Vibgyor Model United Nations 15

The United Nations Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice

Background Guide

Agenda 1: Retributive vs. Restorative Justice in Post-Conflict States: Deliberating State Building
and Strengthening Legal Frameworks.

Agenda 2: Addressing the Implications and Regulations of Mass Surveillance in the Context of
Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice.

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS

______________________________________________________

Letter from The Executive Board.......................................................................................................... 3

Introduction to the Committee...............................................................................................................4
Agenda 1: Retributive vs. Restorative Justice in Post-Conflict States: Deliberating State Building
and Strengthening Legal Frameworks.................................................................................................. 7
Historical Context................................................................................................................................7
Past Actions and International Efforts.................................................................................................8
Major Blocs & Bloc Positions........................................................................................................... 11
Case Studies:..................................................................................................................................... 14
Legal Frameworks and Institutions................................................................................................... 23
Key Questions a Resolution Must Address....................................................................................... 26
Sources.............................................................................................................................................. 28
Agenda 2: Addressing the Implications and Regulations of Mass Surveillance in the Context of
Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice..............................................................................................29
Introduction....................................................................................................................................... 29
Historical Background.......................................................................................................................29
Case Studies...................................................................................................................................... 32
Legal Frameworks Governing Surveillance......................................................................................42
Economic and Political Implications.................................................................................................46
Ethical Considerations.......................................................................................................................49
Key Questions a Resolution Must Address....................................................................................... 52
Sources.............................................................................................................................................. 55

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 Letter from The Executive Board
____________________________________________________

Dear Delegates,

Greetings from the Executive Board! We are pleased to welcome you to what may be one of the most
rewarding experiences you have ever had as a delegate. This is your EB for CCPCJ at VMUN 15. We
look forward to some passionate and energetic debate in the committee. The consensus that the
committee asks you to reach is one which can have the most impact on the world and crime. Please
expect the committee to be fast-paced, action-packed and fun-filled. This background guide, compiled
by us, focuses on various aspects of the two agendas at hand. You must focus on research analysis as
much as the research itself.

We will be noting every move, every speech, and every strategy that you execute in committee, so
make sure you prepare yourself for the task. Additionally, staying organized and keeping track of
important deadlines will help ensure a successful committee experience. Modern problems require
modern solutions and thus we must learn to adapt to dynamic environments and shape dynamic
strategies that can handle shifting scenarios. Use this background guide to help you get in the right
direction for your research.

Your chairs are eager to see you.

Regards,
Siddhant More- Chairperson
Ishaan Gangwani- Co- Chairperson
Vanshaj Chawla- Vice- Chairperson

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Introduction to the Committee
The UNCCPCJ stands for the United Nations Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice.
Its origins can be traced back to the Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) Resolution which
established the Commission in 1992. ECOSOC created CCPCJ under ECOSOC resolution 1992/1,
following the request of the General Assembly in resolution 46/152, and established the mandate of
CCPCJ in resolution 1992/22.7

In 2006, the General Assembly adopted resolution 61/252 to further expand the mandate of CCPCJ.
The mandate of CCPCJ aims to improve equity and equality of criminal justice administration services
and provide tools such as policy suggestions and voluntary crime reporting to help with the elimination
of national and transnational crime. The primary mandate of the UNCCPCJ is to address crime
prevention, criminal justice, and related issues at the international level. This includes promoting the
development of policies and strategies for crime prevention and the strengthening of criminal justice
systems. It aims to develop and promote effective strategies for preventing and combating crime at the
national and international levels, who also works to improve criminal justice systems worldwide,
ensuring fairness, due process, and human rights.

UNCCPCJ has contributed to the creation of international standards and norms in crime prevention and
criminal justice and has played a role in sharing best practices and facilitating the exchange of
knowledge among member states through supporting global initiatives to combat transnational crimes,
such as human trafficking and drug trafficking. UNCCPCJ consists of 40 Member States, elected by
ECOSOC, each serving a three-year term.15 The members are chosen according to equitable
geographical allocation and are composed of 12 African states, nine Asian-Pacific states, four Eastern
European states, eight Latin American and Caribbean states, and seven Western European and other
states.

As one of ECOSOC’s functional commissions, CCPCJ’s role is to consider and make

recommendations to ECOSOC through a deliberative process in its fields of expertise and
responsibility. General Assembly resolution 46/152 of 1991 establishes five main functions to be
fulfilled by the CCPCJ: to offer policy guidance in the area of crime prevention and criminal justice; to
design, monitor, and review the UN crime program’s implementation; to enable and coordinate
assistance for UN entities for the prevention of crime and treatment of offenders; to help Member
States become aligned and active for the goals of the program; and to plan and manage the UN Crime
Congresses. While CCPCJ cannot formulate binding decisions for Member States directly, it influences
the evolution of soft and hard international law.

Looking forward, one of the commission’s goals is to increase youth participation on crime prevention
measures, support Member States to develop national policies to educate communities to recognize the
signs of crime and the importance of crime prevention, and encourage Member States to adopt and
enhance reporting measures to ensure transparency of the types of conflict is presented and where
crime is happening in all regions. It is important to remember CCPCJ’s position within the UN crime
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prevention program and to consider with which other UN and external entities it can work effectively
in order to realize the potential that the Commission offers to Member States and the global
community towards crime prevention and criminal justice.

Governance, Structure, and Membership:

CCPCJ consists of 40 Member States, elected by ECOSOC, each serving a three-year term. The
members are chosen according to equitable geographical allocation and are composed of 12 African
states, nine Asian-Pacific states, four Eastern European states, eight Latin American and Caribbean
states, and seven Western European and other states. The body meets biannually at the UNODC
headquarters in Vienna, Austria, to consider administrative and budgetary matters. There are also
intersessional meetings to finalize the provisional agenda, address formal and substantive matters, and
offer effective policy guidance to UNODC. At each session, CCPCJ approaches a thematic discussion
chaired by the Bureau of the CCPCJ on a priority issue identified at its previous sessions.

The Bureau and Extended Bureau of the Commission assist CCPCJ in organizing and preparing its
work thoroughly and in advance of the various sessions. The Bureau’s Chairperson, three
Vice-Chairpersons, and Rapporteur rotate amongst Member States after each session, and the Extended
Bureau consists of the chairpersons of the five regional groups, the European Union, China, and the
Group of 77. For the 29th session of the commission, the following members were elected:
Ambassador Jose Antonio Marcondes de Carvalho of Brazil as Chairperson, along with Ambassador
Khojesta Fana Ebrahimkhel of Afghanistan. Mr. Ivan Gospodinov of Bulgaria was then elected as the
rapporteur of the Bureau. The Bureau and Extended Bureau receive assistance from the Secretariat to
the Governing Bodies (SGB). The SGB serves as a link between CCPCJ and CND, as well as other
parts of UNODC, and as an administrative link to the General Assembly and ECOSOC.

Due to the great variety of topics covered by CCPCJ, the Commission has several external experts and
working groups. These include a standing open-ended intergovernmental working group paired with
CND on improving governance and establishing stable funding for UNODC, an expert group on
protection against trafficking in cultural property, and a group on standard minimum rules for the
treatment of prisoners. Other expert group meetings have also been held in Vienna and in other
Member States; one was held in 2014 on gender-related killings of women and girls, while another was
held in 2013 on strengthening access to legal aid in criminal justice systems.

CCPCJ is reliant on funding provided by Member States, the amount of which is largely at each state’s
own discretion. While UNODC’s administrative infrastructure and core normative work are financed
through a regular budget, the largest part of its budget is made up of extra-budgetary resources.
Approximately 80-85% of the total budget is comprised of special-purpose funds, and donations by
Member States are most important.

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Mandate, Functions, and Powers

In 1992, ECOSOC created CCPCJ under its resolution 1992/1 on the “Establishment of the
Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice,” and defined its mandate in resolution 1992/22
on the “Implementation of General Assembly resolution 46/152 concerning operational activities and
coordination in the field of crime prevention and criminal justice.” CCPCJ is the principal policy
making body of the United Nations in the field of crime prevention and criminal justice. Its role is to
consider and make recommendations on crime prevention and criminal justice to ECOSOC through a
deliberative process. In 2006, the General Assembly further expanded the mandate of CCPCJ in its
resolution 61/252 on “Questions relating to the programme budget for the biennium 2006–2007” to
serve as one of the governing bodies of the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC)and
approve the budget of the United Nations Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice Fund (UNPCJF).

Whilst the following list is not exhaustive, CCPCJ’s mandate can be summarized as:

●​ CCPCJ will generally: offer policy guidance on crime prevention and criminal justice; enable
and coordinate assistance by United Nations bodies, in particular UNODC, for the prevention
of crime and treatment of offenders; address issues of national and transnational crime;
establish and convene thematic working groups; and promote the implementation of criminal
law and all forms of crime prevention matters.
●​ CCPCJ will not generally: formulate binding decisions on crime prevention and criminal
justice for Member States; implement programmes or directly provide technical assistance to
Member States in crime prevention and criminal justice reform.

Furthermore, CCPCJ is the preparatory and follow-up body for the United Nations Congress on Crime
Prevention and Criminal Justice (UN Crime Congress), the largest multistakeholder forum on crime
prevention and criminal justice. The UN Crime Congress is held every five years and influences
national and international crime prevention and criminal justice practices through the sharing of
information, the formulation of policy recommendations, and by mobilizing public opinion for crime
and justice reforms.

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Agenda 1: Retributive vs. Restorative Justice in Post-Conflict States:
Deliberating State Building and Strengthening Legal Frameworks.
______________________________________________________

Historical Context

Transitional justice in post-conflict states has evolved through a tension between retributive and
restorative approaches. After World War II, retributive justice set a precedent with the Nuremberg
Trials, where perpetrators were prosecuted and punished. In later decades, especially after the Cold
War, many countries emerging from conflict experimented with truth commissions and amnesties as
restorative justice tools aimed at healing and reconciliation rather than punishment. For example,
South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (1995) prioritized truth-telling and forgiveness
over trials, explicitly differing from the punitive approach of Nuremberg (Truth and Reconciliation
Commission, South Africa (TRC) | Britannica). Over two dozen truth commissions have been
established worldwide (e.g. in Argentina, Chile, Guatemala, South Africa, Peru, Sierra Leone,
East Timor, Indonesia, Liberia) as mechanisms to uncover the truth and foster reconciliation (War
Crimes, Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can
they work together). At the same time, the international community began creating tribunals to hold
perpetrators criminally accountable – from ad hoc courts for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda in the
1990s to the permanent International Criminal Court in 2002.

Early on, most post-conflict justice efforts tended to focus on either prosecutions or truth and
reconciliation programs (War Crimes, Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War crimes:
retribution and reconciliation – can they work together). Retributive justice is grounded in the idea of
punishment – that those responsible for heinous crimes must face trial and sentencing to satisfy justice.
Restorative justice, by contrast, emphasizes repairing harm, acknowledging victims’ suffering, and
restoring social bonds through truth-telling, apologies, and reparations. These objectives were long
seen as mutually exclusive: “Retributive justice seeks to extract a measure of vengeance against
those responsible for heinous crimes; whereas a truth and reconciliation initiative attempts to
reconcile former warring parties and bring healing to a conflict-ridden society” (War Crimes,
Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can they work
together). In theory and practice, aggressive prosecution of offenders can sometimes clash with efforts
to promote unity and forgiveness (War Crimes, Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War
crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can they work together). For instance, offering amnesty or
reduced punishment might encourage combatants to disarm and speak truthfully, but it can deny
victims the retributive justice they seek. Conversely, insisting on prosecutions might deter peace deals
or the full disclosure of truth by perpetrators. This “peace vs. justice” dilemma has shaped transitional
justice debates in many post-conflict transitions.

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However, lessons from recent history suggest that pure approaches are often insufficient. There is
growing recognition that retributive and restorative mechanisms can complement each other if
carefully sequenced or integrated (The International Criminal Court and the African Union –
ACCORD). In contexts of mass atrocity, “an integrated approach involving both punitive justice
on the one hand and truth and reconciliation on the other hand” may be necessary (War Crimes,
Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can they work
together). Retributive measures (trials) can establish individual accountability and affirm the rule of
law, while restorative measures (truth commissions, traditional justice rituals, community dialogues)
can address victims’ needs and promote societal healing. This balanced perspective has informed the
design of transitional justice in various countries, moving away from an either-or to a both-and
paradigm. As a result, post-conflict justice strategies today often include a mix of tribunals and
truth-seeking, coupled with reparations and institutional reforms, to ensure both accountability and
reconciliation.

Past Actions and International Efforts

United Nations Initiatives: The UN has played a pivotal role in shaping post-conflict justice. In the
1990s, the UN Security Council took unprecedented action by establishing ad hoc international
tribunals for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY in 1993) and Rwanda (ICTR in 1994) to prosecute
genocide, war crimes, and crimes against humanity. These tribunals marked the first international trials
for such crimes since WWII. The ICTY indicted 161 individuals and ultimately delivered 89
convictions for atrocities committed during the Balkan wars (ICTY – International Justice Resource
Center). The ICTR, based in Arusha, Tanzania, indicted 93 individuals for the 1994 Rwandan
genocide (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda) and was
the first tribunal to issue a verdict for genocide and to recognize rape as a means of perpetrating
genocide (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda). Together,
these courts demonstrated the international community’s commitment to retributive justice and set
important legal precedents (e.g. defining genocide in case law, holding leaders individually
accountable). The UN also supported “hybrid” tribunals that mixed international and local law, such as
the Special Court for Sierra Leone (2002) and the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia
(2006, for the Khmer Rouge crimes), extending accountability to conflicts beyond Europe and Africa’s
Great Lakes.

Alongside judicial efforts, the UN has encouraged restorative justice and truth-seeking in peace
processes. UN-brokered peace agreements often included provisions for truth commissions – for
instance, the Truth Commission in El Salvador (1992) and the Guatemala Historical Clarification
Commission (1997) were established as part of UN-sponsored peace accords to document human
rights violations and recommend reforms, though their findings sometimes met political resistance.
The United Nations assisted the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission and supported
truth commissions in countries like Sierra Leone (which ran in parallel to a UN-backed court) and
Liberia (2006–2009) as means to address past abuses. In 2004, the UN Secretary-General issued a
landmark report defining transitional justice as a holistic approach involving both judicial and

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non-judicial mechanisms (criminal trials, truth commissions, reparations programs, institutional
reform) to address legacies of mass violence ([PDF] United Nations Approach to Transitional Justice).
This reflected an official UN stance that no one-size-fits-all solution exists – instead, a combination of
retributive and restorative measures should be tailored to each post-conflict society’s needs.

International Criminal Court (ICC) Rulings: The establishment of the ICC in 2002 (through the
Rome Statute of 1998) was a milestone in global justice. As a permanent court, the ICC embodies the
principle that certain crimes – genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity, and aggression – must
not go unpunished. The ICC has intervened in various conflict and post-conflict situations (Uganda,
Democratic Republic of Congo, Darfur in Sudan, Libya, Côte d’Ivoire, among others), often when
national courts proved unable or unwilling to prosecute. Its early rulings reinforced accountability: in
2012, the ICC delivered its first verdict, convicting Thomas Lubanga (DRC) for conscripting child
soldiers (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda) (The ICTR
in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda). Since then, ICC trials have led
to convictions of militia leaders for atrocities in the DRC, Mali, Uganda, and a landmark conviction of
a former head of state (Jean-Pierre Bemba of the Central African Republic, though later overturned on
appeal). The ICC also issued high-profile indictments against sitting heads of state, such as Sudan’s
President Omar al-Bashir (for genocide in Darfur) and Libya’s Muammar Gaddafi, signaling that
even top leaders could face retributive justice. These actions were praised by human rights advocates
but also sparked backlash (discussed below under bloc positions). Importantly, the principle of
complementarity under the ICC means that the Court acts as a court of last resort – it encourages
states to carry out credible prosecutions at home, and only steps in if national systems fail. The ICC’s
presence has thus pressured some countries to reform their laws and conduct their own trials,
integrating international standards into domestic justice.

Major National Efforts: On the national level, post-conflict governments have implemented a variety
of justice mechanisms, sometimes with international support. A few notable efforts include:

●​ Rwanda’s Gacaca courts (2005–2012): an ambitious nationwide initiative to process tens of

thousands of genocide cases in community tribunals (discussed in case study).
●​ South Africa’s TRC (1996–1998): a groundbreaking truth commission that granted
conditional amnesties in exchange for full disclosure of apartheid-era crimes, setting a model
for restorative justice and inspiring similar bodies worldwide.
●​ Argentina’s “Trial of the Juntas” (1985) and subsequent human rights trials: one of the first
instances of a country prosecuting its former military rulers for mass atrocities, demonstrating
national retributive justice (see case study).
●​ Sierra Leone’s dual approach (early 2000s): a UN-backed Special Court tried major war
criminals while a Truth and Reconciliation Commission engaged communities, representing an
experiment in running retributive and restorative mechanisms in parallel.
●​ Colombia’s recent Special Jurisdiction for Peace (2016–present): a hybrid tribunal
established by a peace agreement, which offers reduced sentences for ex-combatants who

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 confess and contribute to truth and reparations – illustrating a contemporary blend of punitive
and restorative elements to end conflict.

These efforts have met with varying degrees of success and illustrate the trade-offs involved. The
international community (UN, regional organizations, donors) often provided funding, expertise, and
legitimacy to these mechanisms. In some cases, amnesties were used as tools to end conflict (e.g.
general amnesties in Angola and Mozambique’s peace deals, or the Lomé Accord in Sierra Leone 1999
which promised amnesty to rebels), but broad amnesties for serious crimes have grown increasingly
disfavored under international norms. UN policy now explicitly holds that there should be no
amnesty for genocide, war crimes, or crimes against humanity, given states’ obligations to
prosecute these grave offenses ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ) ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ). Instead, more
conditional forms of clemency – such as South Africa’s truth-for-amnesty or Colombia’s reduced
penalties for truth – have been explored to balance accountability with peace imperatives.

