In 2002, the International Criminal Court (ICC) was established after numerous unsuccessful attempts since 1899 to create a similar institution. The Rome Statute of 1998 finally garnered sufficient support to bring this plan to fruition. Human rights enthusiasts and various nations celebrated this significant achievement, hoping for a more humane and just world. It was hailed as the most significant advancement in international law and human rights.
The idea of creating an International Criminal Court (ICC) to hold political leaders responsible for international crimes was initially proposed at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, after World War I. The issue was revisited at a 1937 Geneva conference organized by the League of Nations, resulting in the first convention aimed at establishing a permanent court to combat international terrorism. Although 13 states signed the convention, it was never ratified and thus did not come into force.
After World War II, the Allied powers established two temporary tribunals to prosecute Axis leaders for war crimes: the International Military Tribunal in Nuremberg for German officials and the International Military Tribunal for the Far East in Tokyo for Japanese officials. In 1948, the United Nations General Assembly recognized the need for a permanent international court to address atrocities similar to those prosecuted after the war. By the early 1950s, the International Law Commission (ILC) had drafted two statutes, but the political tensions of the Cold War delayed the court's establishment.
Years later, several atrocities underscored the need for ad-hoc tribunals or criminal courts, most notably the war crimes committed in Yugoslavia (1993) and Rwanda (1994).
Between 1996 and 1998, the United Nations in New York City hosted six sessions of the Preparatory Committee, with contributions from NGOs under the Coalition for the International Criminal Court (CICC). In January 1998, an Inter-Sessional meeting took place in Zutphen, Netherlands, to refine and reorganize the draft articles.
In June 1998, the General Assembly convened a conference in Rome to finalize the treaty establishing the Court’s statute. On 17 July 1998, the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court was adopted with 120 votes in favor, seven against, and 21 abstentions.
The seven countries that reportedly voted against the Rome Statute were China, Iraq, Israel, Libya, Qatar, the United States, and Yemen. However, due to an agreement preventing an official record of each delegation’s vote, some uncertainty remains regarding the exact identities of these nations. It is confirmed that China, Israel, and the United States were among them, as they publicly acknowledged their opposition.
Now, let's take a deeper look at some of the key players, their historical objections, the actions they took afterward, and the contradictions that reveal their true priorities.
Israel’s opposition to the ICC was clear from the outset. The country objected to the court’s ability to prosecute the offense of “displacing civilians in occupied territory,” a stance that aligns with its long-standing policy of Palestinian displacement and territorial occupation. Understandably, Israel did not want an international legal mechanism scrutinizing these actions.
Beyond voting against the ICC, Israel actively sought to undermine it. Intelligence agencies surveilled, hacked, pressured, smeared, and threatened senior ICC officials to obstruct investigations. During her tenure as ICC Prosecutor, Fatou Bensouda and her family were reportedly threatened by Mossad director Yossi Cohen in an effort to deter her from pursuing war crimes inquiries against Israel. This wasn’t an isolated incident—it was a sustained effort spanning nine years, as reported by The Guardian in 2024. Given Mossad’s reputation, it likely persisted even longer.
The U.S. opposed the ICC in a way that was quintessentially American—by drafting the American Service-Members’ Protection Act, better known as The Hague Invasion Act. This law grants the President the authority to use “any necessary and appropriate measures” to secure the release of U.S. or allied personnel detained by the ICC. Essentially, it authorizes military action against an international court based in The Hague—a city in the Netherlands, one of the United States’ closest allies. But, deafened by the screeches of bald eagles and blinded by the star-spangled banner, the U.S. had no qualms about threatening an ally over the principle of American exceptionalism.
The U.S. rationale? American citizens already operate under the world’s highest legal standards, making any external judicial oversight unnecessary and incompatible with their Constitution and national identity.
This stance manifested in direct action when, on June 11, 2020, the U.S. imposed sanctions on ICC officials investigating alleged crimes against humanity committed by American forces in Afghanistan. Among those targeted were ICC Prosecutor Fatou Bensouda and Phakiso Mochochok, head of the ICC’s Jurisdiction, Complementarity, and Cooperation Division. Their "crime"? Investigating U.S. military and CIA operations in Afghanistan since 2003.
Yet, in classic American fashion, the U.S. conveniently supported the ICC’s 2023 arrest warrant for Russian President Vladimir Putin. That is, until 2024—when they realized their close ally, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, was also facing potential indictment. Suddenly, the U.S. reverted to its old tune: denouncing the ICC as an overreach that undermines national sovereignty.
China opposed the establishment of the International Criminal Court (ICC) for multiple reasons, primarily centered on concerns about sovereignty, legal principles, and political influence.
One of China’s key objections was the ICC’s jurisdiction over crimes against humanity committed during peacetime. Beijing argued that under customary international law, such crimes traditionally required a connection to armed conflict. Without this link, China believed the fundamental nature of these crimes would be altered, setting a dangerous legal precedent.
