The question of whether international courts can play a role in ending wars has become more pressing than ever as the rules-based international order faces the greatest challenge since World War II. Some answer it with skepticism, others with outright cynicism. My answer, however, is an emphatic “yes.” Below, I explain why, drawing on my experience advising and representing States before international courts, including in disputes arising from war and armed conflict.
A Level Field in an Unequal World
In war, power dominates and dictates, but that dynamic shifts in court because power must answer to law, on the record, under rules, and with clear justifications. In a courtroom, where equality of the parties before the law remains the basic principle, a State’s strength is not measured by Oreshnik missiles, but by law and facts. Courts put States on equal footing, with equal time, equal right to reply, and equal obligations to persuade. Judges decide by majority. And no judge can veto the outcome. Power does not even guarantee a seat on the bench, as we saw in the recent International Court of Justice (ICJ) elections. For all its limitations, international adjudication is as close as the international system gets to a level playing field.
In wartime, this equalizing power can be existential. When negotiations fail, where else can a smaller State meet a stronger one on anything like equal terms? Not in a place where vetoes rule. Turning to courts and tribunals—as the last guardians of the legal order—thus becomes critically important. Courts cannot promise victory but offer what is rare in war: an orderly legal process in a neutral forum where law can speak to power. That alone creates a strategic shift. A conflict can be turned into a legal case. And once it becomes a legal case, the full legal and judicial arsenal becomes available to restore and build peace—if it is used wisely and responsibly.
Court’s Constraints and Counsel’s Restraints
International courts operate in an unforgiving geopolitical environment and are constrained by the requirements of consent and by the lack of independent enforcement capacity. These constraints inevitably shape the role courts can play in ending war. They should also inform the role of counsel in helping courts perform that role.
Compulsory jurisdiction depends on consent. As the Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ) stated in its 1923 Status of Eastern Carelia Advisory Opinion, “[n]o State, without its consent, can be compelled to submit its disputes with other States to a court or tribunal.” This principle—articulated a century ago in the case in which Soviet Russia was not a member of the League of Nations, did not consent to the jurisdiction of the PCIJ, and refused to participate in the proceedings—still stands today. It is not displaced even when a dispute involves rights and obligations erga omnes or jus cogens, as the ICJ confirmed in DRC v. Rwanda (2006), where claims concerning armed aggression failed for lack of jurisdiction. But when jurisdiction exists, a court or tribunal can exercise its full judicial role. And when jurisdiction rests on a special agreement and both parties are prepared to participate constructively in the proceedings and comply with the eventual judgment, the role of international courts in ending war is at its maximum. Libya/Chad (1994) is a good example. Acting on the parties’ special agreement, the ICJ resolved a territorial dispute. Libya accepted the decision in favor of Chad and withdrew its forces. The parties then reached a peace agreement.
The lack of independent enforcement capacity is another systemic constraint. International courts do not command police forces or armies; they rely on States to comply in good faith. The Security Council could play an important enforcement role, but it is vulnerable to paralysis when a permanent member is itself the aggressor (or shields one). Since Russia’s aggression against Ukraine in 2022, the Security Council has been handcuffed by Russia’s veto, blocking efforts to stop the aggression and ensure compliance with all provisional measures indicated by the ICJ in the cases brought by Ukraine. The party most willing to break the law is often the most willing to defy a judgment that holds it accountable. Repeated defiance—especially in high-profile cases—can normalize non-compliance, erode the authority of international courts, and weaken confidence in their dispute settlement role.
These constraints should also counsel restraint for those representing sovereigns before international courts. Counsel’s duty is not only to achieve the best result for clients but also to help courts reach decisions that promote the rule of law and strengthen their authority and legitimacy. At a recent American Society of International Law (ASIL) Annual Meeting, I heard one counsel argue that during conflict “every button must be pressed” to activate courts. That instinct explains why “lawfare” has become a common label, often with pejorative connotations that sit uneasily with the genuine objective of advancing the rule of law. Counsel must certainly be creative in identifying every button that can be pressed—but wise in advising clients to press only those that international courts can soundly accept within the limits of consent, without jeopardizing their legitimacy, credibility, and authority. It matters in peace. It matters even more in war.
Ending War Before it Starts
International courts can help end war before it starts. A faded map, an ambiguous treaty reflecting a hasty compromise, or a line drawn by a colonial hand are “time-bombs.” International courts and tribunals have defused them by fixing boundaries and clarifying sovereignty. The ICJ has done it repeatedly. For example, in Frontier Dispute (Burkina Faso/Mali), the Court’s chamber drew a definitive land boundary that prevented another military conflict, with both States then jointly thanking the Court for peace.