Restorative Initiatives: Beyond formal commissions, many post-conflict societies have embraced
traditional or community-based justice as part of reconciliation. In Timor-Leste, a Commission for
Reception, Truth and Reconciliation facilitated community hearings and reintegration of low-level
offenders, alongside a UN tribunal for serious crimes. In Northern Uganda, local Mato Oput
ceremonies were promoted by community leaders as a way to reconcile with Lord’s Resistance Army
fighters, even as the ICC issued arrest warrants for top LRA commanders. Local ownership of justice
processes has been encouraged by the UN to ensure legitimacy and cultural relevance – but it raises
questions about consistency with international standards (e.g. ensuring due process and victims’ rights
in informal settings). The past few decades of experience have thus built a rich toolbox of justice
mechanisms. Today, the challenge for post-conflict state-building is how to combine these tools
effectively to strengthen the rule of law, acknowledge victims, deter future crimes, and rebuild social
cohesion.

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Major Blocs & Bloc Positions

In international forums (like the UN General Assembly or the Commission on Crime Prevention and
Criminal Justice), countries often align in blocs based on their philosophies of justice, sovereignty
concerns, and regional experiences. The debate over retributive vs. restorative justice has revealed
some key divides:

●​ Western Bloc (e.g. Europe, North America, Pacific allies): Generally strong proponents of
international criminal justice and the fight against impunity. Nearly all European Union
states and Canada, Australia, etc., are States Parties to the ICC and provide it robust support
(financially and diplomatically). These countries argue that accountability is crucial for lasting
peace and that grave crimes must be prosecuted to uphold global norms. They often back UN
inquiries, fact-finding missions, and universal jurisdiction cases to pursue justice when
national systems fail. Western delegations tend to highlight the successes of tribunals and
support the incorporation of truth commissions as complementary but not substitute to legal
justice. The EU, for instance, has funded both court mechanisms (like the hybrid court for
Bosnia and Kosovo war crimes) and truth/reconciliation projects (community dialogues in
Africa, documentation of historical abuses in Latin America), viewing both as integral to
post-conflict recovery. The United States is a somewhat nuanced case: while it strongly
supports ad hoc tribunals and has backed justice for atrocities (e.g. in Yugoslavia, Rwanda, and
recently for ISIS crimes), it has been cautious about the ICC (not a state party) due to concerns
over sovereignty. Still, the U.S. often aligns with Europe in advocating no amnesty for the
worst crimes and supporting national transitional justice efforts (like funding local war
crimes courts or truth commissions) to promote rule of law in post-conflict states ( "we'll kill
you if you cry" ).​

●​ African States and the African Union (AU): Africa’s stance on post-conflict justice is
diverse and evolving. Many African countries initially welcomed international courts – in fact,
African states form the largest regional bloc of ICC members (The International Criminal Court
and the African Union – ACCORD) and were instrumental in its creation, hoping it would
address atrocities on the continent. Countries like Senegal and South Africa championed the
ICC early on, and Botswana consistently supports it. However, tensions arose as the ICC’s
caseload focused almost exclusively on African situations in its first decade. The indictments of
Sudan’s Bashir and Kenya’s leaders (post-2007 election violence) led to accusations that the
ICC was disproportionately targeting African governments and undermining peace efforts. The
African Union in recent years has voiced skepticism of what it calls the ICC’s “retributive
justice” approach, especially when indictments occur during ongoing conflicts (The
International Criminal Court and the African Union – ACCORD). Some African leaders argue
that pressing for criminal trials in the midst of fragile peace negotiations can be
counterproductive – for example, they claim the ICC’s arrest warrants for Ugandan LRA rebels
during peace talks in 2006 hindered a negotiated settlement (The International Criminal Court

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 and the African Union – ACCORD). The AU has even proposed a mass withdrawal from the
ICC (though this has not materialized en masse) and is exploring an African regional court that
could handle international crimes with potentially more flexibility for local reconciliation.
Despite this, Africa is not monolithic on the issue: while countries like Kenya and Sudan have
led anti-ICC sentiments, others like Gambia (after 2017) and Nigeria remain supportive of the
Court. The AU’s 2019 Transitional Justice Policy reflects a balance – it acknowledges the
importance of criminal accountability and indigenous reconciliation practices, advocating a
context-specific mix of mechanisms. Overall, the African bloc emphasizes respect for
sovereignty and the need for peace, sometimes favoring restorative approaches (traditional
justice, community healing) or sequencing justice (delaying prosecutions until stability is
secured). Yet, there is also a strong current within Africa insisting that impunity is a root
cause of conflicts and that justice (national or international) is necessary for reconciliation in
the long term (The International Criminal Court and the African Union – ACCORD).​

●​ Asia-Pacific & Others: Many Asian and Middle Eastern countries prioritize state sovereignty
and non-interference, often expressing caution about international tribunals. Major powers
like China, Russia, India (and most of Asia) are not ICC members and often oppose what they
view as Western-led justice interventions. They tend to support peace agreements that may
include amnesties or domestic solutions over referrals to the ICC. For instance, China and
Russia have abstained or vetoed some UN Security Council measures referring situations to the
ICC (such as Syria), arguing that external prosecutions can complicate peace negotiations.
These countries often stress the primacy of national courts and are wary of any international
legal precedents that could one day target their own officials. In the Middle East, post-conflict
justice has been relatively rare (e.g., Lebanon’s post-war amnesty in 1991 or Iraq’s
de-Ba’athification and tribunal for Saddam’s regime, which were nationally driven). Arab
states as a group have not been at the forefront of pushing either retributive or restorative
international mechanisms, often preferring quiet national reconciliation deals (sometimes at
the expense of formal justice). Asia-Pacific nations likewise have mixed experiences: East
Timor embraced both a UN-backed court and a truth commission (with Indonesia’s
involvement) after its conflict; Cambodia agreed to a hybrid tribunal for Khmer Rouge crimes.
But others, like Sri Lanka, have resisted international inquiries and opted for domestic
reconciliation commissions with limited prosecutorial teeth. Thus, an Asia/Middle East bloc in
the UN often argues for “local context and sovereignty” – they may advocate restorative
measures that align with local customs and reject any imposed criminal process. This position
sometimes clashes with Western calls for accountability, leading to protracted negotiations in
UN resolutions on transitional justice.​

●​ Latin American Bloc: Latin American countries have a deep legacy of transitional justice
from their shifts from dictatorships to democracy. Many are strong supporters of both the ICC
and truth commissions. Argentina, Chile, Uruguay and others actively prosecute former
regime crimes (retributive justice) while also championing the right to truth for victims (via
archives and truth commissions). As a bloc, Latin American states at the UN often emphasize

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 victims’ rights – the right to justice, truth, and reparations. They have sponsored resolutions on
these themes and share experiences through bodies like the Inter-American Court of Human
Rights, which has ruled that amnesties for serious human rights violations are incompatible
with states’ duties. Hence, Latin America tends to reject blanket amnesties and insist on at least
symbolic accountability. However, they also highlight restorative elements: for example,
Colombia (backed by others in the region) has defended its peace tribunal model that forgoes
traditional jail time for many perpetrators in exchange for truth and reparations, arguing this
innovative approach still meets international standards. In summary, Latin American
delegations promote comprehensive transitional justice – incorporating trials, truth-telling,
reparations, and institutional reforms (often called the “four pillars” of transitional justice).
They often bridge the gap between Western and non-Western positions by sharing how
restorative processes (truth commissions, memory sites) alongside prosecutions have
strengthened democracy and reconciliation in the region.​

●​ Ideological Divides: Beyond geography, an ideological split can be seen between those who
prioritize “justice as accountability” vs. “justice as reconciliation.” One side (often human
rights NGOs and many Western countries) argues “there can be no durable peace without
justice”, insisting that failing to punish perpetrators breeds a culture of impunity that
undermines the rule of law and victims’ trust (The International Criminal Court and the African
Union – ACCORD). They point to cases like the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda, where robust
prosecutions helped establish historical records and individual guilt, countering collective
blame. The other side (including some conflict-affected governments and realist policymakers)
contends “peace must come before justice”, suggesting that rigid insistence on trials can
derail peace deals or power-sharing arrangements needed to end violence. They often advocate
deferring justice (through temporary immunity or exile for leaders) and implementing
truth/reconciliation measures to stabilize society first. This debate surfaced prominently in the
context of Uganda’s LRA conflict, Sudan’s Darfur crisis, and Sierra Leone’s civil war,
where mediators grappled with whether offering amnesty or ICC deferrals could secure peace.
Increasingly, however, global consensus (reflected in UN documents and state practice) leans
toward conditional accountability – finding creative ways to pursue justice that also
incentivize peace (for instance, sequencing prosecutions after a ceasefire, or using traditional
justice to handle lower-level fighters while reserving trials for top commanders).​

In summary, bloc positions on retributive vs restorative justice are not rigid, but we observe that
Western and Latin states strongly back legal accountability and ICC mechanisms, some African
and Asian states stress sovereignty and flexibility (often favoring local or restorative solutions),
and many post-conflict countries themselves seek a balance to ensure both peace and justice. These
dynamics will shape negotiations in any international committee (such as CCPCJ), as delegates must
reconcile calls for ending impunity with respect for national context and reconciliation needs.

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Case Studies:

Rwanda: Retribution and Community Reconciliation after Genocide

Context: In 1994, Rwanda experienced a genocide that killed an estimated 800,000 Tutsi and
moderate Hutu in 100 days. After the genocide, the new Rwandan government faced the colossal task
of bringing perpetrators to justice and rebuilding a shattered nation. The justice strategy that unfolded
in Rwanda combined a top-down retributive process with a bottom-up restorative process.

Approach: At the international level, the UN Security Council established the International
Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) in late 1994 to prosecute high-level architects of the
genocide. The ICTR, based in Arusha, operated until 2015 and charged key figures—government
ministers, military officers, media propagandists. It indicted 93 individuals, including top leaders of
the genocide, and achieved notable convictions (such as former Prime Minister Jean Kambanda) (The
ICTR in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda). The ICTR set historic
precedents: it was the first international tribunal to deliver genocide verdicts and it legally affirmed
that systematic rape can constitute an act of genocide (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations
International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda). While its retributive mandate was clear (“to prosecute
persons responsible for genocide and other serious violations” (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations
International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda)), the ICTR’s impact on Rwandan society was somewhat
limited by its distance and the small number of suspects tried (fewer than 100 out of tens of
thousands). Many Rwandans felt it targeted only the “big fish,” leaving local communities still
awaiting justice.

Concurrently, Rwanda’s government pursued national prosecutions through conventional courts, but
the sheer scale of perpetrators (over 100,000 accused were held in prisons in the late 1990s)
overwhelmed the system. In response, Rwanda innovated a restorative justice mechanism called
Gacaca courts (pronounced ga-CHA-cha). Starting in 2001–2002, over 12,000 community-based
Gacaca courts were set up across the country ([PDF] ICTJ | Transitional Justice and DDR: The Case of
Rwanda). These courts were inspired by a traditional Rwandan conflict-resolution practice (“gacaca”
means “grass”, referring to community gatherings on the grass) and were adapted to handle genocide
crimes, except the top-tier planners. Local citizens, elected as lay judges, heard cases in open-air
assemblies in the communities where the crimes occurred. The process encouraged accused persons to
confess, ask for forgiveness, and in return often receive reduced sentences. The Gacaca courts
emphasized truth-telling and participation of victims and neighbors, aligning with restorative
principles. Over a decade, Gacaca courts tried around 2 million cases – a staggering number
impossible for formal courts alone to achieve – and they officially closed in 2012. This mass
participation justice helped Rwanda avoid indefinitely detaining genocide suspects and arguably
accelerated reconciliation at the grassroots level by revealing the truth of what happened village by
village. As one assessment noted, “The Gacaca trials… provided a means for victims to learn the truth
about the death of their family members… [and] gave perpetrators the opportunity to confess their
crimes,” which in turn facilitated forgiveness in some communities (Gacaca court - Wikipedia).

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(File:Gacaca trial.jpg - Wikimedia Commons) A local Gacaca court session in Rwanda (2006).
Community members gather in an open setting to judge genocide-related crimes. Such grassroots
courts aimed to uncover truth and foster reconciliation, handling lower-level cases while formal
tribunals dealt with top perpetrators. (Gacaca court - Wikipedia) (Gacaca court - Wikipedia)

Successes: Rwanda’s two-pronged system delivered a form of justice at all levels of society. The
ICTR, though distant, established an authoritative historical record of the genocide and signaled
that even government officials would be held accountable, thereby strengthening international
genocide law. Nationally, the Gacaca courts have been praised for shedding light on local events of
1994: they enabled communities to know how and where their loved ones died, and in many cases led
perpetrators to reveal burial sites, allowing families to properly mourn (Gacaca court - Wikipedia)
(Gacaca court - Wikipedia). The Gacaca process, by involving ordinary Rwandans as judges and
witnesses, was also a massive exercise in civic participation and possibly catharsis – some victims
reported a sense of closure and forgiveness after confronting those who harmed them. Moreover, tens
of thousands of perpetrators were held accountable in some form, addressing what could have been a
chronic impunity problem. The Rwandan government argues that this approach “more than
adequately incorporates the objectives of truth-seeking and justice”, without the need for a
separate truth commission (War Crimes, Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War crimes:
retribution and reconciliation – can they work together) (War Crimes, Tribunals and Truth
Commissions - Trial of War crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can they work together). Indeed,
Rwanda chose not to have a South African-style truth commission; instead, it “firmly placed justice
as the key pillar upon which reconciliation rests”, reflecting a belief that truth would emerge
through the justice process itself (War Crimes, Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War crimes:
retribution and reconciliation – can they work together).

Challenges: Despite its achievements, Rwanda’s approach has faced criticism. The ICTR was often
criticized for its slowness and expense – over $1 billion spent, for relatively few convictions – leading
some to question its efficiency. It also operated far from Rwanda, and its proceedings (in English or
French) were not easily understood by the local population, limiting its local impact. The Gacaca
courts, while innovative, compromised some fair trial standards: judges were laypeople with
minimal legal training, defendants initially had no right to lawyers, and there were reports of personal
vendettas influencing some judgments ([PDF] GACACA as a Community Building Model: Experience
of Rwanda) ([PDF] An Analysis of the Effectiveness of the Gacaca Court System in Post ...). Human
rights observers like Amnesty International noted due process concerns (witness intimidation, lack of
appeal in certain cases) ([PDF] Rwanda's Troubled Gacaca Courts). Additionally, Gacaca courts were
not truly impartial in scope – they focused only on genocide crimes (mostly committed by Hutu
against Tutsi) and did not examine atrocities allegedly committed by the Tutsi-led Rwandan Patriotic
Front, which took power after stopping the genocide. This one-sided accountability left some
grievances unaddressed (e.g., families of Hutu who were killed in reprisal or during conflict had no
forum for justice in Gacaca or ICTR). Reconciliation outcomes have been mixed: while some
communities achieved genuine forgiveness, others still harbor resentment, claiming Gacaca forced a

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facade of unity or delivered “victor’s justice.” Rwanda’s case illustrates the trade-off between
quantity and quality of justice – it achieved broad accountability and a form of truth-telling, but
some elements of formal justice were diluted. It also shows how cultural context (reviving a
traditional system) can be leveraged to deal with extraordinary caseloads. Two decades on, Rwanda
enjoys peace and a strong state apparatus, suggesting that its heavy emphasis on justice contributed to
stability. Yet, questions remain about long-term reconciliation, given that deep societal wounds needed
more than legal processes alone to heal.

Sierra Leone: Trials vs. Truth in a Post-War Recovery

Context: Sierra Leone endured a brutal civil war from 1991 to 2002, marked by mass killings,
amputations, recruitment of child soldiers, and conflict diamonds fueling violence. When the war
concluded (with the help of a British intervention and UN peacekeepers), the country had to address
heinous atrocities committed by both rebels (Revolutionary United Front, RUF) and pro-government
militias, as well as by some members of the Sierra Leone Army. A unique scenario unfolded: Sierra
Leone implemented two transitional justice mechanisms simultaneously – a Special Court to
prosecute top perpetrators and a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) to document the
broader truth and foster reconciliation.

Approach: The Special Court for Sierra Leone (SCSL) was established by an agreement between
the UN and the Sierra Leonean government in 2002. It was a “hybrid” tribunal, applying both
international law and Sierra Leonean law, with international and local judges. Its mandate was to try
those who “bear the greatest responsibility” for serious violations during the war (crimes against
humanity, war crimes, and certain domestic offenses). The Court operated in the capital, Freetown,
bringing justice closer to the affected population than remote tribunals. Over its lifespan, the SCSL
indicted 13 individuals and convicted 8 key figures ([PDF] Leaving Behind the Worst of the Past).
Notably, it prosecuted leaders from all major factions: the RUF rebel leaders, heads of the Civil
Defence militias, and senior officers of the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (the junta that briefly
ousted the government during the war). The most prominent case was that of Charles Taylor, the
former President of neighboring Liberia, accused of sponsoring the RUF; he was arrested and tried
under the SCSL’s authority (his trial was held in The Hague for security reasons) and convicted in
2012 of war crimes and crimes against humanity – a historic judgment as he became the first former
head of state convicted by an international(-hybrid) court since Nuremberg ([PDF] Leaving Behind the
Worst of the Past). The SCSL’s proceedings, including televised trials, aimed to uphold retributive
justice and end impunity for the worst abuses (like mutilations and sexual slavery), sending a strong
message that even leaders cannot act above the law. Importantly, the SCSL’s statute explicitly did not
recognize any amnesty for crimes against international law, overriding the blanket amnesty that had
been given in the 1999 Lomé Peace Accord ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ) ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ).
This affirmed the international principle that amnesty does not bar prosecution of war crimes ( "we'll
kill you if you cry" ).

Parallel to the court, a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was established (also
envisioned in the Lomé Accord, to complement the amnesty with truth-telling). The TRC operated

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from 2002 to 2004, collecting statements from over 9,000 victims and witnesses and holding public
hearings across Sierra Leone ([PDF] CHAPTER SIX The TRC and the Special Court for Sierra Leone)
(viii. transitional justice mechanisms for sierra leone). The TRC’s goals were to create an impartial
record of human rights violations, address impunity in a non-judicial forum, and promote healing and
forgiveness by giving both victims and perpetrators a voice ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ). Notably,
because an amnesty had originally been promised, many lower-level fighters who testified before the
TRC did so under the expectation they wouldn’t be prosecuted (and indeed the SCSL focused only on
a small number of top leaders). The TRC’s final report in 2004 named causes of the conflict
(corruption, marginalization of youth), detailed gruesome abuses by all parties, and made
recommendations including reparations for war victims and institutional reforms. It provided a
restorative outlet: victims recounted their trauma, and some perpetrators confessed atrocities and
asked forgiveness in emotionally charged hearings.