Additionally, China raised concerns over political interference, noting that any individual prosecutor could initiate an investigation, potentially making the ICC vulnerable to political manipulation. Beijing feared that the court could be used as a tool for selective justice, disproportionately targeting certain nations based on political motivations rather than legal principles.
Another major point of contention was the ICC’s authority to determine whether a state is "willing and able" to prosecute its own nationals. China saw this as a direct infringement on national sovereignty, arguing that no external body should have the power to override a country’s judicial system.
These concerns collectively led China to vote against the Rome Statute, maintaining its stance that international justice should be state-driven rather than dictated by an independent supranational court.
The International Criminal Court (ICC) has increasingly been seen as a tool of Western imperialism, demonstrating a clear bias in its prosecutions. This is particularly evident in its relentless focus on smaller, less wealthy nations—primarily on the African continent—undermining its original mission of global justice.
Until 2016, all nine ICC investigations were centered on African countries, a fact that has deeply frustrated many African leaders and changed their perception of the court.
African critics argue that the ICC operates as a neo-colonial institution, advancing Western political and economic interests under the guise of justice. Scholar Awol Allo has noted that the problem is not outright racism but Eurocentrism, where the court prioritizes Western legal frameworks and perspectives. Others believe that the ICC’s prosecution patterns reinforce sovereign inequality, exposing the unequal treatment of African nations in the global power hierarchy.
One of the most controversial cases involved Kenyan Deputy President William Ruto and President Uhuru Kenyatta, both indicted by the ICC before assuming office. Their prosecution led to strong backlash, with the Kenyan parliament passing a motion to withdraw from the ICC. Kenya also urged the 33 other African ICC member states to follow suit, a proposal that was formally discussed at an African Union (AU) summit in October 2013.
Faced with what they perceived as an unfair and politically motivated institution, many African nations took justice into their own hands.
Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir, despite an ICC arrest warrant, traveled freely to multiple countries—including Kenya, South Africa, China, and Nigeria—without being arrested.
Ivory Coast opted to prosecute former First Lady Simone Gbagbo domestically rather than surrendering her to the ICC.
Rwanda’s ambassador to the AU, Joseph Nsengimana, went so far as to declare that international justice had become increasingly politicized.
Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni accused the ICC of mishandling Africa’s complex legal and political issues.
Ethiopian Prime Minister Hailemariam Desalegn, then chairman of the AU, addressed the UN General Assembly, condemning the ICC’s actions as "completely unacceptable" and leaving a "deeply negative impression" across Africa.
In October 2016, tensions reached a breaking point. On October 7, Burundi became the first country to declare its withdrawal from the ICC following the court’s decision to investigate political violence in the country. Within two weeks, South Africa and The Gambia announced their plans to leave as well, with Kenya and Namibia reportedly considering the same.
A major point of contention was the fact that, at the time, all 39 individuals indicted by the ICC were African. Meanwhile, the ICC had failed to prosecute Western war crimes, particularly those related to the 2003 invasion of Iraq—reinforcing accusations of selective justice.
After examining the ICC’s record, it becomes evident that the institution is deeply flawed. Rather than delivering impartial international justice, the court has disproportionately targeted nations that lack the geopolitical leverage to resist its authority. While its mission is to hold perpetrators of war crimes and crimes against humanity accountable, its actions suggest a pattern of selective prosecution—one that largely spares the world’s most powerful players.
For much of its existence, the ICC has focused on African nations, drawing accusations of neo-colonial bias. More recently, it has turned its attention to Russia, a move that—while legally justified—raises questions about the court’s strategic priorities. Critics argue that these cases present low geopolitical risk for the ICC: many African nations lack the global influence to challenge international legal norms, while Russia, already ostracized by the West, was an expected target following its invasion of Ukraine.
At its core, this is not simply a failure of the ICC but a broader reflection of the global power imbalance. The reality is that international institutions, even those created to uphold justice, do not exist in a vacuum. They are shaped by political interests, economic power, and the ever-present influence of major states. It is difficult to imagine a scenario where the ICC, in its current form, could prosecute a leader from the United States, China, or any other dominant global power without facing severe diplomatic and economic repercussions.
The ICC’s handling of Israel’s case in 2024 illustrates this challenge. Despite issuing warrants, no arrests have been made, and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu continues to travel freely. This starkly contrasts with other ICC cases, where leaders from weaker nations have faced immediate legal consequences. The disparity has fueled accusations that the ICC is hesitant to challenge Western-aligned states or those with significant geopolitical influence.
The question remains: is the ICC truly an independent judicial body, or is it bound by the very power structures it was meant to transcend? If global justice is to be applied universally, it cannot afford to be selective. Yet, as the world order stands today, the notion that the ICC could detain a sitting U.S. president or a Chinese leader remains almost unimaginable. For now, justice appears to be a privilege of the powerful, rather than an impartial principle applied to all.