In our introductory chapter to this work we state that, if this book has a heart, it lies in the recognition of the fact that both ancient and recent human history is littered with examples of widespread and gross violations of human rights. Appalling violations of fundamental human rights continue to be perpetrated in the present day. Despite the enduring and widespread nature of gross human rights violations, however, it is an unfortunate fact that, of the millions of people whose lives have been shattered by torture, rape, the murder of loved ones, or other gross violations of their human rights, only a tiny fraction have any hope of receiving any meaningful form of reparation.

This book may be regarded as a single modest attempt to address the problem outlined above. It is our hope that the individual chapters contained in this book will stimulate debate on the issue of reparations, and that this debate will lead to increased visibility for the many deserving groups striving for some form of meaningful recognition or recompense for past injustices visited upon them.

We do not claim that this book covers the field of reparations in a comprehensive or systematic way. Rather, it is eclectic in nature, due to the diverse areas of interest and expertise of the various contributing authors. Therefore, it should be regarded as a work designed to stimulate debate on a number of themes pertinent to the important topic of reparations, rather than as a text book which sets out to describe an entire field of study. The book is intended for practitioners and other human rights experts who are engaged in the struggle for reparations for gross human rights abuses.

This is a truly international work. As editors we are grateful to have collaborated with a range of outstanding academics and practitioners from around the world, whose individual chapters form the fabric of the book. We have not sought to sensor the, at times robust, political and legal opinions of the various authors, but point out that the views and opinions expressed by the authors are not necessarily those of the editors of this book. Our heartfelt thanks are due to each of the authors.

INTRODUCTION

For almost two-and-one-half centuries, the US government (by which I mean not only the republic formed under the Constitution of 1787, but also its predecessor regimes) forced millions of black Africans and their descendants (‘African Americans’) into a brutal system of human bondage. Once captured in Africa, these innocent people were packed like sardines into ships for the hellish journey to what is now the US. Many died during the voyage, some by suffocation from being shackled in a coffin-size space for a long period of time and others by throwing themselves into the ocean. Mothers sometimes jumped with babies in arms. Those unlucky to survive the ordeal faced more hardships upon arriving in the US. The infamous auction block, for example, often broke up families as each member was sold to a different plantation owner. Plantation life for the vast majority of African Americans was sheer pain: backbreaking work, suffering, humiliation, and death from dawn to dusk. All this so that whites in the US could make a buck.

This cruel attempt to bestialise human beings – what is generally referred to as ‘chattel slavery’ – was quite different from prior practices of slavery dating back to Mesopotamia. Most significantly, American slavery, like slavery in other parts of the New World, injected the element of colour into the master-slave relationship. Colour became the social marker of slavery. As Alexis de Tocqueville noted: ‘Among the ancients, the slave belonged to the same race as his master.’ Among the Africans as well, the slave belonged to the same race as his master. But in the Americas, the slave belonged to a different race from that of his master. When colour became the social marker of slavery, it destroyed the ancient prospect that a slave could one day become a respected teacher, an important statesman or even his master's master. Nathaniel Weyl summarises the social construction of slavery in ancient times:

INTRODUCTION

In Western thinking, the Nazi Holocaust has become the symbol of absolute evil, a moral universal that serves as a standard against which to measure gross human rights violations. The struggle to comprehend the origins of the ‘Final Solution’, the Nazi decision to destroy European Jewry, and cope with its legacies has troubled the minds of generations of scholars, policy planners and individuals who were directly or indirectly affected by these events. Many measures currently under discussion as possible responses to suffering caused by administrative massacres were first devised and tested in reaction to the crimes of the Nazi regime. However, as their evaluation illustrates, there is no easy answer to the question of how to cope with legacies of such widespread abuse. Recent literature on transitional justice stresses the many dilemmas associated with establishing accountability and restoring legal order in the aftermath of systemic violence. Criminal prosecution of the main perpetrators, for instance, inevitably focuses on selected individuals and, with regard to representations of a contested past, risks eclipsing the fact of widespread public and bureaucratic involvement in the abuses. At times, trials and lustration also fail to satisfy the victims’ expectation that they will be vindicated, especially when high-profile perpetrators, against whom there is overwhelming evidence, are acquitted for technical reasons. Against this backdrop, authors have suggested victim-based approaches as an alternative to criminal prosecution. Many also see efforts at reconciliation and restorative justice, including reparations, as complementary measures embodying the promise of both vindicating the victims and avoiding the aforementioned problems.