Successes & Complementarity: Sierra Leone’s dual approach is often cited as a model of
complementary justice. The Special Court, through its trials, established individual criminal
responsibility for those who orchestrated or directed the worst crimes, while the TRC provided
broader accountability – a platform for understanding what happened at the community level and
why. Together, they addressed both retributive and restorative aspects: the Court’s convictions
(including long prison sentences for warlords) gave many survivors a sense that justice was served at
least at the leadership level, potentially deterring future leaders from similar crimes. At the same time,
the TRC’s work helped uncover patterns of violence and gave voice to victims who would never
appear in a courtroom. It recommended a reparations program which led to thousands of war victims
receiving some compensation and skills training in the years after. By operating simultaneously, the
two bodies put Sierra Leone in the international spotlight as a test case: could truth-telling and trials
coexist? In practice, there were some initial conflicts – for example, the TRC sought to invite certain
detained indictees to testify about the truth of the war, which raised legal questions about
self-incrimination and the Court’s jurisdiction (Microsoft Word - Document23) (Microsoft Word -
Document23). Eventually, an agreement was reached to allow one key detainee (rebel leader Issa
Sesay) to give a statement to the TRC on a limited basis. Despite minor tensions, both institutions
completed their mandates. The UN and Sierra Leone government touted this combined process as
having advanced both justice and reconciliation: the Court’s chief prosecutor and the TRC’s
chairman even held joint outreach sessions to villages, explaining how their roles differed but were
complementary.

Challenges: Sierra Leone’s experience also illuminated challenges. The Special Court faced criticism
for being externally driven and expensive (though smaller than the ICTY/ICTR). Some Sierra
Leoneans felt that, with only 13 indictees, many perpetrators (especially mid-level commanders who
carried out brutal acts) never answered for their crimes; these individuals remained in communities,
which could be a continued source of tension or fear. The TRC, on the other hand, lacked the power to
enforce its recommendations – its proposal for a reparations fund was only partially fulfilled, and some
recommendations (like tackling corruption and socioeconomic inequality) have seen slow progress.

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Moreover, the coexistence of an active prosecution mechanism meant that not all perpetrators were
willing to be candid in TRC hearings for fear of self-incrimination. The Lomé Accord’s amnesty
technically did not protect against the Special Court, so some fighters likely stayed silent or fled rather
than engage in either process. Another issue was public confusion: it was not always clear to ordinary
people why some perpetrators went to prison via the Court while others walked free after confessing to
the TRC. This needed extensive public education to manage expectations. Reconciliation outcomes
are mixed; the TRC did contribute to some community healing, but deep scars remain, and critics note
that root causes like youth marginalization still need attention beyond the justice sphere. However,
Sierra Leone has enjoyed peace since 2002, suggesting that accountability for leaders and truth for
society helped close the chapter on war.

Overall, Sierra Leone’s case underscores that retributive and restorative justice can function in
tandem, each addressing different needs. It provides valuable lessons on sequencing (the war was fully
over before trials began, which is critical) and on managing the interaction between a court (which
must uphold legal fairness) and a truth commission (which prioritizes narrative and forgiveness).
Future post-conflict states have looked to this model when designing their own justice processes under
UN guidance.

South Africa: Restorative Justice as a Path to Nation-Building

Context: The end of apartheid in South Africa (early 1990s) posed the challenge of addressing
decades of state-sanctioned oppression, atrocities, and human rights violations under white minority
rule. Instead of widespread trials or retribution against the former regime, South Africa chose a
primarily restorative justice path to transition from tyranny to democracy. The instrument of this
approach was the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), established in 1995 under President
Nelson Mandela’s government. The TRC was empowered to investigate gross human rights abuses
(politically motivated killings, torture, etc.) between 1960 and 1994 and, crucially, to grant amnesty to
perpetrators who fully disclosed their crimes and demonstrated that the acts were politically motivated.

Approach: Chaired by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the TRC operated through three committees: one
to gather victim testimonies, another to consider amnesty applications, and a third to recommend
rehabilitation and reparations for victims (South African Truth Commission | Wex | US Law | LII /
Legal Information Institute) (South African Truth Commission | Wex | US Law | LII / Legal
Information Institute). It held public hearings that were broadcast nationwide, where victims recounted
their suffering in often heartbreaking detail, and perpetrators (from security forces and liberation
movements alike) confessed to atrocities in exchange for possible amnesty from prosecution. The ethos
was deeply restorative: the process aimed to uncover truth, acknowledge harm, and encourage
forgiveness – encapsulated in Tutu’s idea of “ubuntu” (humanity and interconnection). Formal
retributive justice took a backseat; indeed, the TRC explicitly meant that many perpetrators who might
have been prosecutable would instead be pardoned if they cooperated. The interim constitution
negotiations had essentially made this compromise necessary – the outgoing apartheid regime
demanded an amnesty to safeguard its officials, and the incoming democratic leaders preferred a truth
commission to blanket impunity, as a way to achieve accountability via truth (Truth and Reconciliation

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Commission, South Africa (TRC) | Britannica) (Truth and Reconciliation Commission, South Africa
(TRC) | Britannica). Over about two and a half years, the TRC collected over 21,000 victim
statements (South African Truth Commission | Wex | US Law | LII / Legal Information Institute) and
held 2,500+ public hearings (including high-profile ones like Winnie Mandela’s hearing and the
testimonies of police hit squad members). On the amnesty side, the TRC received around 7,100
amnesty applications (Truth and Reconciliation Commission (South Africa) - Wikipedia). After
detailed hearings, it granted amnesty in 849 cases (and refused over 5,000) (Truth and Reconciliation
Commission (South Africa) - Wikipedia). Those granted amnesty were exempt from criminal or civil
liability for the disclosed acts, effectively trading punishment for truth. The TRC published a
multi-volume Final Report in 1998, naming perpetrators and acknowledging victims’ experiences.

Successes: South Africa’s TRC is often hailed as a paradigm of restorative justice contributing to
nation-building. It allowed the country to avoid what many feared – a cycle of retributive violence or
destabilizing trials – and instead facilitated a relatively peaceful transition. The TRC established an
undisputed public record of the atrocities of apartheid, which helped delegitimize the old regime and
honor the suffering of victims. Thousands of victims, for the first time, had their stories heard and
validated at the national level, an important step in restoring their dignity. Many perpetrators expressed
remorse, and in some instances, there were powerful moments of forgiveness – for example, parents of
activists murdered by police embracing or forgiving those officers during hearings. The TRC’s
approach has been credited with fostering reconciliation: people learned the truth about atrocities that
had been hidden or denied, which is a crucial foundation for healing. Archbishop Tutu famously said
there is “no future without forgiveness,” and the TRC operationalized that philosophy. From a
state-building perspective, the TRC’s work helped diffuse the threat of right-wing backlash (since
ex-officers had a path to amnesty) and reassured white South Africans that the new democracy was not
about revenge, thereby encouraging them to stay and invest in the country’s future rather than flee.
Legally, the TRC model was innovative – it was rooted in the rule of law (with a legal mandate and
quasi-judicial hearings) yet departed from the usual punitive norm. This inspired other countries:
several truth commissions in later years (e.g., in Ghana, Morocco) drew on the South African example,
though few coupled truth with amnesty as explicitly. The TRC also recommended a comprehensive
reparations program. As a result, about 21,000 identified victims eventually received a one-time
grant of 30,000 Rand each from the government as compensation (South African Truth Commission |
Wex | US Law | LII / Legal Information Institute) (South African Truth Commission | Wex | US Law |
LII / Legal Information Institute), and community rehabilitation programs were proposed (though
implementation was slow).

Challenges: Despite its accolades, the TRC faced criticism on multiple fronts. Victims’ groups
argued that justice was sacrificed: many perpetrators, including notorious figures, walked free without
punishment. While the TRC named perpetrators and in some cases led to social ostracism or loss of
position, the fact remained that killers and torturers avoided jail, which some victims felt was a
betrayal – “justice was not seen to be done.” There was also uneven participation: not all perpetrators
came forward. In fact, the majority of amnesty applicants were from the lower ranks; many senior

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officials of the apartheid security apparatus did not apply, perhaps believing they wouldn’t be
prosecuted anyway. Some of those who refused to acknowledge wrongdoing (or whose amnesty was
denied) could theoretically be prosecuted later, but in practice post-TRC prosecutions have been very
few, leading to a sense of de facto impunity for those who “gamed” the system by staying silent.
Political criticisms included that the TRC was too lenient and had a pro-ANC bias (since the ANC’s
armed struggle actions were also pardoned under the same process). Others felt the TRC focused on
individual stories but didn’t fully condemn the apartheid system or hold the architects of apartheid
(who gave orders but never pulled a trigger) accountable – for instance, former President P.W. Botha
defied a subpoena and never properly testified. The TRC’s recommendation for prosecutions of those
who didn’t seek amnesty was largely not acted upon, partly due to political reluctance to reopen old
wounds. Additionally, reconciliation is hard to quantify: while the TRC undoubtedly helped avoid
revenge violence, South Africa continued to face racial and economic disparities. Some communities
and victims remained unforgiving, especially if they felt the perpetrator was unrepentant or the state
failed to deliver promised reparations and reforms. In essence, the moral critique is that the TRC
traded away justice; the pragmatic defense is that it prevented civil war. Both may hold truth.

For state-building, the South African case shows the power of a restorative narrative in unifying a
nation – the imagery of a country confronting its past openly, with an ethic of forgiveness, was a
cornerstone of the “Rainbow Nation” identity. However, it also serves as a caution that without
material follow-up (like robust reparations and institutional change), reconciliation can stall. Today,
South Africa’s TRC remains a landmark example of restorative justice, studied worldwide. It asked
“What kind of justice does a society emerging from injustice need most?” and answered by prioritizing
truth and reconciliation. In doing so, it arguably saved the country from massive retributive turmoil,
but left open the debate of whether more conventional justice should later play a role in addressing any
unfinished business (e.g., recent calls in South Africa to prosecute perpetrators of apartheid-era crimes
who did not come clean).

Argentina: From Impunity to Accountability – A Long Road

Context: Argentina’s experience with transitional justice comes from its Dirty War (1976–1983) – a
period when a military dictatorship carried out a campaign of state terrorism, “disappearing” tens of
thousands of suspected leftist dissidents. After the military regime fell and democracy was restored in
1983, Argentina pioneered both truth-seeking and legal accountability, but not without setbacks. This
case illustrates a pendulum swing: initial bold retributive justice, a retreat to restorative (or rather,
forgiving) measures under pressure, and finally a return to prosecutions years later – showing that the
balance between retributive and restorative justice can shift over time.

Approach: Right after the dictatorship, Argentina set up in 1983 the National Commission on the
Disappearance of Persons (CONADEP) – one of the world’s first truth commissions. In 1984,
CONADEP produced the famous “Nunca Más” (“Never Again”) report, documenting 8,961 cases of
forced disappearances with detailed evidence () (). The report shocked the public with its revelations of
torture centers and systematic abuses, and it provided an authoritative truth record for history.
Crucially, it named perpetrators and paved the way for prosecutions by handing evidence to the courts.

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In 1985, in a landmark retributive justice move, Argentina conducted the Trial of the Juntas – a civil
court trial of the top military commanders who led the junta governments. This high-profile trial
convicted five senior ex-military leaders (including former presidents Generals Jorge Videla and
Roberto Viola) for crimes including murder and torture, sentencing some to life imprisonment
(Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights Violators |
Refworld). It was unprecedented in Latin America for a new democracy to put its former rulers on
trial. The early transitional justice in Argentina thus combined truth-telling (Nunca Más report gave
society the facts) and criminal justice (the trials signaled that such crimes would not go unpunished).
These actions were widely praised and gave victims hope for justice.

However, soon backlash came. Parts of the military resisted widespread prosecutions – there were
mutinies and threats of destabilization by hard-liners in 1986-87 (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine
Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights Violators | Refworld) (Reluctant Partner: The
Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights Violators | Refworld). In response,
the civilian government (President Raúl Alfonsín) enacted two laws effectively halting further
prosecutions: the Full Stop Law (1986) set a short deadline to file any new charges, and the Due
Obedience Law (1987) exempted lower-ranking officers on the presumption they were “obeying
orders” (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights
Violators | Refworld) (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of
Human Rights Violators | Refworld). These laws were a form of partial amnesty, seen as a necessary
compromise to preserve the fragile democracy in the face of military unrest. They extinguished
thousands of criminal cases against mid- and low-level perpetrators. Additionally, in 1989-90,
President Carlos Menem issued presidential pardons to many of the convicted junta leaders and
others, effectively closing the book on retributive justice at that time. This period (late 1980s to 1990s)
was one of restoration and reconciliation in a different sense – reconciling with the former
oppressors by choosing not to punish them further, hoping to heal the societal divisions and move
on. Some restorative measures were also present: the government instituted financial compensation
programs for families of the disappeared and continued the work on identifying remains of victims
(through forensic anthropology teams). Memorialization efforts like the annual Day of Remembrance
and memorial parks kept the truth of the past in public consciousness even as formal justice was
stalled.

Renewed Accountability: The tide turned in the 2000s. Argentine civil society – especially groups
like the Mothers and Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo – never stopped fighting for justice. They
framed the impunity laws as incompatible with the rights of victims and international law. In
2003–2005, under President Néstor Kirchner, Argentina scrapped the amnesty laws: Congress annulled
the Full Stop and Due Obedience laws, and in 2005 the Supreme Court declared them unconstitutional
(Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights Violators |
Refworld) (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights
Violators | Refworld), citing international human rights obligations. This reopened the door for
prosecutions. Since then, Argentina embarked on an ongoing wave of trials for Dirty War crimes –

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hundreds of former military and police officers have been prosecuted and convicted for kidnapping,
torture, murder, and baby theft (a specific crime where infants born to detained mothers were taken and
given to regime-friendly families). These trials, conducted in ordinary courts, represent a delayed but
comprehensive retributive justice effort. By addressing even decades-old crimes, Argentina
demonstrated the principle that there is no statute of limitations for crimes against humanity. The
justice system’s vigor in the 2000s and 2010s – sometimes called the “Justice Cascade” – has made
Argentina a model for how a country can revisit past atrocities even many years later. Victims’ families
finally saw many of those responsible held to account in court, fulfilling the earlier truth commission’s
call for justice. At the same time, truth and memory were continually honored: for example, the ESMA
(Navy Mechanics School), a notorious torture center, was turned into a memorial museum.

Evaluation: Argentina’s case is distinctive in that it didn’t use a truth commission as a trade-off for
amnesty (as South Africa did), but rather as a springboard for eventual justice. Retributive justice was
partially achieved (with the junta trial) early on, then sacrificed for political stability, and finally
robustly reasserted later. This long trajectory had pros and cons. The early truth commission (“Nunca
Más”) had an immense impact on public awareness and international understanding of Argentina’s
trauma. But the period of impunity in the 1990s caused frustration and a sense of justice delayed.
Many perpetrators lived free for decades, and many victims went to their graves without seeing justice.
On the other hand, avoiding a harsh crackdown on the military in the late 80s may have prevented
political turmoil that could have derailed the new democracy – in that sense, the pause on prosecutions
might have been a pragmatic restorative step to maintain peace. By the 2000s, the military’s power
had waned, and society was ready to confront the past fully, enabling justice to proceed without
threatening stability (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human
Rights Violators | Refworld) (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of
Human Rights Violators | Refworld). This illustrates how timing matters: immediate retributive justice
wasn’t fully feasible, but sustained truth-telling and advocacy kept the demand for justice alive until it
became feasible.

The Argentine example shows a complementarity over time: truth came out early (via CONADEP),
reconciliation was attempted by moving forward with democracy and modest reparations, and later
justice was carried out when conditions allowed. It highlights that amnesties need not be permanent
– they can be revoked as legal and moral norms evolve. Internationally, Argentina’s approach
influenced the global human rights movement, strengthening the norm that amnesties for serious
human rights crimes are unacceptable. Domestically, the continued trials have helped reinforce the rule
of law; however, challenges remain in fully reconciling society. Some former regime supporters view
the ongoing trials as victors’ justice or revenge. Meanwhile, victims’ groups feel Argentina finally, if
belatedly, honored their rights by punishing offenders and acknowledging the truth (the figure of
30,000 disappeared is now ingrained in Argentina’s collective memory, even though the official
documented number was lower (30 Years after Nunca Más) (Documents on Transitional Justice in
Argentina)). Argentina’s journey underscores that justice and reconciliation are processes that can
unfold over generations, and that a society may oscillate between leniency and accountability as it
finds its way forward after conflict or repression.

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Legal Frameworks and Institutions

International Criminal Court (ICC): The ICC is central to the legal framework for post-conflict
justice. Established by the Rome Statute of 1998, it is a permanent court with jurisdiction over
genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, and (since 2018) the crime of aggression, when
national courts are unable or unwilling to act. As of 2025, 123 countries are party to the ICC, reflecting
broad support for a rules-based international order where perpetrators of mass atrocities can be held
accountable beyond borders. The ICC embodies a retributive justice mechanism at a global level. It
operates on the principle of complementarity – primary responsibility lies with states to prosecute; the
ICC steps in only as a last resort. This principle encourages states emerging from conflict to strengthen
their national legal frameworks (courts, military justice, etc.) to handle trials, knowing that if they do
not, the ICC might intervene. The Rome Statute also enshrines victims’ rights by allowing victim
participation in trials and establishing a Trust Fund for Victims (for reparations), blending some
restorative aspects into the ICC process. However, the ICC does not offer alternatives like amnesty or
truth commissions – its mandate is strictly criminal justice. The court has faced challenges: issues of
state cooperation (as it has no police force of its own), accusations of bias, and the complex task of
conducting fair trials often far from the crime scenes. Nonetheless, it has become a fixture in peace
negotiations (with questions like “Should we refer this situation to the ICC?” or “Can we include an
ICC immunity in this peace deal?” frequently arising). The existence of the ICC has arguably deterred
some potential atrocities and has given victims hope for justice when their own states fail them.