A recent example is the Court’s May 2025 judgment in Equatorial Guinea/Gabon. The “time-bomb” there was a document Gabon claimed as a binding treaty. On Gabon’s account, the supposed “Bata Convention” signed in 1974, soon after Gabon forcibly occupied islands Equatorial Guinea inherited from Spain upon independence, meant Equatorial Guinea agreed to cede the islands, concede a generous maritime area, and swap some land. In my capacity as counsel for Equatorial Guinea, it was important to test that account against the parties’ subsequent conduct for nearly thirty years, including Gabon’s silence about this document at all relevant times. The parties’ conduct and Gabon’s silence proved decisive for the Court in concluding that the “Bata Convention” is not a treaty having the force of law concerning sovereignty over disputed islands or the delimitation of their maritime and land boundaries. The Court thus cleared a pathway to peace and offered diplomacy a legal roadmap.
Holding the Line When Conflict Erupts
When conflict erupts, the first question counsel asks is: “What is at imminent risk of irreparable harm and how to prevent it?” Courts can play an important role here by indicating provisional measures.
The strategic calculus for counsel is practical. Issued as binding orders, provisional measures can help achieve three important objectives that matter during ongoing conflict: holding the line by preserving rights and preventing escalation; protecting what cannot be repaired, including human life, the environment, and cultural heritage; and protecting the case itself by safeguarding evidence and preventing faits accomplis that would render any later judgment meaningless. That said, provisional measures are not requested on the naïve assumption that an aggressor will suddenly comply. But even when compliance is partial or absent, provisional measures still matter. They clarify what rights are at stake and what conduct risks irreparable harm, which can narrow the space for denial and broaden liability. Provisional measures also provide the first opportunity to establish an authoritative narrative that could puncture propaganda. That, in turn, can help mobilize international support and give other States, international institutions, and the public a principled basis to act in defense of the rule of law.
For example, in The Gambia v. Myanmar before the ICJ, where I acted as counsel for The Gambia, our request for provisional measures was as principled as it was practical. The Court’s order helped focus the world’s attention on the Rohingya genocide and made it harder to look away. And by imposing on Myanmar a regular reporting obligation, the order subjected Myanmar’s conduct to continuing judicial scrutiny, giving hope to survivors and helping avert more atrocities.
Shaping Conditions for Peace
International courts may be unable to stop a war, but they can help it end on lawful terms and shape conditions for peace by clarifying the rules and establishing responsibility, building a reliable record to preserve the truth, and opening a pathway to accountability, whether through reparations, individual criminal responsibility, or both. In that sense, international courts are like architects of peace.
War stretches the rules and creates legal fog. International courts cut through that fog and clarify the boundaries of what international law permits and prohibits. Their pronouncements become authoritative reference points that can guide States and institutions, help counsel shape legal strategies, and constrain narratives aggressors usually spin to make the abnormal seem normal. Consider the ICJ’s pronouncements on self-defense in Nicaragua v. United States and DRC v. Uganda. How are they helpful in wartime? They help expose and delegitimize bad faith claims of self-defense, such as Russia’s attempt to justify its so-called “special military operation” against Ukraine. Even having insulated itself from compulsory jurisdiction over the jus ad bellum, Russia cannot force its fiction into legitimacy. The ICJ jurisprudence has given States a principled basis to reject Russia’s pretext by overwhelmingly adopting in 2022 the U.N. General Assembly resolution entitled “Aggression against Ukraine.” And the four States voting with Russia—Belarus, North Korea, Eritrea, Syria—did not lend the Russian claim legitimacy but underscored its hollowness.
Truth is the first casualty of war. The chaos and confusion cloud objective reality. What happened? Who did it? Why was it done? In courts, those questions cannot be answered based on war propaganda. Assertions must be tied to facts and tested in an adversarial process. Pleadings, hearings, witnesses, experts, and judicial findings create an authoritative record. During war, that record can pin down a denier and establish its responsibility. After war, it can justify reparations, promote accountability, preserve memory, deter later revisionism, create a common baseline of truth for reconciliation, and ultimately promote a peace rooted in facts rather than myths.