But with regard to victim reparations, the legal situation is sketchy. Absent an internationally recognised right to redress for human rights violations, the case of Holocaust reparations serves as a precedent, since it remains ‘unequalled’ in its scale, as Jon Elster emphasises in his recent book on transitional justice. When gauged only by the sum of money involved, the record is indeed remarkable: By the end of 2004, German expenditure for the rehabilitation of Nazi victims amounted to more than 62 billion euros. Accordingly, Holocaust reparations have come to represent, for some, Germany's exemplary efforts to redress the wrongs of the Nazi regime.

INTRODUCTION

International criminal law by its very nature focuses on punishment of serious international offences as its main objective. It differs from national criminal law by the attention it pays to offences which not only wrong a State or a particular community but offend the international community as a whole. However, its raison d’etre is intricately connected to the pursuit of international peace and security. It is but one solution to the general problem of how to address past human rights violations in order to restore the damaged society and ensure no repetition of these undesirable events in that society or elsewhere in the world. It sits side by side with, complements and competes with other mechanisms for the restoration of international peace and security including amnesties, truth commissions, exclusionary measures against those responsible for past wrongs (in particular lustration laws) and reparations to the victims.

Not unsurprisingly international criminal law finds its roots in the development of norms designed to limit the effects of war. These are nearly as old as war itself. Evidence of such norms can be found in the historical records of for instance the Chinese, the Mayas and the ancient Greeks. Later in history, principles on the regulation of war were codified in national military manuals, but ultimately being a matter of universal concern, the laws of war have developed internationally through the practice and customs of States and collective codification in international treaties designed for this specific purpose. In modern history the laws of war were most recently extensively codified in the four Geneva Conventions on the Laws of War of 1949. It is in the last fifty years that international criminal laws have expanded their frontiers to other internationally reprehensible offences such as genocide, crimes against humanity, apartheid and offences against diplomats and UN personnel. The Geneva Conventions provide for a general obligation on States to prosecute grave breaches of these conventions before their own courts. The substance of international criminal law has been refined on the international level, and its enforcement has in the past generally been left to individual States.

INTRODUCTION

‘Comfort women’ were young women of various ethnic and national backgrounds who became sex slaves for the Japanese Imperial Army before and during World War II. Over a fifteen-year period, the comfort system implemented the rape and sexual enslavement of women from Japanese colonies and occupied territories. Although the exact number of comfort women is unknown, most scholars agree that between 80,000 and 200,000 women were kidnapped, forcibly drafted, or deceived into sexual slavery. A recent study estimates that as many as 400,000 women might have been victimised. Of these women, about 80% were Korean. As part of the overall Japanese war effort, the comfort system was administered by the Japanese military, as well as by Japan's Home Ministry and other Ministries.

Toward the end of the war, Japanese troops sought to expunge traces of the comfort system by slaughtering the women. Soldiers rounded up most of the women and shot them indiscriminately, or drove them into trenches and bombed the sites. Sometimes they used the women as bullet shields or abandoned them to fend for themselves. Only 30% of the women survived. Those who did survive the war suffered years of isolation: many remained unmarried and did not go back to their families due to feelings of guilt and shame. A 1998 survey indicates that ‘90 percent of surviving comfort women are not married, live in poverty, and suffer from physical and psychological diseases.’ Most significantly, former comfort women did not speak of their experiences, even with friends and families. While the victims kept silent, both the Korean and Japanese governments suffered from a collective amnesia. Neither party broached the issue during their frequent diplomatic interactions following the war.

In 1991, Kim Hak Sun, a former comfort woman who had served in a comfort station in China, finally broke the silence that spanned half a century by bringing a lawsuit against the Japanese government to claim compensation for her sufferings. Although the Japanese government initially denied any involvement in the comfort system, Professor Yoshimi Yoshiaki's fortuitous discovery of relevant documents at the National Institute for Defense compelled the administration officially to recant its denial. In an attempt to appease the international community, the Japanese government initiated a private fund to provide financial assistance to former comfort women.