Ad Hoc Tribunals and Hybrid Courts: Before the ICC, the UN created ad hoc tribunals (ICTY,
ICTR) which set important legal precedents now part of international jurisprudence. Their statutes and
rulings clarify definitions of crimes and modes of liability (e.g., command responsibility). These
tribunals and subsequent hybrid courts (like those for Sierra Leone, Cambodia, East Timor, and
ongoing hybrid chambers in Kosovo and Central African Republic) form a patchwork of
internationalized justice mechanisms. Legally, they show flexibility – tailoring courts to specific
contexts. For instance, the Special Court for Sierra Leone applied both Sierra Leonean law (for
crimes like abuse of girls) and international law (for crimes against humanity), ensuring relevance to
local norms while meeting international standards ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ) ( "we'll kill you if you
cry" ). Cambodia’s ECCC had civil law and common law procedure mix. These courts often have UN
participation formalized via agreements or UN Chapter VII mandates, and their decisions contribute to
a growing body of transitional justice jurisprudence.

UN Conventions and Norms: Several international treaties create obligations relevant to post-conflict
justice. The Geneva Conventions (1949) and Additional Protocol I (1977) require states to seek out
and prosecute persons responsible for grave breaches (serious war crimes) or hand them over to a
jurisdiction that will – establishing the principle of universal jurisdiction for certain crimes. The
Genocide Convention (1948) similarly obliges states to punish genocide in their courts or through an
international tribunal (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for
Rwanda). The Convention Against Torture (1984) mandates states to prosecute or extradite

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suspected torturers found in their territory, regardless of where the torture occurred, and rejects any
exceptional circumstances or orders from a superior as justifications – this treaty has been used to deny
safe haven to human rights abusers. The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights
(ICCPR) and other human rights treaties enshrine the rights of victims to an effective remedy, which
has been interpreted to include the duty to investigate and prosecute serious violations. Additionally,
there are soft-law instruments specifically on transitional justice: the UN’s Updated Impunity
Principles (2005) outline the “right to truth” (for victims and society), “right to justice”, “right to
reparations”, and guarantees of non-recurrence. These principles assert that amnesties should not
cover genocide, war crimes, or crimes against humanity, reinforcing a global norm that no amnesty is
valid for the worst atrocities ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ) ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ). The Basic
Principles and Guidelines on the Right to a Remedy and Reparation (2005) adopted by the UN
General Assembly provide a framework for how states should design reparations programs (restitution,
compensation, rehabilitation, satisfaction, guarantees of non-repetition) for victims of gross violations.

National Justice Mechanisms: Strengthening domestic legal frameworks is a cornerstone of

post-conflict state-building. This includes reforming courts (vetting or retraining judges and
prosecutors, rebuilding infrastructure), updating penal codes to criminalize genocide, war crimes, and
crimes against humanity (often countries pass laws implementing the Rome Statute), and ensuring fair
trial standards. Many post-conflict constitutions or peace agreements create special chambers or
investigative units to handle conflict-era crimes. For example, Bosnia & Herzegovina established a
War Crimes Chamber within its national court, and Colombia’s 2016 Peace Accord set up the Special
Jurisdiction for Peace, a national mechanism with international oversight. Traditional and
Community Justice (like Rwanda’s Gacaca or Northern Uganda’s customary rituals) can be integrated
into national law or operate in parallel, but they sometimes need a legal basis to function and to
delineate their jurisdiction versus formal courts. Ensuring that military courts or informal justice do
not grant impunity for serious crimes is a legal reform challenge – often requiring legislation to
clarify that certain offenses must be tried in civilian courts. Witness protection laws, evidence
preservation, and measures to protect judicial independence are other crucial parts of legal frameworks
in post-conflict settings.

Truth Commissions and Reparations Programs: While truth commissions are not judicial, they are
often established by law or executive decree, giving them official status and subpoena powers. The
legal framework might include provisions for confidentiality, protections for those who testify, and
how the commission’s findings will be acted upon. For instance, South Africa’s Promotion of
National Unity and Reconciliation Act 1995 created the TRC and laid out the criteria for amnesty
(Truth and Reconciliation Commission, South Africa (TRC) | Britannica) (Truth and Reconciliation
Commission, South Africa (TRC) | Britannica). Similarly, many Latin American countries passed laws
to create truth commissions (like Peru 2001, Tunisia 2013). Reparations programs usually have a legal
underpinning to appropriate funds and define eligibility – e.g., Morocco’s Equity and Reconciliation
Commission led to decrees compensating victims of past abuses.

Amnesty Laws: These are part of the legal landscape too. Some post-conflict states pass amnesty laws
to pardon fighters (for example, Mozambique’s 1992 General Peace Agreement included amnesty;

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Nepal debated an amnesty for civil war crimes). International law increasingly pressures states to
exclude serious international crimes from amnesty. Courts (both international and some national,
like in Argentina and Peru) have invalidated amnesty laws that cover gross human rights violations
(Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights Violators |
Refworld) (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights
Violators | Refworld). The trend is toward “conditional amnesties” – requiring truth or providing
amnesty only to lower-level offenders – rather than blanket ones. This evolution is part of the legal
framework discussion: what is permissible under treaties and what is not.

Restorative Justice in Legal Frameworks: The UN has also recognized restorative justice in crime
prevention more broadly. For example, the UN Basic Principles on the Use of Restorative Justice
Programmes in Criminal Matters (ECOSOC, 2002) encourage states to incorporate mediation,
conciliation, and community service for appropriate offenses. In a post-conflict context, this might
translate to traditional dispute resolution for community-level grievances or using reconciliation
committees to deal with lesser crimes. Some countries, like Rwanda with Gacaca, had to create new
laws to adapt traditional practices to a national scale (Rwanda passed the Gacaca Law in 2001 and
subsequent amendments to guide the process legally).

In sum, the legal frameworks for retributive and restorative justice encompass international treaties,
UN-backed courts, and domestic laws and reforms. A post-conflict state often needs to navigate all
three levels: complying with international obligations (no impunity for grave crimes), utilizing
international help where needed (ICC or hybrid courts), and rebuilding its own judiciary and
truth/reconciliation mechanisms. Ensuring coherence among these levels is important. For example, if
a country wants to grant amnesty as part of a peace deal, it must consider that under the Rome Statute,
the ICC could assert jurisdiction if that amnesty blocks prosecutions of genocide/war crimes – a legal
tension that has influenced peace negotiations in places like Uganda and Sudan. Therefore,
strengthening legal frameworks is not just about writing new laws, but about aligning them with global
norms and the expectations of the international community, while also earning the confidence of the
local population that justice (in whatever form) is being done.

(File:International Criminal Court at The Hague (ICC) (54032051190).jpg - Wikimedia Commons)

The International Criminal Court in The Hague, Netherlands prosecutes genocide, war crimes, and
crimes against humanity when nations are unable or unwilling to do so, complementing national
efforts to combat impunity. (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for
Rwanda) (The ICTR in Brief | United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda)

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Key Questions a Resolution Must Address

1.​ Balance of Justice Approaches: How should post-conflict societies balance retributive and
restorative justice mechanisms? Should a resolution endorse a specific sequence (e.g. truth
commission first, then trials) or a simultaneous approach? This involves asking what criteria or
context might dictate prioritizing one over the other. Is the scale of crimes a factor in choosing
an approach? Do we recommend a hybrid model like Sierra Leone’s dual system?)​

2.​ Role of International vs. National Jurisdictions: What is the appropriate role of the ICC
and international tribunals relative to national courts and traditional mechanisms? The
resolution should clarify under what circumstances the international community should step in
(through ICC or ad hoc tribunals) – e.g., when national courts are too weak or biased – and how
to strengthen national capacity to handle prosecutions. Also, how can international actors
support truth and reconciliation processes (through funding, expertise, or mandates) without
infringing on national ownership?​

3.​ Amnesty and Accountability: Should the resolution draw a line on amnesties? Given the
evolving norms, delegates must decide if the resolution will declare that certain crimes
(genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity, gross violations of human rights) cannot be
amnestied as a matter of principle ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ). How to address situations
where peace might hinge on not prosecuting a particular individual? This question is at the
heart of reconciling peace and justice. The resolution may need to set guidelines for peace
agreements, suggesting inclusion of transitional justice clauses (truth commissions, deferral of
prosecution but not forgiveness, etc.) instead of blanket amnesty.​

4.​ Victim-Centered Measures: How can a post-conflict justice strategy remain victim-centered?
What measures will ensure victims’ rights to truth, justice, and reparations are fulfilled? The
resolution should list steps for establishing comprehensive reparations programs
(compensation, rehabilitation, apologies, memorials) and guarantee victims a voice in the
process (e.g., participation in trials or truth commissions). In addition, how can communities be
engaged in justice processes so that reconciliation is meaningful on the ground?​

5.​ Reconciliation and Social Cohesion: What mechanisms beyond courts can promote
reconciliation and prevent future conflict? Key questions include whether to recommend truth
commissions, and if so, with what mandate (for example, should they name perpetrators?
recommend prosecutions? suggest reforms?). Also, should the resolution encourage traditional
justice or community dialogue practices, and how can these be harmonized with formal justice
to ensure fairness (perhaps by accrediting or monitoring local practices)? Essentially, how to
incorporate restorative justice programs like dialogue clubs, forgiveness ceremonies, or
community service as sentencing, into the broader framework of justice.​

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6.​ Strengthening Legal Frameworks: What reforms are needed in a country’s laws and
institutions to implement transitional justice? The resolution should address legal
capacity-building: training judges, protecting the judiciary from political influence, securing
evidence (possibly via international investigative commissions), and passing laws that
criminalize atrocity crimes domestically. It should also emphasize adherence to international
law – encouraging states to ratify treaties like the Rome Statute, Genocide Convention, and
Convention Against Torture if they haven’t, and to incorporate those into national law.
Additionally, how can UN agencies (like UNDP, OHCHR) or regional bodies assist states in
drafting legislation for truth commissions or witness protection?​

7.​ International Support and Funding: How will post-conflict justice efforts be financed and
supported? Trials (especially hybrid courts) and truth commissions can be costly. The
resolution should consider setting up or recommending international trust funds or donor
conferences to ensure these mechanisms have resources. Moreover, it could call for a
coordination body or designated UN special advisor on transitional justice to help states
navigate the plethora of options.​

8.​ Measuring Success and Follow-up: What benchmarks indicate that a post-conflict state’s
justice approach is succeeding? The resolution could propose indicators (number of cases
processed, public approval ratings, reduction in inter-group grievances, etc.) and possibly
mandate progress reports to the UN. It might ask the Secretary-General to report on
implementation of integrated justice programs in specific countries, or request UN field
missions to prioritize justice and reconciliation in their mandates.​

9.​ Preventing Recurrence: Ultimately, transitional justice is partly about non-recurrence of

conflict. How can the resolution tie justice mechanisms to broader institutional reforms (like
vetting security forces, reforming the military, human rights training, educational curriculum
changes to teach the truth about the past)? What role do justice processes play in rebuilding
trust in the rule of law and a culture of human rights? Delegates should ensure the resolution
links retributive and restorative efforts to the goal of strengthening governance and preventing
future abuses.​

10.​Specific Case Guidance: Given the case studies (Rwanda, Sierra Leone, South Africa,
Argentina) and others, the resolution might answer: What lessons can be generalized? Are there
recommendations for different scenarios (for example, for a society coming out of civil war
with no clear victor vs. a negotiated transition from an oppressive regime)? The resolution
could acknowledge that each situation is unique but provide a framework for
decision-making – e.g., a flowchart or checklist: assess the judiciary capacity, the risk of
renewed conflict, the desires of victims, cultural norms, then decide on mix of mechanisms.​

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Sources
●​ UN Reports & Resolutions: e.g., UN Secretary-General’s report “The rule of law and
transitional justice in conflict and post-conflict societies” (S/2004/616), UN Human Rights
Council reports on reconciliation, and relevant UN Security Council resolutions establishing
tribunals or urging transitional justice in specific countries. These provide insight into the UN’s
official stance and experiences.
●​ International Law Documents: The Rome Statute, Geneva Conventions, Genocide
Convention, and Convention Against Torture (for legal obligations), as well as the
Joinet/Orentlicher Principles (2005) ( "we'll kill you if you cry" ) and Basic Principles on
Reparations (2005) for normative frameworks.
●​ Academic Analysis: Scholars like Priscilla Hayner (on truth commissions), Ruti Teitel (who
coined “Transitional Justice”), Martha Minow, and Howard Varney offer analyses of how
retributive and restorative justice interplay (War Crimes, Tribunals and Truth Commissions -
Trial of War crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can they work together) (War Crimes,
Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can
they work together). Journal articles (e.g., in the International Journal of Transitional Justice)
and case studies from think tanks (ICTJ reports on Sierra Leone ([PDF] Leaving Behind the
Worst of the Past), South Africa, etc.) will give depth on successes and pitfalls.
●​ Case Study Literature: Books or reports on Rwanda’s Gacaca (e.g., Phil Clark’s work), Sierra
Leone’s TRC (e.g., Priscilla Hayner, William Schabas), South Africa’s TRC (e.g., TRC Final
Report summaries, analyses by Audrey Chapman or Alex Boraine), and Argentina’s transitional
justice (e.g., Cath Collins on Latin America) are valuable. These sources detail the facts cited,
such as Rwanda’s choices (War Crimes, Tribunals and Truth Commissions - Trial of War
crimes: retribution and reconciliation – can they work together), Sierra Leone’s outcomes
([PDF] CHAPTER SIX The TRC and the Special Court for Sierra Leone), South Africa’s
amnesty statistics (Truth and Reconciliation Commission (South Africa) - Wikipedia), and
Argentina’s Nunca Más findings ().
●​ Credible Media and NGO Reports: Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International reports
give contemporary critiques (e.g., HRW’s report on Argentina’s “Reluctant Partner” in justice
(Reluctant Partner: The Argentine Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights
Violators | Refworld), or Amnesty’s take on Rwanda’s Gacaca ([PDF] Rwanda's Troubled
Gacaca Courts)). Media outlets like BBC, The Guardian, or Al Jazeera have covered
transitional justice processes and their public reception.
●​ UNODC and CCPCJ Resources: Since CCPCJ is within UNODC’s purview, their handbooks
on restorative justice or crime prevention might provide context on how criminal justice reform
intersects with post-conflict needs.
●​ International Case Law: Key decisions such as the Inter-American Court of Human Rights
rulings against amnesties (e.g., Barrios Altos case, Peru) or national court decisions like
Argentina’s Supreme Court striking down impunity laws (Reluctant Partner: The Argentine
Government's Failure to Back Trials of Human Rights Violators | Refworld) highlight legal
precedent for delegates to consider.

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 Agenda 2: Addressing the Implications and Regulations of Mass
Surveillance in the Context of Crime Prevention and Criminal
Justice.
______________________________________________________

Introduction

Mass Surveillance in a Digital Era: Mass surveillance refers to the pervasive monitoring and
collection of data on large populations by governments or corporations using advanced technology. In
the digital era, virtually every phone call, email, social media post, CCTV footage, or online
transaction can be tracked. States often justify mass surveillance as a tool to prevent crime and
terrorism, leveraging big data and algorithms to detect threats in real-time. For example, some
governments claim that omnipresent cameras and facial recognition will deter criminals and terrorists
before they strike (Caught on camera: The slippery slope between crime prevention and mass
surveillance | ICT Pulse – The leading technology blog in the Caribbean) (Caught on camera: The
slippery slope between crime prevention and mass surveillance | ICT Pulse – The leading technology
blog in the Caribbean). Indeed, studies indicate surveillance cameras can reduce certain crimes (one
study in Stockholm found CCTV cut crime by ~25% in monitored areas) (The Effects of Surveillance
Cameras on Crime: Evidence from the Stockholm Subway). However, these security benefits come
with broader political, economic, and ethical implications. Unfettered surveillance shifts power
toward the state, threatening democratic freedoms and privacy rights. As UN human rights officials
warn, “mass surveillance [is] emerging as a dangerous habit rather than an exceptional measure,”
requiring strict necessity and proportionality to be lawful (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance |
Human Rights Watch). Economically, an entire industry of “surveillance capitalism” has arisen –
companies profiting from collecting and monetizing personal data on an unprecedented scale with little
scrutiny (Examining the intersection of data privacy and civil rights). Ethically, society faces difficult
questions: Does ubiquitous surveillance make us safer, or does it create a digital “panopticon” of
self-censorship and state control. The sections below explore the evolution of mass surveillance,
real-world case studies across regions, the legal frameworks (or lack thereof) governing these
practices, and the economic, political, and moral debates that any comprehensive regulatory approach
must address.

Historical Background

Cold War Origins: Modern mass surveillance has roots in the mid-20th century. During the Cold War,
rival superpowers built vast intelligence apparatuses devoted to intercepting communications and
gathering information on military and political activities (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf). In the West,
agencies like the U.S. National Security Agency (NSA) and Britain’s GCHQ grew out of WWII
codebreaking efforts, later forming the “Five Eyes” alliance (USA, UK, Canada, Australia, New
Zealand) to share signals intelligence globally. In the Eastern bloc, the Soviet KGB and East German

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Stasi ran exhaustive surveillance operations on their own citizens – wiretapping phones, opening
mail, and recruiting informants – to stifle dissent and maintain authoritarian control (SNISMUN’24
BG.pdf). These early analog-era methods were labor-intensive and targeted, but they established a
precedent that governments could justify intruding on privacy in the name of national security or social
order. By the late 20th century, surveillance technology rapidly advanced: satellites peered down from
space, high-capacity wiretaps and “bug” listening devices proliferated, and rudimentary databases
allowed authorities to compile dossiers on individuals (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf).

