful of researchers managed to identify those advertising Ukrainians in the occupied territories to enlist in the Russian army and fight against their own. We also traced the path of many children from a boarding school who were deported by the occupiers to Russia.
Recently, I heard fellow human rights defenders argue that we should stop speaking of "justice for all" because only a small fraction of war crimes will ever be punished. I respectfully disagree. While I no longer hold the romantic hope that inspired me at the beginning of my career as a human rights defender — that the International Criminal Court will find and punish every single perpetrator — I now realize that, in many ways, we, the representatives of civil society, are the hands of justice.
With the capabilities of artificial intelligence, new technologies that are becoming increasingly available, and due persistence, the fog of war is steadily dissipating. So, forgive me, dear colleagues, but I will remain in the camp of those who will continue to say that our mission is the restoration of justice for every single victim of these brutal crimes.