Recall the tragedy of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH17 shot down in 2014 over occupied territory in eastern Ukraine. Russia denied its involvement. The ECtHR’s judgment in Ukraine and the Netherlands v. Russia brought Russia’s charade to an end, showing what courts can do for truth. The Court found that “the downing of flight MH17, resulting in the deaths of all 298 civilians on board, was the “consequence of the firing…of a Buk missile supplied and transported to eastern Ukraine…by the Russian Federation,” which “had effective control over the launch site at the time of the launch.” The Court established that “the firing of the missile at flight MH17 was intentional and that the consequences of the firing of the missile, namely the crash of the aircraft and, in all probability, the death of all those on board, were clear.” The Court thus held Russia responsible for violating the right to life within the meaning of Article 2 of the Convention through its role in the downing of flight MH17 and the deaths of the 298 people on board. The Court further held Russia responsible for violating the procedural aspect of Article 2 by failing to “conduct an effective investigation into the downing of flight MH17 and to cooperate effectively with the investigation of the [Joint Investigation Team].” The Court directly confronted Russia’s obstruction and misinformation. It found that Russian “inquiries regularly resulted in the disclosure of information which was later shown to be at best inaccurate and at worst a complete fabrication”; that “[f]rom the earliest days after the downing of the flight,” Russia “circulated misinformation as to the cause and circumstances of the crash”; and that Russia was “deliberately setting false trails, wasting the time and resources of the [Joint Investigation Team].” This is fact-finding with real consequences. It created a judicial record, established responsibility, honored the memory of innocent victims, and made it difficult for false information to harden into “history.”
Courts and counsel do more than establish facts. They can restore what war so often takes away: a voice, dignity, and a public acknowledgment of lived truth. Witnesses are not only sources of evidence. Their statements reveal private pain that, in some cases, a judicial process can help heal.
The Chagos Archipelago advisory proceedings, in which I acted as counsel for Mauritius, offered a vivid example, one that will stay with me forever. In our written pleadings, we brought forward the voices of Chagossians displaced from the Chagos Archipelago to convey the human cost of colonialism. At the oral hearings, we felt the Court should hear that voice directly. We played a short, unscripted video of Madame Liseby Elysé, a victim of colonial deportation and a member of the Mauritius delegation present in the Great Hall of Justice. Her words were not offered as testimonial evidence, but as a statement of impact about what the continuation of colonialism means for real people. She began by recalling the “happy life” they lived, and then her account turned to pain about how they were “uprooted from [their] paradise island,” “in the dark,” “without any reason,” and treated “like animals and slaves.” Four months pregnant at the time, she lost her child as a result of trauma. Yet she returned to hope and justice: “we must not lose hope,” and “justice must be done” because “[her] heart still belongs to the island where [she] was born,” and she longs to “return… and… die there,” where her grandparents are buried. The Court, and the world, heard what it means to be expelled from one’s home and maintain the wish to return for five decades. Her voice showed that the question of decolonization put before the Court by the U.N. General Assembly was not an abstract legal question but concerned real people, real lives, and the real continuing consequences of colonialism, which must be ended.
Once responsibility is established, international courts can open a pathway to accountability, which presents its own sets of challenges. How, for example, to translate ravages of war into compensable claims? This can be one of the hardest questions for court and counsel alike. In my experience as counsel for Uganda in the reparations phase of DRC v. Uganda, such hard questions arose when a reparations request was submitted back to the Court after negotiations failed. The 2022 Reparations Judgment in DRC v. Uganda illustrates, in a particularly stark way, how the law’s demand for causation, existence of injury, and its quantification can collide with the realities of mass injury in war. No one contested that the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and its people suffered damages during the conflict. The difficulty was different. The DRC asked the Court to award more than USD 11 billion without presenting evidence justifying such amount. That evidentiary gap put the parties and the Court in a unique position. The Court ultimately awarded roughly USD 330 million, bringing finality to the compensation issue and helping lay the groundwork for a more durable peace.
Conclusion
International courts do play a role in ending war, one best understood not through a romantic promise but principled realism. Courts do not end wars by command. Their jurisdiction rests on consent. And their impact depends on good-faith compliance. Yet within those limits, courts can still do what few other peaceful dispute resolution mechanisms can. When might tries to trump right, they offer a level playing field to speak law to power in the language of law and facts. Relying on that process and speaking that language remain among the few ways to protect a rules-based order. Courts, after all, can only be as effective as States are prepared to accept and support their role as indispensable guardians of the rule of law. Counsel, too, have a duty to help States turn to courts wisely, so as to promote the rule of law and strengthen their legitimacy, credibility, and authority.
FEATURED IMAGE: International Court of Justice’s members and audience attend the trial of the declaration of independence of Kosovo, on July 22, 2010 in the Peace Palace in The Hague. (Gerald van Daalen/AFP via Getty Images)
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