The Digital Revolution: The advent of computers, the internet, and mobile communications in the
1990s transformed surveillance from laborious monitoring of a few targets into automated mass data
collection. Digital networks vastly expanded the scope and scale of information available.
Governments and companies could suddenly harvest and analyze billions of data points – from emails
and web searches to credit card records – far faster than any human spy. By the early 2000s, many
countries had begun harnessing digital surveillance for law enforcement, intelligence, and even
commercial profiling (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf). This period also saw the rise of private-sector
surveillance: tech corporations tracking users’ online behavior for advertising, effectively privatizing
large-scale monitoring. As one scholar observed, “the internet, once hailed as a bastion of personal
freedom and information sharing, has become a double-edged sword,” empowering individuals while
enabling powerful entities to track and analyze personal behavior at unprecedented scale
(SNISMUN’24 BG.pdf). By the turn of the millennium, data had become a strategic asset, and
surveillance was no longer just a spy-vs-spy game – it was woven into daily digital life.

Post-9/11 Security Paradigm: The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 marked a turning point. In
their aftermath, the United States and allied countries enacted sweeping new security laws to prevent
future terror attacks, greatly expanding government surveillance powers (UNGA-IKSHAMUN
BG.pdf). The USA PATRIOT Act of 2001 loosened restrictions on intelligence agencies, allowing bulk
collection of phone and internet metadata and broader monitoring of financial and travel records in the
name of counterterrorism. Intelligence-sharing between nations intensified, and technological
surveillance (like biometric passports and airline passenger screening) became routine. Public
tolerance for surveillance increased as many citizens accepted trade-offs between privacy and
security under the mantra “if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.” Across the world,
CCTV camera networks multiplied – for instance, London built the densest CCTV network in the
West, and cities from New York to New Delhi followed suit. Surveillance tools once reserved for
wartime espionage were repurposed for domestic policing and counter-crime efforts. While these
measures did help disrupt plots and capture criminals, the balance between security and civil
liberties fueled ongoing debate (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf) (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf).
Privacy advocates warned that emergency powers were becoming permanent. By the 2010s, digital
surveillance had become pervasive across democratic and authoritarian states alike, setting the
stage for a major backlash.

The Snowden Revelations (2013) and Global Backlash: In 2013, former NSA contractor Edward
Snowden leaked classified documents that blew open the scale of U.S. and allied surveillance
programs (SNISMUN’24 BG.pdf). Snowden’s files revealed that the NSA and partners were secretly

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vacuuming up vast quantities of data – phone logs, emails, webcam images, and more – not only on
suspicious individuals but on hundreds of millions of ordinary people worldwide. Programs like
PRISM gave intelligence agencies direct access to tech giants’ servers (Google, Apple, Facebook, etc.),
while others like Upstream tapped fiber-optic cables to intercept global internet traffic (United Nations:
Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch) (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance |
Human Rights Watch). These revelations shocked American allies (it emerged the U.S. had even
monitored the personal phone of German Chancellor Angela Merkel (United Nations: Rein in Mass
Surveillance | Human Rights Watch)) and citizens, sparking an international debate on surveillance
oversight. Snowden’s leaks confirmed the existence of a secret Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court
and laws (like Section 215 of the U.S. PATRIOT Act) enabling bulk data collection. In response, the
U.S. Congress curtailed some programs (ending bulk telephone metadata collection in 2015) and
passed the CLOUD Act in 2018 to clarify legal standards for cross-border data requests. Globally, the
UN General Assembly passed a resolution affirming that privacy rights apply online and urging
states to review surveillance practices for compliance with human rights law (United Nations: Rein in
Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch). The Snowden affair thus marked the beginning of a
privacy rights resurgence, forcing greater transparency about surveillance and emboldening
journalists and civil society to expose abuses. Yet even today, many of the systems he exposed (or
similar ones) continue in revised forms, and new technologies like artificial intelligence-driven
surveillance present fresh challenges.

The Era of AI and Ubiquitous Surveillance: In the late 2010s and into the 2020s, surveillance
capabilities reached new heights with artificial intelligence (AI), machine learning, and big data
analytics. Governments and companies now deploy AI to automatically recognize faces, voices,
license plates, and even predict behavior by analyzing patterns in data (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf)
(UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf). “Smart city” initiatives integrate thousands of sensors and cameras to
monitor traffic, crowds, and infrastructure in real time. While these tools promise efficiency and crime
reduction, they also raise the specter of automated profiling and algorithmic bias. A 2019 study found
at least 75 countries were actively using AI-powered surveillance (such as facial recognition systems),
often sourced from leading tech exporters in China and the West (Artificial Intelligence used for mass
surveillance in 75 countries - SwissCognitive | AI Ventures, Advisory & Research) (Artificial
Intelligence used for mass surveillance in 75 countries - SwissCognitive | AI Ventures, Advisory &
Research). At the same time, private surveillance markets exploded – from spyware sold to
governments (as seen with the Pegasus spyware scandals) to the vast troves of personal data held by
social media and data-broker companies. This convergence of state and corporate surveillance has
blurred the lines between national security and commercial interests, creating a complex web that
regulators struggle to untangle. In short, we have entered a world where surveillance is ubiquitous
and often invisible – our phones, appliances, and city streets are constantly collecting information –
posing urgent questions about how to govern these practices in a way that protects security and
fundamental human rights. The following case studies illustrate how different countries and regions
have approached (or exploited) mass surveillance in the crime prevention context.

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Case Studies

United States

The United States has been a pioneer and a paradox in mass surveillance. It possesses some of the most
advanced surveillance capabilities, justified by national security and crime prevention, yet it also has a
robust public discourse and legal challenges around these powers. Post-9/11, the U.S. dramatically
expanded domestic and foreign surveillance. The PATRIOT Act (2001) gave agencies like the FBI
and NSA broad latitude to collect data on Americans and foreigners, including roving wiretaps and
secret subpoenas for records. Under this framework, the NSA built programs to harvest telephony
metadata on billions of calls and to tap the backbone of the internet (per the PRISM and Upstream
programs revealed later) (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch). These
operations were often conducted in partnership with major telecom and tech companies in secret,
overseen by the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court. U.S. intelligence also works closely with the
“Five Eyes” alliance (UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand) – a decades-old partnership for sharing
signals intelligence – effectively creating a globe-spanning surveillance network (United Nations: Rein
in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch). The Edward Snowden leaks in 2013 confirmed that
U.S. surveillance had grown to monitor not just suspected terrorists but broad swathes of the
population (for instance, collecting the phone records of all Verizon customers) (United Nations: Rein
in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch) (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human
Rights Watch). This sparked intense debates in Congress and the courts about the constitutionality and
effectiveness of such programs in preventing crime or attacks. In response, some reforms occurred: the
USA FREEDOM Act (2015) ended bulk collection of phone metadata, and tech companies began
encrypting user data by default to limit government access. However, many surveillance tools remain.
The PRISM program (allowing targeted data requests from tech firms) continues under the
reauthorized FISA Section 702, and law enforcement frequently uses court orders to access email or
cloud data in criminal investigations. Additionally, new laws like the CLOUD Act (2018) enable U.S.
authorities to demand data stored overseas by U.S. companies, and to form bilateral agreements with
other nations for cross-border data sharing (CLOUD Act - Wikipedia) ([PDF] Cross-Border Data
Sharing Under the CLOUD Act - CRS Reports). While intended to speed up criminal inquiries, the
CLOUD Act raised concerns about bypassing other countries’ privacy protections. Domestically, the
U.S. also uses extensive camera networks and facial recognition for policing – e.g. many cities have
real-time crime centers aggregating CCTV feeds, and federal agencies use face recognition on driver’s
license and visa databases. Yet, American society retains strong privacy advocacy: civil liberties
groups like the ACLU have sued over warrantless surveillance, and public opinion has pushed
institutions (from local city councils to Big Tech CEOs) to demand more transparency. The U.S. case
thus highlights the tension between high-tech surveillance for security and the American legal norms
that seek to check government power. As one federal judge noted after Snowden’s revelations,
unfettered mass surveillance “impinges on the very essence” of the right to privacy (UN Report

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Condemns Mass Surveillance Programs), prompting ongoing efforts to recalibrate laws in line with
constitutional values while still empowering legitimate crime-fighting and counterterrorism.

China

China has built what is arguably the most comprehensive and technologically advanced surveillance
state in the world. Framing it as a means to prevent crime, terrorism, and even minor infractions,
the Chinese government has integrated surveillance into virtually every aspect of public life. A vast
network of an estimated 200 million CCTV cameras already keeps watch over streets and public
spaces (authorities planned to add 400 million more by 2020) (China: "the world's biggest camera
surveillance network" - BBC News). Many of these cameras are augmented with AI-driven facial
recognition, capable of identifying individuals in seconds. This system, often referred to as “Skynet,”
is reportedly able to track wanted suspects – Chinese police have boasted of catching criminals within
minutes using facial recognition at concerts and transport hubs. Hand in hand with the physical
surveillance is China’s emerging Social Credit System. Aimed for nationwide rollout, this system
aggregates data on citizens’ behaviors (from financial records and traffic violations to social media
posts) to assign trustworthiness scores (The Social Credit System: Not Just Another Chinese
Idiosyncrasy). While still evolving, in pilot programs high scorers earn perks (like easier loan
approvals) and low scorers can be blacklisted from certain activities (e.g. being barred from buying
train or plane tickets for misdeeds like unpaid fines). Facial recognition and big data analysis are
explicitly tied into this project – traffic cameras in some cities not only ticket jaywalkers but also use
facial ID to publicly shame them on screens, feeding those incidents into personal records (China
Social Credit System Explained - How It Works [2025]) (China Social Credit System Explained - How
It Works [2025]). For Chinese authorities, these surveillance measures are about enforcing law and
order at scale in a society of 1.4 billion people. The government claims success in crime prevention –
citing, for example, reduction in certain offenses and quicker resolution of cases thanks to surveillance
cameras. In Xinjiang, high-tech surveillance (facial recognition checkpoints, phone monitoring) has
been used to crack down on what Beijing calls separatism and terrorism – though human rights
observers note it facilitates oppression of the ethnic Uyghur population. On the cyber front, China
monitors and filters online activity through the “Great Firewall” and real-name registration laws.
Internet surveillance is used to censor dissent and arrest those who spread “rumors” or organize
protests online (China Social Credit System Explained - How It Works [2025]). All these efforts are
backed by cybersecurity laws that require companies in China to keep data within the country and
assist law enforcement requests. Economically, China has also exported its surveillance model:
Chinese firms (like Huawei, Hikvision, and Dahua) supply cameras and facial recognition systems to
many other countries, “exporting” its tech and norms. The flip side of China’s tight surveillance is the
near-total erosion of privacy. There is minimal legal restraint – no equivalent of an independent
judiciary to limit surveillance overreach. Chinese citizens often express resignation or support for
these measures, valuing safety and stability; but cases of misuse abound (e.g. officials using
surveillance to track political dissidents or even embarrass celebrities). In sum, China’s case shows a
government leveraging modern surveillance to achieve unprecedented social control – blending

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crime prevention with authoritarian governance. It raises the question: can such a system be reformed
to protect privacy, or is pervasive surveillance inherently at odds with individual rights?

Africa

Across Africa, the use of mass surveillance is mixed, reflecting a patchwork of democratic and
authoritarian governance, varied technological capacity, and evolving legal frameworks. Some African
states are adopting surveillance tools to combat crime and terrorism, while others use them to
entrench political power and repress dissent, often with inadequate oversight. For instance, Kenya
launched a high-tech Integrated Urban Surveillance System in Nairobi in 2014 after a wave of terrorist
attacks (like the Westgate mall attack) (In Africa’s first ‘safe city,’ surveillance reigns - Coda Story).
With help from China’s Huawei, Nairobi became the first “Safe City” in Africa: hundreds of
networked CCTV cameras were installed, feeding data to police headquarters (In Africa’s first ‘safe
city,’ surveillance reigns - Coda Story). Officials credit this system with improving response times and
claim it helped reduce certain crimes (Huawei touted a 46% crime decline in areas under the system)
(Watching Huawei's “Safe Cities” - CSIS). Similarly, cities in South Africa, Rwanda, and Nigeria
have deployed CCTV and facial recognition in efforts to deter street crime and carjackings. In these
cases, surveillance is promoted as a technological fix to crime in cities where police resources are
stretched. Indeed, even smaller states are turning to surveillance tech – in the Caribbean, The
Bahamas and Guyana recently rolled out facial recognition camera networks, with leaders stating this
will “help identify faces and detect guns” and “track criminals… know every criminal… and pinpoint
where they are at any moment” (Caught on camera: The slippery slope between crime prevention and
mass surveillance | ICT Pulse – The leading technology blog in the Caribbean) (Caught on camera:
The slippery slope between crime prevention and mass surveillance | ICT Pulse – The leading
technology blog in the Caribbean). These examples mirror African initiatives and highlight that the
narrative of security often drives adoption of surveillance in developing countries.

On the other hand, many African governments have misused surveillance for political ends. A 2021
study by the Institute of Development Studies documented how authorities in Egypt, Kenya, Nigeria,
Senegal, South Africa, and Sudan have illegally monitored journalists, activists, judges, and
opposition leaders using digital surveillance tools (Rising digital surveillance threatens Africa’s
democratic progress - ISS African Futures). Authoritarian-leaning regimes conflate criticism with
threats to state security, deploying spyware and interception to pre-empt challenges to their rule. For
example, the former regime in Sudan reportedly imported mobile interception tech to spy on protest
organizers. In Uganda and Zimbabwe, there have been reports of authorities using phone tapping and
internet monitoring to identify opposition supporters. One alarming trend is the influx of foreign
surveillance technology into Africa: companies from China, Israel, and Europe have supplied
governments with sophisticated spyware and monitoring systems. Chinese surveillance exports in
particular are widespread – from Ethiopia’s telecom network (allegedly configured for maximum
surveillance) to Zimbabwe’s facial recognition-equipped CCTV system provided by Chinese firms
(Digital Neocolonialism: The Chinese Surveillance State in Africa) ([PDF] Digital Neocolonialism:
The Chinese Surveillance State in Africa). These tools often arrive in countries with weak legal
safeguards, enabling “digital authoritarianism” by incumbent rulers (Rising digital surveillance

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threatens Africa’s democratic progress - ISS African Futures) (Rising digital surveillance threatens
Africa’s democratic progress - ISS African Futures). As internet access expands in Africa (projected to
reach 75% of the population by 2030) (Rising digital surveillance threatens Africa’s democratic
progress - ISS African Futures), the temptation for regimes to monitor online speech and social media
is growing.

The legal framework in Africa is struggling to keep pace. Only in recent years have many countries
begun passing data protection and cybercrime laws. About 37 out of 54 African countries have
enacted data protection legislation as of 2023 (The State of Data Protection Legislation in Africa |
TechPolicy.Press), often drawing on European Union models. For instance, Kenya’s Data Protection
Act (2019) and Nigeria’s Data Protection Regulation (2019) set basic rules on personal data
processing. However, enforcement is limited – data protection authorities are under-resourced and
often lack independence to challenge state surveillance by intelligence agencies. Pan-African
frameworks like the Malabo Convention on Cyber Security and Personal Data Protection (2014)
exist but have few ratifications. In practice, many African governments bypass whatever privacy laws
exist. Weak institutional checks mean intelligence agencies can conduct surveillance with little
accountability, and telecom companies often comply with broad government requests. Courts provide
scant oversight, except in a few stronger democracies like South Africa (which has an interception law
with a judge’s warrant requirement, though even there a recent case exposed abuse of surveillance
against activists). Meanwhile, citizens have started pushing back – media and civil society have
exposed scandals, such as in South Africa (the “Spy Cables” leak and challenges to surveillance law)
and Nigeria (lawsuits against social media monitoring). These efforts are nascent. The African
experience thus ranges from positive uses of surveillance for public safety to alarming abuses for
political repression. It underlines a core challenge: implementing surveillance in a rights-respecting
way requires robust governance, something still developing in parts of the continent.

European Union

The European Union (EU) approaches mass surveillance with a strong emphasis on privacy rights
and rule of law, reflecting the painful history of totalitarian regimes in Europe and a political culture
that prioritizes civil liberties. In the EU, personal data protection is a fundamental right under the
Charter of Fundamental Rights. This ethos materialized in the landmark General Data Protection
Regulation (GDPR), which took effect in 2018 and is considered the world’s toughest data privacy
law (General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR): Meaning and Rules). The GDPR imposes strict
limits on how organizations (including governments) can collect, store, and use personal data,
requiring transparency and consent, and giving individuals rights to access and delete their data. While
GDPR primarily targets corporate data handling, its principles influence state surveillance too – for
example, EU courts have struck down indiscriminate data retention laws as incompatible with privacy
rights. European courts have been active watchdogs: in 2014, the Court of Justice of the EU
invalidated the EU Data Retention Directive (which mandated telecoms retain metadata) on privacy
grounds, and in subsequent rulings (Tele2/Watson, Digital Rights Ireland) the court set strict criteria

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for any bulk data collection. Most recently, the EU is grappling with the fallout of unlawful
surveillance spyware within its member states. The Pegasus spyware scandal hit Europe when it
emerged that several governments – notably Hungary, Poland, and Spain – had procured Pegasus
(made by Israel’s NSO Group) and used it against journalists, opposition politicians, and activists. In
one prominent case, dozens of Catalan separatist leaders in Spain were found to have been targeted
with Pegasus between 2015 and 2020 (Spain: EU must act to end spyware abuse after prominent
Catalans targeted with Pegasus - Amnesty International). These revelations prompted the European
Parliament to launch a committee of inquiry in 2022, which termed such spyware abuses a serious
threat to democracy. EU institutions have been criticized for failing to prevent these “rampant human
rights violations” via spyware (Spain: EU must act to end spyware abuse after prominent Catalans
targeted with Pegasus - Amnesty International), and there are calls for an EU-wide regulation or
moratorium on the sale and use of spyware.