INTRODUCTION AND BACKGROUND

The long-overdue movement to provide redress to those who suffered abuse in Canada's Residential Schools is on the threshold of achieving effective resolution, arguably a historical success in relative terms by comparison with reparations claims in other countries. The processes employed for claims by Residential School survivors – for psychological abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and cultural genocide – have included litigation, alternative dispute resolution (ADR) and political negotiation. This chapter will review recent developments with respect to these resolution processes, in which the leading Native Indian non-governmental organisation in Canada, the Assembly of First Nations (AFN), has played a major role. The chapter will also begin to explore questions of justice and legal theory raised by the processes.

POLITICAL AWARENESS: RESTORING DIGNITY

The 1996 Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Looking Forward, Looking Back, recommended that there be a public inquiry to examine the origins and effects of government policies with respect to Residential Schools and the abuses which took place in that context. This task was handed to the Law Commission of Canada. In 1998, the government also made a Statement of Reconciliation which acknowledged and expressed regret for the harms caused. After a series of dialogues between government representatives, church representatives, and school survivors, a number of pilot ADR projects were undertaken. Recommendations were then made with respect to the design of any future resolution processes. In 2000 the government released the Law Commission Report, Restoring Dignity: Responding to Child Abuse in Canadian Institutions, which set out principles for a compensation plan and called for a public inquiry into the problem.

The Restoring Dignity Report identified the ‘needs’ of survivors of abuse in the Residential Schools from their own perspective. The Report resolved to keep the interests of these children (who are now adults) at the forefront of any further resolution. Restoring Dignity revealed two overarching ‘values’ that were reflected in the way survivors themselves had expressed their needs. These were:

• (a) Respect and engagement; and

• (b) Information and support.

INTRODUCTION

In the recent past securing reparations for the victims of harm caused by gross human rights violations has become more of a priority due to major developments internationally,regionally, and locally. These developments have occurred at an institutional level with the formation of bodies such as the International Criminal Court as well as the international criminal tribunals for Yugoslavia and Rwanda. Also, there has been development in the jurisprudence and standards relating to when reparations are due. These developments and advances, however, have not often translated into specific reparations for victims; especially in Africa where gross human rights abuses have been part of the landscape within pre-colonial, colonial, and post-colonial societies and countries.

Any discussion of reparations due for those who have suffered gross human rights abuses in the Great Lakes area of central Africa has to begin within an analysis of events during the nineteenth century, when the European powers carved up Africa into different areas of exploitation. This is not to say that no abuses occurred before the colonial period, but reparations for those abuses would be practicably impossible to secure because identifying specific perpetrators would be extraordinarily difficult. However, claims against colonial powers, could be brought, although numerous legal difficulties would have to be surmounted. Claims relating to events before 1885 are not likely to be successful. It was in this year that the scramble for Africa culminated and saw the colonial powers meeting at the Berlin Conference to draft a Treaty which would determine which colonial power would take control in which area of Africa. The treaty that was drafted provided that the local population would be well treated by the colonisers. As a result of the agreements reached and set out in the treaty, borders were established which took no interest in where different tribes were situated. Groups were divided up regardless of language, culture, ethnicity or other affinity. To this day the colonial borders remain sacrosanct, not because they are deemed acceptable, but because to open up the issue to debate would lead inevitably to conflict. Rivalries over these borders, already a problem, would become an even greater issue within Africa and would lead to further wars and loss of life.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa was the fruit of a political compromise. The terms of the compromise both made possible the Commission and set the limits within which it would work. These limits, in turn, defined the space available to the Commission to interpret its terms of reference and define its agenda. This paper takes the compromise legislation that set up the TRC as a historical given and focuses attention on the TRC's interpretation of its terms of reference.

The TRC claimed to be different from its predecessors, whether in Latin America or Eastern Europe. It would practice neither impunity nor vengeance. It was determined to avoid not one but two pitfalls: on the one hand reconciliation turned into an unprincipled embrace of political evil and, on the other hand, a pursuit of justice so relentless as to turn into revenge. To do so, the Commission was determined to address both ‘victims’ and ‘perpetrators’, not just one of them.

This double determination was first written into South Africa's Interim Constitution that paved the way for the legislation that set up the TRC. First, there would be no blanket amnesty. Amnesty would be conditional. It would not be a group amnesty. Every perpetrator would have to be identified individually, and would have to own up to his or her guilt – the truth – before receiving amnesty from legal prosecution. Second, the victim who is so acknowledged would give up the right to prosecute perpetrators in courts of law. Justice for the victim would thus not be criminal but restorative: acknowledgement would be followed by reparations. In sum, individual amnesty for the perpetrator, truth for the society and acknowledgement andreparations for the victim – this was the pact built into the legislation that set up the TRC.

