My Lords, it is always a pleasure to follow the noble Lords, Lord Alton and Lord Forsyth. The noble Lord, Lord Alton, set out the case so comprehensively that I will not detain the House in repeating some of these egregious abuses.
I want to come at this from another angle that speaks directly to the UK’s trade policy and our values and obligations on the international stage. States carry moral weight, so the amendment is entirely pertinent to this Bill.
Thinking about this amendment made me reach for my copy of Philippe Sands QC’s excellent book East West Street: On the Origins of Genocide and Crimes against Humanity. Anticipating resistance to our amendment, I hope to explain why Amendments 68 and 76A are relevant. They will only apply in the most extreme and egregious cases as affects international law and UK trade policy. My arguments go directly to the distinction between the crime of genocide and the broader illegality of crimes against humanity.
At the Nuremberg trials of 1945 and 1946, two outstanding prosecutors, Hersch Lauterpacht and Raphael Lemkin, part of the British and US teams, determined that international laws were needed relating to a pattern of state behaviour that could no longer be allowed to stand and that they were categories of human rights violations that needed to be given a name and recognised—“genocide” and “crimes against humanity”. For Lauterpacht, who was an academic at Cambridge, the killing of individuals, if part of a systematic plan, would be a crime against humanity. For Lemkin, the focus was genocide: the killing of the many with the intention of destroying the group of which they were a part.
As Philippe Sands explains, for a prosecutor today the difference between the two is to do with establishing intent. To prove genocide, you need to show the act of killing was motivated by an intent to destroy the whole group, whereas for crimes against humanity no such intent has to be shown. He explains that proving intent of genocide is extremely difficult, as those involved tend not to leave a paper trail—he should know, being the foremost prosecutor of such attempts.
Lemkin went on to win the argument at the United Nations, as in December 1948, the General Assembly adopted the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. It was the first human rights treaty of the modern era. Lauterpacht’s contribution inspired the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, of 1948, ironically adopted by the General Assembly only one day after the genocide convention that same December. The law of crimes against humanity has primarily developed through the evolution of customary international law and is not yet an international convention.
But turning to when and where this particular provision from this amendment may be used, it is fair to say the world is more respectful of both individual and group rights, but not universally—hence the suffering of the Rohingya people in Burma and the Uighurs in China. The noble Lord, Lord Alton, and others have spoken about the crimes against them, and this House is well versed in this situation over several years.
I want to close by quoting Raphael Lemkin from a letter he wrote in 1946, which is quoted by Sands. He wrote the letter two years before the genocide convention was agreed. He wrote the letter when he despaired that it would become international law, and he said:
“we cannot keep telling the world in endless sentences: Don’t murder members of national, racial and religious groups; don’t sterilise them; don’t impose abortions on them; don’t steal children from them; don’t compel their women to bear children for your country; and so on. But we must tell the world now, at this unique occasion, don’t practice Genocide.”
If the United Kingdom’s values are to stand for anything in trade, international relations and its footprint on the international stage, they must stand for that.
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