On the other hand, Europe is not immune to terror threats and crime, and governments have
surveillance needs. Major terrorist attacks (Madrid 2004, London 2005, Paris 2015) led many
European states to strengthen their intelligence laws. France greatly expanded its surveillance powers
in 2015, legalizing broad metadata collection and algorithmic analysis to detect terror plots. Britain,
before Brexit, passed the Investigatory Powers Act 2016 (the “Snoopers’ Charter”), which authorized
bulk interception and hacking – though subject to a double-lock review system. (The European Court
of Human Rights later found parts of this law violated privacy and free expression.) Germany’s BND
Act allows its foreign intel agency to tap cross-border communications under certain conditions, but
this too was reined in by a constitutional court ruling in 2020 demanding better protections for
non-Germans’ privacy. Across the EU, police and security agencies do use targeted surveillance –
wiretaps, GPS tracking, online undercovers – but under judicial warrant and typically focused on
specific investigations. Broad mass surveillance, as practiced by the NSA, is generally viewed as
illegal; however, European countries cooperate with U.S. and NATO intelligence, and some (like the
UK and Sweden) have significant signals intelligence operations.

The EU’s strength lies in its legal and regulatory framework. Besides GDPR, the EU’s ePrivacy
Directive governs confidentiality of communications. The European Data Protection Board and
national Data Protection Authorities act as guardians, even against state overreach. Furthermore, the
EU has taken a global stance on privacy: it cut down transatlantic data sharing when the U.S. was
deemed to lack equivalent privacy safeguards (the Schrems I & II cases invalidated the EU–US Safe
Harbor and Privacy Shield agreements due to U.S. surveillance). This shows Europe leveraging
economic power to push other nations toward its privacy standards. Still, challenges remain:
revelations in 2021 showed some EU member state agencies purchased NSO’s Pegasus and other
spyware (often in secrecy), and that organized crime networks in Europe also leveraged hacking
tools, muddying the waters of surveillance. The European Parliament’s inquiry has urged stronger
EU-level action, possibly including banning use of foreign commercial spyware and establishing a
common framework for when surveillance is justified. In summary, the EU stands out for prioritizing
data privacy and human rights in its laws (with GDPR as a model (General Data Protection
Regulation (GDPR): Meaning and Rules)), even as it contends with internal controversies like
Pegasus. The EU experience demonstrates that robust legal regulation and oversight can tame

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surveillance practices – but only if consistently enforced across all member states and new threats (like
private spyware) are addressed.

Russia

In Russia, mass surveillance is a core component of state security and political control. The country
has inherited and modernized the surveillance machinery of the Soviet era KGB, coupling it with
new digital tools to monitor both criminals and the regime’s critics. A key feature of Russian
surveillance is the SORM system (“System for Operative Investigative Activities”), a lawful intercept
architecture dating back to the late 1980s and 90s (Russia's Surveillance State - CEPA). Under SORM,
all telecommunications operators and internet service providers in Russia are required to install special
devices that feed communications directly to the Federal Security Service (FSB). This effectively gives
the FSB backdoor, real-time access to phone calls, internet traffic, emails, and social media, often
without the providers even knowing who is under surveillance (Russia's Surveillance State - CEPA)
(Russia's Surveillance State - CEPA). Formally, Russian law requires an FSB warrant to tap content,
but these warrants are secret and not shown to the telecom providers, and oversight is minimal –
leading to a de facto mass surveillance regime. Over the past decade, President Vladimir Putin’s
government tightened this system with the “Yarovaya law” package (2016) (Russia Asks For The
Impossible With Its New Surveillance Laws | Electronic Frontier Foundation). These anti-terrorism
amendments mandated that telecom and internet companies store all communications data for
lengthy periods (e.g. phone call and SMS content for 6 months, and metadata for 3 years) and hand it
over to authorities on request (Russia Asks For The Impossible With Its New Surveillance Laws |
Electronic Frontier Foundation). Crucially, the Yarovaya law also requires companies to provide the
FSB with encryption backdoors or keys – meaning services from messaging apps to email must
allow the government to decode encrypted messages (Russia Asks For The Impossible With Its New
Surveillance Laws | Electronic Frontier Foundation). This spelled the end of truly secure
communications in Russia (e.g. Telegram was briefly banned for refusing compliance, although later it
relented in part). The law’s data retention obligations were so massive and costly (essentially copying
NSA-style data warehouses without NSA-level budget) that even Russian tech firms and the
government’s own human rights council objected (Russia Asks For The Impossible With Its New
Surveillance Laws | Electronic Frontier Foundation). Nevertheless, the surveillance apparatus
continued to expand.

Russia’s justification for intense surveillance has been twofold: combatting terrorism/crime and
shielding the regime from internal dissent. On the crime front, authorities claim successes in
thwarting jihadist plots in the North Caucasus and catching organized crime kingpins through wiretaps
and hacking operations. But politically, the Kremlin has not hesitated to use surveillance against
opponents. Opposition leaders, independent journalists, and NGOs in Russia assume their phones are
tapped and emails read. Leaked files and occasional admissions back this up – for example, police
have used SORM-collected data to track protesters’ movements and round up leaders. During recent
protests (e.g. the anti-war demonstrations in 2022), Moscow’s extensive CCTV camera network with

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facial recognition was employed to identify and arrest participants within days (Russia's Surveillance
State - CEPA) (Russia's Surveillance State - CEPA). The agency Roskomnadzor (ostensibly an
internet regulator) monitors social media for “points of tension” and shares data on online dissenters
with security services for punitive action (Russia's Surveillance State - CEPA) (Russia's Surveillance
State - CEPA). In effect, Russia has built an ecosystem where various arms of public administration –
not only the FSB and police, but also regulators and city authorities – collaborate to enforce
surveillance and censorship on the population (Russia's Surveillance State - CEPA). Legally, there is
scant recourse. Courts are largely compliant with security services, and Russia’s 2022 departure from
the European Court of Human Rights removes an external check that sometimes challenged Moscow’s
surveillance (the ECtHR had previously found Russian surveillance laws violated privacy rights).

In recent years, Russia has also pursued “information sovereignty” – seeking to control and localize
internet traffic within its borders. The Sovereign Internet Law (2019) requires ISPs to route traffic
through state-controlled exchange points and install equipment to filter content, aiming to both curb
foreign cyber influence and ensure the state can surveil or even isolate the Runet (Russian internet) in
an emergency (Russia's Cyber Crackdown: Sovereignty, Surveillance, and Wartime ...) (Deciphering
Russia's “Sovereign Internet Law” | DGAP). In 2021, reports emerged of Russia testing technology to
block major VPNs and Tor, tightening the grip on citizens’ ability to communicate privately.
Economically, Russian cybersecurity firms (and hacking groups tied to security agencies) have also
become exporters of surveillance tech and know-how to other authoritarian regimes, extending
Russia’s surveillance influence abroad. In summary, Russia exemplifies a state where surveillance is
deeply ingrained in governance – used not just to fight crime but as an instrument of authoritarian
rule. The combination of comprehensive legal powers (data retention, encryption busting), advanced
technical systems (SORM, facial recognition), and weak oversight has enabled near-blanket
surveillance. This raises urgent questions for human rights: how can Russian citizens reclaim a space
for privacy and free expression, and how can international frameworks address a country that flouts
privacy norms on such a scale?

Middle East (UAE, Saudi Arabia, Israel)

The Middle East features some of the most intensive surveillance practices, often fueled by security
concerns (counterterrorism, regime stability) and facilitated by imported technologies. Three notable
players in this arena are the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Saudi Arabia, and Israel, each
illustrating a different facet of the surveillance landscape: consumers and adopters of cutting-edge
spyware (UAE, Saudi) and developers/exporters of such tools (Israel).

United Arab Emirates (UAE): Despite its small size, the UAE has built a formidable surveillance
state, partnering with Western experts and technology. Leaked reports exposed “Project Raven,” a
clandestine UAE cyber-espionage program staffed by former U.S. NSA operatives, which hacked the
devices of domestic dissidents, foreign human rights activists, and even rival governments’ officials ().
One known target was Ahmed Mansoor, a prominent Emirati human rights defender. Mansoor’s
iPhone was repeatedly targeted with NSO Group’s Pegasus spyware, and in 2016 Citizen Lab
revealed the UAE had successfully used Pegasus to infiltrate his phone (). The UAE’s surveillance

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toolkit includes not only Pegasus but also a home-grown signals intelligence system and the “Karma”
iPhone exploit (used by Project Raven to remotely download data from iPhones) (). These tools have
enabled UAE authorities to crack down on any dissent – activists, academics, even other royals –
often leading to arrests and imprisonment. The UAE also operates extensive physical surveillance: its
cities (Dubai, Abu Dhabi) are blanketed with CCTV and license plate readers, and reports indicate
facial recognition and predictive policing software are being integrated. In Abu Dhabi, an initiative
known as “Falcon Eye,” reportedly set up with international assistance, links thousands of cameras into
an AI-driven monitoring platform capable of tracking individuals across the city in real time. The
cybersecurity laws in UAE are extremely strict – criticism of the government online can lead to long
prison terms – and surveillance provides the evidence. For example, UAE security services worked
with Saudi Arabia to surveil UAE-based Saudi women’s rights activist Loujain Al-Hathloul, hacking
her email and phone before she was arrested and renditioned to Saudi Arabia (). In summary, the UAE
leverages wealth and expertise to run a sophisticated surveillance regime in the name of security and
“national harmony,” but often at the cost of basic freedoms.

Saudi Arabia: Saudi Arabia’s monarchy likewise employs heavy surveillance, both traditional and
high-tech, to maintain internal control and pursue dissidents even beyond its borders. The murder of
journalist Jamal Khashoggi in 2018 brought to light Saudi’s use of digital spying – Khashoggi’s
associates had their phones infected by Pegasus spyware linked to Saudi operators. Indeed, Saudi
Arabia has been one of NSO Group’s major clients. Reports and research by Citizen Lab and Amnesty
International indicate Saudi authorities used Pegasus to hack dozens of activists, journalists, and even
foreign nationals. One high-profile case was the spying on Saudi women’s rights campaigners: for
instance, Pegasus was used to target the phone of a Saudi women’s rights activist living in the
UAE (Al-Hathloul) as noted above (). Internally, Saudi Arabia tightly monitors internet usage; the
country’s telecom regulator filters websites and requires SMS surveillance. Under Crown Prince
Mohammed bin Salman, the state created an elite cyber command (with reported help from Western
consultants) to amp up social media monitoring and offensive cyber operations. There have been
instances of Saudi cyber agents infiltrating platforms – notably, two Twitter employees in the U.S.
were caught in 2019 acting as Saudi spies, accessing data on Saudi dissidents via Twitter’s systems.
Saudi Arabia’s rationale is to combat extremism and protect social order (the kingdom faces threats
from ISIS, Shia militants, etc.), but in practice surveillance is also wielded to quash political
opposition and criticism of the royal family. Even mundane offenses are tracked: Saudi’s police have
used surveillance cameras to enforce dress codes and gender segregation rules. Much like the UAE,
Saudi law contains broad cybercrime provisions that criminalize online speech, enabling legal action
against those flagged by surveillance. The Saudi state’s reach is transnational – activists abroad often
report phishing attempts and device compromises traced to Saudi operators, a phenomenon known as
“transnational repression” (Commerce Adds NSO Group and Other Foreign Companies to Entity
List for Malicious Cyber Activities | U.S. Department of Commerce). The case of Saudi Arabia shows
how an authoritarian government can aggressively acquire and deploy surveillance tech (often from
companies in democratic nations) to fortify its rule, raising questions about corporate ethics and
international responsibility.

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Israel: Israel plays a dual role in this context – domestically it has its own surveillance practices,
particularly relating to the conflict with the Palestinians, and internationally it has become a leading
exporter of spyware and surveillance technology. On the domestic front, Israel’s security agencies
(Shin Bet for domestic security, Mossad for foreign, Unit 8200 for signals intelligence) are highly
advanced. In counterterrorism operations, especially in the Palestinian Territories, Israel has used
extensive surveillance: monitoring communications of suspected militants, deploying drones for aerial
surveillance, and using facial recognition at checkpoints. In recent years, media reports uncovered a
Shin Bet mass surveillance program that collected cellular data on Israeli citizens to trace COVID-19
contacts – a use of counterterror infrastructure for public health that sparked legal challenges over
privacy. However, Israel’s global impact comes mainly through its private tech sector. Companies like
NSO Group, Candiru, Verint, and others (often founded by alumni of Unit 8200) have developed
hacking tools and surveillance software sold to governments worldwide. Pegasus spyware is the most
infamous example: a powerful tool that can remotely penetrate smartphones, Pegasus has been sold to
dozens of countries. While intended for lawful use against criminals and terrorists, revelations show it
was frequently misused to surveil journalists, human rights defenders, and political rivals in countries
as diverse as Mexico, India, Morocco, Saudi Arabia, Hungary, and more (Phones of journalists and
activists in Europe targeted with Pegasus) (Draft EU plans to allow spying on journalists are
dangerous, warn ...). This sparked a global outcry and diplomatic incidents, especially after a 2021
investigation (Pegasus Project) revealed the breadth of targets. The Israeli government, which
regulates these exports, came under pressure and eventually tightened export policies for cyber tools.
In late 2021, the U.S. Commerce Department even blacklisted NSO Group and Candiru for
supplying spyware to foreign governments that used it for repression (targeting officials, journalists,
activists, etc.) (Commerce Adds NSO Group and Other Foreign Companies to Entity List for
Malicious Cyber Activities | U.S. Department of Commerce). This was a notable rebuke: an allied
nation sanctioning companies from Israel, a close partner. Israel’s own use of these tools has also been
controversial – reports in 2022 alleged the Israeli police improperly used Pegasus without warrants on
Israeli citizens, leading to an inquiry. The Israeli government denies unlawful use, but the episode
showed how easily such spyware can be abused even in a country that prides itself on rule of law. In
effect, Israel’s surveillance technology prowess has made it a hub of the global surveillance trade,
raising economic and political dilemmas. The lucrative exports bring in revenue and diplomatic
leverage (countries that buy these tools often improve ties with Israel), but at the same time, the harm
caused by misuse of Israeli spyware has prompted international criticism and demands for stricter
oversight of private surveillance firms. The Middle Eastern context thus is one where high demand
for surveillance (by regimes) meets high supply of cutting-edge tools (often from Israeli firms) – a
combination that has enabled human rights abuses and led to calls for a global regulatory framework
on spyware.

Latin America

Latin America has seen significant surveillance activity, often in the shadows, with episodes of abuse
leading to public scandals. Many Latin American countries emerged from authoritarian regimes in the
late 20th century where secret police conducted intensive surveillance of citizens. In the democratic

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era, the legacy of distrust in unchecked state spying remains, yet new surveillance practices have
taken root, sometimes in the name of fighting crime and corruption, other times serving political
interests.

Several Latin American governments have been embroiled in surveillance scandals over the last
decade. Perhaps the most notorious is Mexico. The Mexican government purchased sophisticated
spyware (NSO Group’s Pegasus) in the mid-2010s, ostensibly to combat drug cartels and organized
crime. However, investigations in 2017 revealed that Pegasus had been used to target an alarming array
of non-criminal actors – including investigative journalists, anti-corruption activists, human rights
lawyers, and even public health researchers (Mexican spy scandal escalates as study shows software
targeted ...) (Mexican Journalists, Lawyers, and a Child Targeted with NSO ...). For example, the
phone of a prominent journalist (and his minor child) and the phone of a well-known anti-soda-tax
activist were found to have infection attempts, causing an uproar about surveillance against civil
society. The government under President Peña Nieto denied wrongdoing, but the evidence led to what
is known as "Pegasus Project" revelations. Even after a new administration took office, a report
showed that Pegasus infections continued under President López Obrador (2019–2021) despite his
pledges to stop spying (Pegasus spyware attacks in Mexico continued under Lopez Obrador, report
says | Reuters) (Pegasus spyware attacks in Mexico continued under Lopez Obrador, report says |
Reuters). This indicates institutional momentum and usage by parts of the security apparatus
(particularly the military and intelligence service) that outlasted political leadership. Mexican law does
allow surveillance under judicial authorization, but the Pegasus affair highlighted a lack of oversight
and blurred lines between legitimate eavesdropping and illegitimate spying on critics. It prompted calls
to overhaul Mexico’s surveillance governance, though accountability has been limited so far.

Other countries have had similar issues. In Colombia, an scandal erupted in 2009 when it was
discovered that the state intelligence agency (DAS) had illegally wiretapped opposition politicians,
judges, and journalists during the Uribe administration. This led to the dissolution of DAS and
prosecution of officials, but trust was damaged. In Brazil, a sprawling anti-corruption investigation
(Operation Car Wash) in the 2010s used extensive court-approved phone intercepts, some of which
leaked and turned into political controversy (e.g. the wiretapping of presidential calls). Separately,
Brazilian reporters uncovered that military and police units acquired Israeli and European spyware and
IMSI catchers (cell phone snooping devices) – raising concerns over who is targeted beyond
criminals. Chile faced a scandal in 2017 (Operation Huracán) where police were found to have
fabricated messages (purported WhatsApp intercepts) to frame Mapuche indigenous activists,
reflecting potential misuse of surveillance and cyber techniques. Ecuador under former President
Correa reportedly used an Italian spyware (Hacking Team) to monitor opposition figures and
journalists, according to leaked emails.

On the positive side, Latin American countries have been adopting data privacy laws and
transparency measures that could check surveillance. Almost all major countries in the region now
have data protection statutes (e.g. Argentina’s PDPA 2000, Mexico’s LFPDPPP 2010, Brazil’s LGPD

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2018). Some, like Argentina and Uruguay, even have EU “adequacy” status, meaning they meet
European-level privacy standards for commercial data – though these laws mainly address companies,
not state intelligence operations. Freedom of Information laws and active press also help bring
surveillance activities to light. For example, FOI requests in Chile revealed the purchase of malware
by police, sparking civil society action. Regional human rights bodies (like the Inter-American
Commission on Human Rights) have also been engaged – the IACHR condemned the Pegasus abuses
and urged stronger protections. Courts in Latin America have begun grappling with surveillance
issues: in 2021, Mexico’s Supreme Court ruled that the law allowing real-time geolocation tracking of
phones without a warrant was unconstitutional. In Brazil, the Supreme Court struck down a law that
mandated bulk data retention by telecoms, citing privacy. These are signs of an emerging jurisprudence
aligning with global privacy norms.