The Act, however, did not clearly define the ‘victim,’ and therefore, the ‘perpetrator’. The Commission would have to do it. This paper argues that the single most important decision that determined the scope and depth of the Commission's work was its definition of ‘victim,’ and thus, ‘perpetrator’. Without a comprehensive acknowledgement of victims of apartheid, there would only be a limited identification of perpetrators and only a partial understanding of the legal regime that made possible the ‘crime against humanity’ – and unfortunately there was. From this perspective, the paper identifies two key limitations in the Commission's Report.

INTRODUCTION

A Seattle newspaper in 2004 published an editorial headed ‘Apology is fine, but justice is better.’ In this simple but compelling phrase, it conveyed the notion of a dichotomy between apology and justice and implied that it might be possible to have one or the other, but not both. The editorial, which reflected on the US Government's response to the land claims of Native Americans, epitomised the weary cynicism felt by some observers about the ‘age of apology’ into which we are now said to have entered. It rightly emphasised the need to be alert to and wary of attempts to conceal or dress up in fine words the perpetration of further injustice against those already wronged. Nevertheless, there is no necessary dichotomy between apology and justice. Indeed, for some victims of injustice, contemporary and historic, individual and collective, apology forms an essential ingredient of the justice sought.

In the law of state responsibility, an apology from one state to another for an internationally wrongful act is an established form of reparation. Its capacity to prevent the escalation of conflict between nations and to ensure that wrongs committed by one nation against another do not fester is apparently accepted with little difficulty by international lawyers. The role of apology as a form of reparation for violations of human rights and international humanitarian law, however, is relatively poorly established and receives little attention from international courts and tribunals, practising international lawyers or international law academics. This chapter considers whether more can and should be done to promote apology as a form of reparation for human rights violations and crimes under international law. It argues that it is time for international lawyers to take apology seriously.

In some national legal systems, the importance of apology has long been recognised. In their fascinating and insightful piece of comparative law scholarship published in 1986, Hiroshi Wagatsuma and Arthur Rosett observed that ‘a basic assumption in Japanese society’ seemed to be ‘that apology is an integral part of every resolution of conflict’.

INTRODUCTION

On March 26, 2002, in a United States federal court in Brooklyn, New York, a city transit worker, a 72-year-old retired nurse, and a law school graduate, all descendants of enslaved African Americans, became the first to file corporate reparations lawsuits on behalf of themselves, their descendants and a putative class of approximately 21 million. Their targets: a bank, a railroad and an insurance company, all of which allegedly profited from the Transatlantic Slave Trade. Over the next year, in a coordinated, multi-state strategy, additional lawsuits were filed in federal courts in the cities of: Newark, Chicago, Austin, Los Angeles, and New Orleans. The list of corporate defendants grew to 17, including several banks, a textile company, a shipping company, finance houses and additional insurance and railroad companies. The lawsuits were consolidated for purposes of pre-trial procedures before a Federal District Court Judge, Charles R. Norgle, in the Northern District of Illinois.

As the filings grew, so did the number of new representative plaintiffs, which came to include the aged children and grandchildren of slaves who could recount the stories of their enslaved parents and grandparents. The New Jersey plaintiff, the son of a sharecropper and grandson of an enslaved master carpenter, vividly recalled the profound sadness of his Great-Aunt as she spoke of her emancipation at age 19. He shared his childhood memories of delivering newspapers and raking leaves for the white-occupants of stately homes built by his enslaved grandfather. Three California plaintiffs and one from Illinois are the children of Andrew Hurdle, who was born into slavery in 1845 and sired children well into his eighties. Ranging in age from 74 to 87, the children recalled the whipping scars on their father's back and his recounting of his devastating separation from his brother on the auction block. In the summer of 2003, eight members of a family from Louisiana, claiming to have been enslaved in remote areas of the South up until the 1960s, joined the litigation. The hundred-yearold father, born in the early 1900s, and seven of his living children retraced their family history of being born enslaved on a rural farm in the Mississippi delta where a poor, white landholding family had kept successive generations of his family enslaved through physical abuse and terror.