Nonetheless, Latin America faces a data privacy challenge: how to rein in powerful security
institutions often operating with a “national security” shield of secrecy. Organized crime and gang
violence in several countries provide genuine reasons for surveillance, but also a pretext that can be
abused. The region has also been a testing ground for foreign surveillance vendors – NSO’s largest
user base was reportedly in Mexico; Huawei’s safe city projects are active in multiple Latin cities (like
Ecuador’s ECU-911 emergency surveillance system); and even U.S. agencies have assisted with
surveillance capacity-building in Central America’s fight against gangs. The result is a complex
landscape where some surveillance is necessary for public safety, but weak controls and endemic
corruption increase the risk of misuse. Latin America’s experience underscores the need for
transparency and external oversight (e.g. legislative or civilian review of intelligence), as well as the
importance of international cooperation to prevent the export of spyware to regimes likely to misuse it.
As Latin nations strengthen democracy, establishing robust safeguards on surveillance will be crucial
to protect human rights while still enabling effective crime prevention.

Legal Frameworks Governing Surveillance

Mass surveillance sits at the intersection of multiple areas of law: international human rights law,
domestic constitutional and statutory law, and emerging transnational arrangements. Below is an
analysis of key international instruments, national regulations, and privacy protection laws that
seek to address surveillance:

International Human Rights Law: The right to privacy is enshrined in foundational documents.
Article 12 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) and Article 17 of the
International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966) both protect against “arbitrary
interference” with privacy, family, home or correspondence (SNISMUN’24 BG.pdf). These provisions
establish that surveillance must be lawful, necessary, and proportionate. In recent years, UN bodies
have explicitly applied these rights to digital surveillance. In 2013, following Snowden’s revelations,
the UN General Assembly passed Resolution 68/167 on “The Right to Privacy in the Digital Age,”
affirming that the same rights people have offline must also be protected online. The UN High
Commissioner for Human Rights issued reports warning that mass surveillance can be “corrosive of
online privacy” and even undermine the essence of the right to privacy (UN Report Condemns

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Mass Surveillance Programs). The High Commissioner stressed that surveillance should occur only
when truly necessary for a legitimate aim and proportionate to that aim (United Nations: Rein in Mass
Surveillance | Human Rights Watch) (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights
Watch). Special Rapporteurs on privacy and freedom of expression have likewise called out the
dangers of unchecked surveillance (e.g. UN Special Rapporteur on Privacy has condemned state use of
spyware like Pegasus as incompatible with human rights). While international law doesn’t outright
forbid surveillance, it imposes strict conditions – legality (clear rules), necessity, proportionality, and
oversight/accountability – to prevent abuse. Another relevant international instrument is the Council of
Europe’s Convention on Cybercrime (Budapest Convention, 2001), which many states (including
some outside Europe) have joined (SNISMUN’24 BG.pdf). It provides a framework for lawful
interception and exchange of electronic evidence among law enforcement, with built-in safeguards.
However, some major countries (including Russia, China, and Brazil) are not parties, and the
convention deals more with cybercrime investigations than bulk surveillance. Additionally, there are
proposals for new treaties: the UN is currently negotiating a new Cybercrime Convention which
could address law enforcement access to data, and separately, some experts have called for a global
agreement or protocol specifically on government surveillance and privacy.

International Humanitarian Law (IHL) and International Criminal Court (ICC): These are less
directly relevant, as they govern wartime conduct and prosecution of grave crimes like genocide.
However, theoretically, if mass surveillance were used to facilitate international crimes (for instance,
aiding persecution of a group), it could be examined by bodies like the ICC. The user’s prompt
mentioned ICC perhaps in context of whether mass surveillance could violate international law to a
degree of concern by criminal tribunals – generally, that threshold isn’t reached unless surveillance is
part of a broader crime against humanity (which is rare). More pertinent are regional human rights
systems: the European Court of Human Rights (under the European Convention on Human Rights,
Article 8) has a rich jurisprudence restricting surveillance. The Inter-American Court of Human Rights
has been less tested on surveillance issues but could apply the American Convention’s Article 11
(privacy) similarly. The African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights does not explicitly mention
privacy, but the African Union’s Malabo Convention (2014) covers data protection and cybercrime
(though it’s not widely in force).

National Legal Mechanisms: At the national level, surveillance is typically regulated (or sometimes
unregulated) by a combination of constitution, legislation, and secret executive orders. Democratic
countries usually have laws defining when and how surveillance can occur. For example: the U.S.
Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) and its amendments authorize surveillance of foreign
intelligence targets with a special court’s approval (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf); the UK’s
Investigatory Powers Act sets out permissible bulk collection with multi-layer oversight; Germany’s
BND Act (foreign intel law) and G10 Act (domestic surveillance law) create a framework for signals
intelligence with parliamentary and judicial review. Many countries, however, lack comprehensive
legal frameworks. A 2020s survey found dozens of nations where digital surveillance by security
agencies operates under outdated laws or mere executive decrees, providing broad leeway. This is

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often the case in developing states or authoritarian regimes. Encouragingly, some countries have begun
updating laws: India, which had long used colonial-era laws for interception, is debating a new data
protection law and surveillance oversight after public outcry over Pegasus. African countries like
Kenya, Nigeria, and South Africa have introduced or updated surveillance and interception laws in the
past decade, though enforcement is uneven. Latin American countries such as Brazil and Mexico
have detailed constitutional court rulings and new statutes (Mexico’s National Surveillance Law) that
attempt to rein in abuses after scandals. The issue is that even where laws exist, national security
exemptions and secrecy often obscure practice – intelligence agencies might act outside the law or
stretch broad mandates. Thus, independent oversight bodies are critical. Some democracies have
installed specialized intelligence ombudsmen or review commissions (e.g. the UK’s IPCO, Canada’s
NSIRA, the Netherlands’ CTIVD) to supervise spy agencies. These bodies can audit compliance and
handle complaints, adding a layer of accountability. In repressive regimes, obviously, such oversight is
absent or not genuinely independent.

Privacy and Data Protection Laws: Beyond surveillance-specific laws, general privacy/data
protection legislation plays a role. The EU’s GDPR is a gold standard, requiring any processing of
personal data (even by authorities, with some security exceptions) to follow principles of necessity,
data minimization, and individual rights (General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR): Meaning and
Rules) (General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR): Meaning and Rules). While intelligence
activities are mostly exempt from GDPR (handled at national level), police and law enforcement
operations within Europe have to respect the EU Law Enforcement Directive (LED) which mirrors
many GDPR protections. Similarly, many countries have copied GDPR-like provisions. For instance,
Brazil’s Lei Geral de Proteção de Dados (LGPD) and South Africa’s Protection of Personal
Information Act (POPIA) establish legal grounds for data processing and could constrain
indiscriminate surveillance if applied (they often exempt national security, however). The United
States lacks a single federal data privacy law, but sectoral laws (like the Stored Communications
Act) and the Fourth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution serve to check surveillance – though the
Fourth Amendment’s applicability to foreign intelligence collection is limited (non-U.S. persons
abroad have essentially no U.S. constitutional protection). In Africa and Latin America, as noted, about
two-thirds of countries have privacy laws now (The State of Data Protection Legislation in Africa |
TechPolicy.Press), and some have constitutional privacy provisions. Enforcement of these in the face
of security surveillance is an evolving battle, often requiring court interpretation.

At the international level, one notable development in privacy protection is the establishment of a UN
Special Rapporteur on the Right to Privacy (since 2015), who examines and reports on surveillance
issues among other things (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf) (UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf). This
mechanism helps keep global attention on state practices and promote best practices. Additionally,
there are global forums and alliances pushing for surveillance reform, such as the Necessary and
Proportionate Principles endorsed by civil society, which outline how surveillance can be aligned
with human rights.

Mutual Legal Assistance and Cross-Border Data: Surveillance often has cross-border elements –
e.g. one country seeking data located in another. Traditionally, Mutual Legal Assistance Treaties

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(MLATs) were used for law enforcement to request data or intercepts from foreign jurisdictions
(SNISMUN’24 BG.pdf). However, MLATs can be slow. The new US CLOUD Act framework allows
approved foreign governments to directly request data from U.S. tech companies under certain
conditions, streamlining the process (the US has signed CLOUD Act agreements with the UK and is
negotiating with the EU, Australia, etc.). At the same time, the CLOUD Act asserts U.S. legal
authority to access data held by U.S. companies even if stored abroad, which caused tensions with the
EU prior to an agreement. Efforts are underway to reconcile such regimes with privacy – e.g. the
EU-US Data Privacy Framework (2023) intended to address European concerns when EU personal
data is accessed by U.S. intelligence, by adding redress mechanisms.

Regional Agreements and Initiatives: Europe’s strong stance we covered. In the Americas, there isn’t
an EU-style law, but the American Convention on Human Rights (Article 11) and the
Inter-American Principles on Privacy provide guidance. Some sub-regional bodies, like the OECD,
updated their privacy guidelines in 2013 and have ongoing work on law enforcement access to data
across borders. The African Union (AU) adopted the Malabo Convention (mentioned), and in 2022,
Africa launched a Privacy and Personal Data Protection Guidelines to encourage member states. In
Asia, frameworks are less developed, though the APEC Privacy Framework and cross-border
privacy rules system exist (focused on businesses, not state surveillance).

In summary, the legal landscape is complex: international law sets broad human rights standards
that mass surveillance often violates if done arbitrarily (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance |
Human Rights Watch); national laws vary widely, with democracies moving toward stricter
regulations and oversight, and authoritarian regimes having broad, unchecked powers. A key challenge
is enforcing compliance – a law on paper means little if surveillance activities remain secret and
exempt from scrutiny. Therefore, a crucial part of any solution is strengthening accountability
mechanisms: judicial warrants, parliamentary intelligence committees, independent privacy
commissioners, and avenues for individuals to seek remedy if surveilled unlawfully. A global
consensus is slowly emerging that surveillance must be limited by principles of legality, necessity,
and proportionality (even the UN Security Council has references to this principle for counter-terror
measures), but translating that into effective regulation is an ongoing task.

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Economic and Political Implications

●​ Impact on Business and Innovation: The deployment of surveillance systems can both create
and inhibit business opportunities. On one hand, a global surveillance industry has boomed.
Companies that produce CCTV cameras, facial recognition software, spyware, and data
analytics tools have seen major growth, exporting their products worldwide. For example,
Chinese firms are leading exporters of AI surveillance, accounting for 201 international
export deals for facial recognition tech by 2019, far outpacing Western competitors (China Is
the World's Biggest Face Recognition Dealer - WIRED). Israeli cyber-intelligence firms
similarly have gained financially from selling spyware to dozens of governments. This has led
to what some call a “digital arms race” in surveillance tech, with countries like China and
Israel leveraging these exports for geopolitical influence (often part of packages with
infrastructure or defense deals). On the other hand, heavy-handed surveillance can deter
foreign investment and innovation. Companies may be reluctant to operate in markets where
trade secrets could be surveilled or stolen by state actors. For instance, Western tech firms have
cited surveillance and IP espionage concerns in places like China and Russia when justifying
limiting their operations. Moreover, the perception of surveillance can affect user behavior
and trust in digital services, which in turn influences business models. If consumers fear their
data is being monitored or shared with governments, they may shun certain platforms,
impacting those companies’ revenues (e.g. WhatsApp and Signal gained users at the expense of
SMS and less secure apps once surveillance concerns became mainstream).​

●​ Trade and International Relations: Surveillance policies have triggered diplomatic clashes
and can shape alliances. A notable example was the fallout from Snowden’s leaks:
U.S.–Europe relations were strained when it emerged the NSA spied on allied leaders and
citizens. European officials threatened to halt trade negotiations and pursued local tech
alternatives (like promoting EU-based cloud services over U.S. providers) as a result (United
Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch). Transatlantic data flows became a
contentious issue, leading to the invalidation of data-sharing agreements (Safe Harbor, then
Privacy Shield) because of EU concerns over U.S. surveillance (United Nations: Rein in Mass
Surveillance | Human Rights Watch). This shows how surveillance can become a trade
barrier, essentially. Countries with strong privacy regimes now demand assurances that data of
their citizens won’t be subject to foreign mass surveillance when stored abroad, influencing
how global companies structure their data centers and legal arrangements. Conversely, shared
surveillance interests can bolster alliances: the Five Eyes partnership is an example where
intelligence sharing solidified a bloc of Anglophone countries’ cooperation during the Cold
War and continues today, influencing joint positions on issues like encryption and 5G security.
There are also economic sanctions and export controls arising from surveillance issues – for
instance, the U.S. blacklisting of Chinese surveillance firms (like Hikvision, Dahua, and AI
startups) for their role in human rights abuses (mass surveillance of Uyghurs in Xinjiang)
(Commerce Adds NSO Group and Other Foreign Companies to Entity List for Malicious Cyber
Activities | U.S. Department of Commerce). In 2021, as mentioned, the U.S. also blacklisted

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 NSO Group, signaling that companies enabling abusive surveillance may be cut off from U.S.
technology and investment (Commerce Adds NSO Group and Other Foreign Companies to
Entity List for Malicious Cyber Activities | U.S. Department of Commerce). Such measures
have political bite and contribute to tech decoupling between spheres of influence.​

●​ Cybersecurity and Technology Development: The goals of mass surveillance can at times
conflict with cybersecurity. Intelligence agencies have been known to hoard software
vulnerabilities (zero-days) to use for surveillance or cyber operations, rather than disclose
them to fix and secure systems. This can leave businesses and the public exposed to criminal
hackers if those vulnerabilities leak or are discovered independently. The infamous
“WannaCry” ransomware in 2017, for example, exploited an NSA-developed cyber tool that
was stolen and dumped online. Surveillance priorities might also discourage strong encryption
standards – undermining encryption can make systems less secure overall. Alternatively,
countries concerned about foreign espionage might demand localization of technology (as
seen in Russia and China requiring local data storage and source code reviews), which can
fragment the global tech marketplace and impose costs on multinational companies. On the flip
side, one political response to high-tech surveillance has been to invest in domestic tech
capacity: e.g. after Snowden, countries like Brazil and Germany talked about building
indigenous email services and undersea cables to avoid NSA interception. While some plans
didn’t fully materialize, it did spark a movement for “digital sovereignty,” influencing how
countries approach procurement (favoring local providers for sensitive communications) and
support for open-source encrypted tools.​

●​ Public Trust and Governance: The knowledge or suspicion of mass surveillance can have
broad societal effects that indirectly impact economies and governance. If citizens feel they are
constantly watched, it can create a chilling effect on free expression and creativity,
potentially stifling the open exchange of ideas that drives innovation. Politically, surveillance
scandals can erode trust in government. This was evident in democracies like the U.S., UK, and
France where public opinion polls post-Snowden showed significant distrust of intelligence
agencies and concerns that anti-terror surveillance had gone too far. Restoring trust often
requires political reforms (e.g. the USA FREEDOM Act, new oversight committees) – a
governance cost of prior overreach. In authoritarian contexts, pervasive surveillance contributes
to political stability (by deterring opposition), but at the cost of legitimacy and the social
contract, often fueling long-term grievances that can explode when cracks in the surveillance
state appear (for example, the role of social media and anti-surveillance sentiment in
galvanizing the Arab Spring uprisings). In international diplomacy, a country’s surveillance
practices can be used to call out hypocrisy or human rights violations, influencing its soft
power. For instance, China’s extensive surveillance of Uyghurs has been cited by Western
nations imposing sanctions, and by Chinese officials in return accusing the West of using
human rights as a geopolitical tool.​

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 ●​ Surveillance Capitalism and Consumer Behavior: On the economic front, the term
“surveillance capitalism” refers to how companies like Google and Facebook built immense
profits through harvesting personal data to predict and shape consumer behavior. This business
model, while legal, raises ethical questions and has triggered regulatory responses (like
GDPR’s restrictions on data use without consent). If such practices are curtailed by new
privacy laws, that could significantly alter the digital advertising industry and force tech giants
to pivot their models, with ripple effects on stock markets and the digital economy. Already,
Apple’s move to limit tracking on iPhones (for privacy reasons) has impacted other companies’
revenues. In sum, the balance between monetizing data and respecting privacy is becoming an
economic battleground, influenced by public sentiment (many users now value privacy
features, creating market demand for more privacy-protective products).​

In conclusion, mass surveillance doesn’t happen in a vacuum – it influences and is influenced by

global economics and politics. Surveillance capabilities can be instruments of state power and trade
leverage, but they can also lead to backlash in the form of sanctions, lost business trust, and public
protest.

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Ethical Considerations

●​ Privacy vs. Security: This is the classic dilemma. Privacy is a core human right and essential
for individual autonomy and dignity. Under constant surveillance, people tend to self-censor
and lose freedoms of expression and association – a phenomenon akin to living in an electronic
Panopticon where one never knows if they’re being watched (SNISMUN’24 BG.pdf). On the
other hand, security (safety from crime and terrorism) is a fundamental responsibility of
governments. Ethically, most agree that some surveillance is justified to protect citizens’ lives –
the question is how much and under what constraints. The principle of proportionality is
crucial: measures should be proportionate to the threat. Blanket surveillance of entire
populations is ethically suspect because it treats everyone as a potential suspect, undermining
the presumption of innocence. Many ethicists argue that sacrificing essential privacy for the
mere promise of security is a “deal with the devil.” As whistleblower Edward Snowden put it,
trading privacy for security is a false trade-off – too often mass surveillance has not
demonstrably stopped attacks that targeted surveillance could not have, yet it has certainly
intruded on millions of lives. Conversely, officials might argue that if surveillance even once
stops a bombing or saves lives, it has ethical worth. The middle ground ethic is that
surveillance should be targeted, intelligence-led, and subject to oversight, to minimize
privacy intrusion while maximizing security gains (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance |
Human Rights Watch) (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch). The
debate continues in every legislature and court: where to draw that line.​

●​ Misuse and Abuse of Surveillance Powers: Even if one accepts surveillance for legitimate
aims, there’s the danger of mission creep and abuse. Ethical governance requires that tools
given to fight serious crime are not redirected towards repressing political opposition,
discriminating against minorities, or enriching those in power. Unfortunately, abuses are
common: from authoritarian regimes using anti-terror laws to surveil human rights defenders,
to democratic government agencies exceeding authority (as seen when the U.S. FBI spied on
civil rights leaders in the past, or when European police spied on journalists). The ethical
failing in these cases is a breach of trust and often a violation of equality – using state power
against some groups in ways not applied to others (e.g. subjecting an ethnic or religious
minority to blanket surveillance is both discriminatory and stigmatizing). Ethically, any
surveillance that is not strictly necessary to achieve a legitimate aim becomes an unjustified
infringement on liberty. Moreover, the potential for abuse calls for strong accountability:
officials who authorize illegal surveillance should face consequences. If not, a culture of
impunity takes hold, eroding the rule of law. The lack of transparency in surveillance is a
related ethical issue – secret laws or secret interpretations (e.g. secret FISA court rulings
making new surveillance “law” (PRISM - Wikipedia) (PRISM - Wikipedia)) undermine
democracy. The public cannot consent to or debate practices they aren’t even aware of.​

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●​ Human Rights and Chilling Effects: Privacy is closely linked with other rights – freedom of
expression, belief, and assembly. Ubiquitous surveillance can produce a “chilling effect”
where people fear speaking freely or congregating for a cause, lest they be monitored and
penalized later. This is ethically pernicious: it attacks the pluralism and open debate that
underpin democracy. For example, activists in surveillance-heavy environments often have to
weigh the personal risks of organizing protests or publishing dissent, which can stifle social
movements and allow injustices to persist unchallenged. In extreme cases, surveillance has
enabled gross human rights violations – e.g. authoritarian regimes identifying dissidents via
digital surveillance and then imprisoning or torturing them. Thus, unchecked surveillance can
become an enabler of tyranny and even atrocities. On a more subtle level, constant
monitoring alters human behavior – people might avoid reading controversial articles or
searching certain terms online, a phenomenon some compare to “self-imposed censorship.”
Ethically, this raises concern that surveillance undermines the “marketplace of ideas” and
individual self-development.​

●​ Surveillance and Discrimination: Modern surveillance technologies, especially AI, raise

concerns about bias and discrimination. Facial recognition algorithms have been found to
have higher error rates for people with darker skin or women, leading to false matches. If police
rely on such systems, it could mean innocent individuals (often from marginalized
communities) are more likely to be wrongly suspected or even arrested – an unethical outcome
violating fairness and justice. There have been cases in the U.S. of false arrests due to facial
recognition errors disproportionately affecting Black men. Similarly, “predictive policing”
algorithms may reinforce existing biases, sending more patrols to already over-policed
neighborhoods (often low-income or minority areas) and thus catching more minor offenses
there while overlooking crimes elsewhere – a feedback loop that perpetuates social
inequalities. Ethically, deploying technology without addressing these biases is problematic. It
also ties into surveillance of political minorities: ethnic or religious groups seen (rightly or
wrongly) as security threats often face intense surveillance (e.g. Muslim communities in the
West post-9/11). This can be viewed as a form of collective punishment or profiling, clashing
with principles of non-discrimination. The ethical mandate would be to ensure surveillance
does not target individuals solely for innate characteristics (race, religion, political belief) and
that any algorithmic tools are rigorously audited for fairness.​

●​ Consent and Autonomy: An ethical perspective emphasizes personal autonomy – people

should have reasonable control over their personal information and how it’s used. Mass
surveillance by definition occurs without individual consent. Often, people are not even aware
of how and when they are being monitored (or by whom). This lack of consent is a moral
problem for liberal societies that prioritize individual choice. In the private sector context, the
idea of informed consent underpins data protection laws like GDPR – but with government
surveillance, such consent is usually not sought. Some argue that democratic elections serve as
society’s consent to security policies, but this consent is abstract and not granular. Many
ethicists call for greater public discourse and transparency so that there is a form of

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 collective consent or at least acquiescence to specific surveillance measures (for instance,
communities might vote to install license plate readers if openly debated, versus police
installing them in secrecy).​

●​ Surveillance Capitalism and Manipulation: Shoshana Zuboff’s concept of surveillance

capitalism critiques how corporations surveil users to manipulate their behavior for profit. This
crosses into ethics as it deals with informed choice and manipulation. If a company uses data
to nudge you into buying things or voting a certain way (think Cambridge Analytica scandal,
where harvested data was used to target political propaganda), it can undermine personal
autonomy and the integrity of democratic processes. The ethical issue here is not state coercion
but corporate influence and exploitation of personal data. Nonetheless, its outcomes –
erosion of the informed citizenry – are society-wide. The commodification of personal data
without individuals’ genuine understanding raises questions of consent (again) and fairness –
people rarely get meaningful compensation for the data they “pay” with, and often are not even
aware of how it’s monetized.​

●​ Psychological and Societal Impacts: Constant surveillance can have psychological effects –
stress, anxiety, or altering one’s identity expression. For example, if LGBTQ+ persons are
surveilled in a society where that’s frowned upon, they may hide their identity, affecting mental
health. The societal norm-setting is also an ethical dimension: do we want to normalize a
society of suspicion? Some scholars warn of a culture of self-censorship and conformity if
surveillance goes unchecked, which is an ethical loss beyond tangible rights – it’s about the
kind of society we aspire to. A perfectly secure but fear-driven society may protect bodies but
at the cost of the human spirit and creativity.​

In grappling with these considerations, frameworks like the Necessary and Proportionate Principles
(advocated by civil society) provide ethical guidelines: surveillance should be lawful, necessary for a
legitimate aim, proportionate, have competent authority approval, be transparent to the extent possible,
and provide for user notification and remedies. Ethically, a key requirement is accountability: those
who surveil must answer to democratic institutions and the public (at least after the fact when secrecy
can be lifted) for their actions.

Another ethical view emphasizes technological self-restraint: just because we can surveil everyone,
should we? This is akin to debates in bioethics about genetic engineering – capability doesn’t
automatically justify use. Some argue that certain surveillance tech (like indiscriminate facial
recognition in public) is inherently prone to abuse and should be banned or severely limited (several
cities have indeed banned government use of facial recognition on ethical grounds).

In summary, the ethical landscape demands a balance of competing goods – security and order vs.
privacy and freedom – and insists on guarding against the dark side of surveillance: abuse of power,

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discrimination, chilling of dissent, and reduction of human agency. Crafting ethical surveillance
policies means embedding checks and transparency such that if surveillance is done, it is targeted,
justified, and never beyond scrutiny. It also means listening to the voices of those most impacted
(often marginalized groups) in policy discussions, to ensure one segment of society isn’t
disproportionately bearing the brunt of surveillance. Ultimately, maintaining human dignity must be
the north star – technological capability should not subvert the fundamental respect for persons that is
at the heart of human rights ethics.

Key Questions a Resolution Must Address

1.​ Scope and Definitions: What exactly falls under “mass surveillance” for the purposes of
regulation? A resolution should clarify whether it is addressing electronic communications
interception, bulk data collection, CCTV networks with facial recognition, spyware usage, or
all of the above. Similarly, it must define the scope of application – is it guiding national
surveillance policy, international espionage, or both? For instance, should the resolution
regulate surveillance technology at the national, regional, or global level – or some
combination? Clear definitions will set the stage for effective solutions and avoid loopholes.
For example, distinguishing between targeted surveillance (with individualized suspicion) and
indiscriminate mass surveillance is crucial. The purpose must also be defined: is the goal to
improve security while protecting privacy, to prevent human rights abuses, to ensure
accountability, or all of these? ​

2.​ Legal Standards and Oversight: What legal frameworks should govern state surveillance
activities to ensure they meet human rights standards? The resolution should call for
surveillance to be conducted only under laws that respect the principles of legality,
necessity, and proportionality. It should ask how to embed these principles in national
legislation and international norms. Key questions include: What oversight mechanisms are
needed? (e.g. independent judiciary warrants, parliamentary review committees, public
reporting). Should there be an international monitoring body or peer review of countries’
surveillance practices? Also, how can we enhance transparency? The resolution might
propose that states regularly publish transparency reports on surveillance or at least provide
for post-surveillance notification to individuals where feasible. By addressing oversight, the
resolution targets the ethical issue of accountability – perhaps suggesting minimum standards
like multi-branch oversight (executive, judicial, legislative) and avenues for redress for
unlawful surveillance.​

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3.​ Privacy and Human Rights Protections: How will the resolution ensure that surveillance
measures do not infringe on fundamental rights? Sub-questions involve: Should certain types
of surveillance be outright prohibited as overly intrusive (for example, mass retention of
metadata or use of spyware against activists)? How can the resolution emphasize the
protection of freedom of expression, association, and privacy in the face of surveillance? It
might consider, for example, endorsing encryption as a necessary tool for privacy – and ask
should there be limits on government demands to weaken encryption? Another angle: How
to prevent surveillance from enabling discrimination or persecution? The resolution could
call on states to ban surveillance targeting individuals solely for their political, religious, or
ethnic affiliation, and to incorporate anti-discrimination checks in surveillance programs.
Essentially, it should answer how to strike the balance between security and privacy in
concrete terms – perhaps recommending a test or threshold that must be met (like requiring
evidence that less intrusive means would be ineffective before resorting to mass surveillance)
(SNISMUN’24 BG.pdf).​

4.​ Transparency and Accountability of Surveillance Tech Use: What can be done to increase
transparency and accountability in the use of surveillance technologies by both state and
non-state actors? The resolution might query whether there should be public disclosure
requirements when new surveillance tech (like facial recognition in cities or AI analytics) is
deployed. It could propose that governments maintain detailed logs of surveillance operations
accessible to oversight bodies. Another key question: Should private companies that provide
surveillance tech be held accountable? The resolution may explore the idea of due diligence
requirements for companies (to ensure their products are not sold to rights-abusing regimes) or
liability if their tools are used illegally. This includes looking at the spyware industry – should
there be an international agreement controlling the export of intrusive surveillance
software? Also, what role should companies like ISPs and tech platforms play in
surveillance – and can oversight ensure they aren’t compelled to violate user privacy
unjustifiably? A resolution could encourage multi-stakeholder dialogue, including companies
and civil society, in crafting surveillance policies.​

5.​ International Cooperation vs. Sovereignty: The resolution should ask: How can
international cooperation be improved to catch criminals and terrorists without creating
loopholes that bypass domestic privacy protections? For example, it might consider
endorsing frameworks like the CLOUD Act agreements or improved Mutual Legal Assistance
Treaties that incorporate privacy safeguards. Also, should there be a global treaty or
guidelines on surveillance? (This is a big question: whether to push for something like a new
protocol under the ICCPR specifically on digital privacy). While respecting state sovereignty,
the resolution can ask how to handle cross-border implications – such as one state’s mass
surveillance affecting citizens of another. Perhaps it could propose an international oversight
mechanism or at least better sharing of information about surveillance requests between
governments
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.​

6.​ Technological Innovation and Emerging Risks: How can regulations keep up with rapid
technological advancements in surveillance? AI, machine learning, big data analytics, and
the “Internet of Things” (smart devices everywhere) all present new surveillance opportunities.
The resolution should prompt thinking on future-proofing: e.g. should there be a moratorium
on certain AI surveillance applications until ethical frameworks are developed? How can
we encourage “privacy by design” in new tech? And importantly, how to deal with
surveillance by private entities (data brokers, etc.) as part of the picture? As lines blur
between state and private data collection, the resolution may query mechanisms to regulate the
buying of data by governments from commercial brokers (an avenue sometimes used to
bypass legal hurdles). Essentially, how to mitigate risks from emerging tech while harnessing
any benefits (for instance, using AI to better target surveillance, reducing mass collection).​

7.​ Public Awareness and Civil Society Involvement: What role should public awareness and
citizen consent play in surveillance policy? A resolution might stress education: governments
should inform the public about the surveillance powers and their rights. It could ask, should
citizens have the right to know if they were surveilled once it’s safe to tell them? – a
practice in some democracies to maintain trust. Also, how can civil society and media be
protected and involved as watchdogs? Perhaps the resolution could call for protection of
whistleblowers who reveal unlawful surveillance, recognizing their role in accountability. It
may also encourage international exchanges of best practices – e.g. countries sharing
successful oversight models or techniques that allowed robust crime-fighting without bulk
surveillance (so others can learn alternatives).​

8.​ Implementation and Compliance: Finally, how will any proposed regulatory framework
be implemented and enforced? It’s one thing to pass guidelines, another to see them followed.
The resolution should consider what mechanisms can ensure states adhere to privacy and
surveillance standards. Options include periodic reviews (like the UN’s Universal Periodic
Review including digital rights in its assessments), technical and financial assistance to
countries to develop oversight institutions, or even sanctions for egregious violations (though
consensus on that is hard). Should there be an international body or commissioner for
digital privacy to monitor surveillance? Or regional agreements where neighboring states hold
each other accountable? The resolution might not answer this fully but should raise it: it’s
crucial that the ideals put on paper have teeth. For national implementation, it could
recommend that countries adopt comprehensive surveillance reform legislation and establish
independent supervisory authorities (with powers to audit spy agencies and handle complaints).​

The overarching aim is to balance the imperatives of security and justice with the obligation to
uphold human rights and freedom in the digital age. Answering these questions lays the groundwork
for that balance – for example, by delineating where surveillance is acceptable and where it must stop,

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who watches the watchers, and how the international community can move towards common norms
that both protect people from crime and from Orwellian overreach.

Sources

●​ “Digital Panopticon Micromanagement on National Development”, which outlines historical

context (from Nazi/Stasi surveillance to Snowden) and raises questions on balancing security
and liberties “Usage of Surveillance Technology”, providing a timeline of surveillance
evolution (Cold War, post-9/11, whistleblower era) and discussing legal/ethical frameworks
●​ UN Human Rights Council Reports & Resolutions: e.g. Navi Pillay’s 2014 report asserting
that mass surveillance without oversight violates the essence of privacy (United Nations: Rein
in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch), and UN GA Resolution 68/167 (2013) on digital
privacy (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch). These emphasize
necessity & proportionality and call for review of surveillance laws (United Nations: Rein in
Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch) (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human
Rights Watch).
●​ Human Rights Watch & Amnesty International: HRW’s report on the UN privacy
resolution (United Nations: Rein in Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch) and Amnesty’s
investigations (e.g. Pegasus spyware in Spain) (Spain: EU must act to end spyware abuse after
prominent Catalans targeted with Pegasus - Amnesty International), highlighting how
surveillance tech has been used against civil society in violation of rights.
●​ Edward Snowden’s Revelations: Documents and analyses from 2013-2014 (The Guardian,
Washington Post coverage) uncovering NSA programs like PRISM (United Nations: Rein in
Mass Surveillance | Human Rights Watch) and bulk metadata collection, which spurred global
debate on surveillance reform.
●​ Carnegie Endowment Report (2019) – Steven Feldstein: “The Global Expansion of AI
Surveillance” – finds 75 countries using AI surveillance, many with Chinese technology
(Artificial Intelligence used for mass surveillance in 75 countries - SwissCognitive | AI
Ventures, Advisory & Research), illustrating the worldwide proliferation of mass surveillance
tools.
●​ Journal of Democracy (2019) – Ronald Deibert et al.: “The Rise of Digital Repression”,
which details how governments (esp. authoritarian) use digital surveillance and AI to bolster
control (Artificial Intelligence used for mass surveillance in 75 countries - SwissCognitive | AI
Ventures, Advisory & Research).
●​ Privacy International & Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF): Reports on alliance like
Five Eyes and laws like Russia’s Yarovaya. EFF’s analysis of the Yarovaya Law (Russia Asks
For The Impossible With Its New Surveillance Laws | Electronic Frontier Foundation) shows
extreme data retention and decryption mandates. Privacy Int’l resources describe surveillance
partnerships and export of tech.

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●​ National Laws and Court Decisions: e.g. text of the USA PATRIOT Act and USA
FREEDOM Act; the EU’s GDPR (Article 5 principles, etc.) (General Data Protection
Regulation (GDPR): Meaning and Rules); decisions like Schrems II (CJEU 2020) invalidating
Privacy Shield due to U.S. surveillance; Indian Puttaswamy judgment (2017) affirming privacy
as fundamental right in context of surveillance.
●​ Regional Data Protection Laws: EU GDPR (2018) (General Data Protection Regulation
(GDPR): Meaning and Rules), California Consumer Privacy Act (CCPA 2018)
(UNGA-IKSHAMUN BG.pdf), Brazil’s LGPD (2018), Kenya’s Data Protection Act (2019),
etc., which set standards on how data can be collected and used, indirectly impacting
surveillance practices.
●​ Media Reports and Investigations: Reuters and others on Project Raven in the UAE (ex-NSA
operatives hacking dissidents) (); Pegasus Project consortium findings on spyware targeting
activists across dozens of countries (Phones of journalists and activists in Europe targeted with
Pegasus) (Draft EU plans to allow spying on journalists are dangerous, warn ...); Coda Story on
Nairobi’s Safe City surveillance cameras and their crime impact (or lack thereof) (In Africa’s
first ‘safe city,’ surveillance reigns - Coda Story) (In Africa’s first ‘safe city,’ surveillance
reigns - Coda Story); ISS Africa on digital surveillance trends in Africa (Rising digital
surveillance threatens Africa’s democratic progress - ISS African Futures).
●​ Academic Works on Ethics: Shoshana Zuboff’s “The Age of Surveillance Capitalism” (2019)
– defines surveillance capitalism and its threat to democracy ([PDF] Surveillance Capitalism
and the Right to Be Forgotten - Harvard DASH); and papers on the chilling effect of
surveillance on behavior.
●​ Necessary & Proportionate Principles (2014): A civil society statement of principles for
surveillance consistent with human rights, often cited in UN discussions, emphasizing
legitimacy, necessity, proportionality, transparency, and oversight.
●​ Data on CCTV and Facial Recognition: BBC News (2017) noting China’s 170+ million
CCTV cameras and plans for hundreds of millions more (China: "the world's biggest camera
surveillance network" - BBC News); facial recognition accuracy disparities reported by NIST,
etc.
●​ Trade and Sanctions Documents: U.S. Department of Commerce listing companies added to
the Entity List for enabling surveillance (e.g. Federal Register notice blacklisting NSO Group
and Candiru) (Commerce Adds NSO Group and Other Foreign Companies to Entity List for
Malicious Cyber Activities | U.S. Department of Commerce); EU Parliament statements on
spyware; Wassenaar Arrangement additions that now cover some cyber-surveillance tools,
relevant to export control.

Commission on Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice | VMUN 15