It’s 22 July 2025. I was wandering through the streets of The Hague. Everything seemed ordinary. Except for a group of young people setting up a venue for campaigning purposes.
I approached one of them and asked what the purpose was. I can be nosy sometimes. One of them, a blonde woman with blue eyes, told me that the International Court of Justice, the principal U.N. judicial body, would deliver its advisory opinion regarding obligations of States in respect of climate change tomorrow. She further added that they were there to protest, regardless of whether the decision would be positive or not.
“But how does that make sense?” I asked.
She said that whatever opinion the court gave would not really matter because States would ignore it. She gave an example of how provisional measures issued by the Court regarding Israel’s responsibility to prevent genocide in Gaza were basically disregarded.
She added that she had seen so many events in this world unfold, which made her believe that international law is dying. At least, it isn’t dead for her yet.
She then mentioned how the International Court of Justice had decided a few months ago to dismiss Sudan’s case against the UAE, citing lack of jurisdiction, without even considering the horrors the Masalit people faced in Sudan. Horrors that, she said, were largely due to the UAE’s support of terrorist groups operating there.
“I cannot accept a world where justice is not served just because of legal positivism,” she added.
I could have listened to her all day. I already knew about the issues she mentioned, but her passion and emotion were fascinating.
Those climate activists are very brave. Even if they might lack legal expertise, their passion acts as a substitute, I thought to myself.
“So, you think protesting here, outside the Peace Palace, will bring any change?” I asked.
She smiled. “Your question sounds as if you are sceptical about what we’re doing. Don’t judge so quickly. If you don’t mind, we can have dinner and talk about it.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I’m writing this just after coming back from that dinner. Do you ever have conversations so stimulating that you give up sleep just to write about them? When you hear perspectives that are so good? It’s even more exciting when you contribute to the discussion and propose ideas that could actually be put into practice. That’s exactly how the conversation at dinner went.
The restaurant was called “ROOM.” It’s a five-minute walk from the Peace Palace, where the International Court of Justice sits. The heat was unbearable, so we had to sit outside.
--------------------------The Peace Palace, The Hague, Netherlands-------------------------------------
“Tell me your story.” She asked boldly.
I started talking. I’ve now confirmed that I’m a certified chatterbox. But in all fairness, I had a story to tell, and I told it beautifully. I say that because she said it was a beautiful story. I believe her. I do. I will soon publish an article to tell the story here too. You be the judge then.
“Do you think attending the Summer Course of the Hague Academy on International Law will help Eritrea?” she asked. ሕቶታታ'ስ "ካብ ጉይይ ምውዓል፡ ክሳድ ምሓዝ" ትብል ምስላ ሃገርና ኣዘኻኺራትኒ።
If you’ve read my other articles, you already know how excited I get when someone connects anything to my country, Eritrea. And she did exactly that. It was the perfect recipe for an evening of exchanging ideas.
She then told me her own story. She is from Germany and is a PhD student. She studies Law and her research focuses on climate justice. I was surprised. I genuinely thought she was an activist rather than an academic. Someone who seeks swift, direct change through activism rather than careful research and analysis. But yes, life is full of surprises. And a bit of immature and hasty judgement from my side.
She was born into a wealthy family, but she doesn’t live a lavish life. She broke ties with her parents six years ago because of environmental issues. “I now live in a small flat I rent in Berlin,” she said, adding that she has no regrets about her decision.
“If it’s not too personal, may I ask what the fight with your parents was specifically about?” I asked.
“I once hired a greenhouse emissions inspector to measure our cumulative greenhouse gas emissions, and it turned out to be higher than the combined emissions of all the houses on our street. I asked my family to change our lifestyle to reduce it, and my father laughed. I had to make a decision.”
Have you ever heard a reason as audacious as that? Some people’s dedication to their principles is mesmerising.
She is 27. She calls herself part of both the present and future generations. I wondered if there is a specific age limit for that. I asked.
“Well, if you’re over 30, you can forget about being in the future generation category,” she said with a grin.
I smirked. I’ve never felt so old. She actually thought I was younger than 30. Little did she know. I often ask people to guess my age, and 90% of the time, they say 25. It feels rejuvenating. The same happened with her. I didn’t correct her. Don't ask me why.
Two hours went by without us noticing. We mostly discussed current geopolitical events. Of course, Israel and Gaza dominated the conversation.
“In Germany, we often say ‘we will never forget’ when it comes to the Holocaust, mainly to remind ourselves and prevent such atrocities from happening again,” she said. “But little did I know that it would be happening today, at least to some extent, somewhere else, and we are watching it live on video.”
“Many people feel powerless,” she added. “But I refuse to be one of them. I do whatever I can.”
“Like what?” I asked, perhaps too quickly. I often feel powerless myself.
“Raising awareness, both in person and online. Protesting. Doing research that helps organisations file cases in courts. Exposing lies and propaganda.”
“Do you think that really makes a difference?” I asked.
“I can’t say the aggressors will stop immediately. But I know my work will matter over time. Something is better than nothing.”
I told her that I have been doing my best too, though I can’t claim I’m as dedicated. “But I am about to publish a research article exposing how international humanitarian law is being used to justify illegal acts,” I said. Everybody should contribute on their respective profession.
She looked at me and said, “Coming from a country that gained its independence through a liberation struggle led by the people, I would think solidarity with the Palestinian people would be at the top of your priorities. I know pure legal studies can make you forget about morality, but your country’s history is full of injustices. Your people suffered before independence. Look at Ireland, its government and people stand firmly with Palestine. It’s the same principle.”
"Of course, first and foremost, it's about humanity. As simple as that." Her words struck me deeply.
I told her that I completely agree.
Before we parted ways, I said, “Give me two reasons why you think international law is dead, and I will join your protest tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you want only two? Why limit me? I could give you a hundred.”
I smirked.
“First, I didn’t say international law is dead. It’s alive. But it was created to serve the interests of powerful states. If you study its history of its emergence, you’ll realise that. Today, it is failing because weaker States have started voicing how unfair the system is. They’ve lost trust in it.”
“Second, conflicts keep consuming lives. There has never been a time when the world was free of wars. It’s all about States’ interests. International law never stops wars. Lobbying does. Activism does. Politics does. Money does. That’s why I focus on that.”
“Fair enough,” I said. I had more questions, but it was time to go.
“People say it’s thanks to international law that planes fly safely, that postal services work, that trade flows between nations. But to me, that only shows that international law is a facade. Do you want to know why?” she asked.
“I do,” I replied.
“You limited me to two reasons. So, next time,” she said with a smile.
We walked to the tram station. On our way, we passed by a book shop, which primarily focuses on selling international law books. "If you get in there and find me a book critical of international law from an African perspective, I will buy one for you and one for me," she said. I ended up not getting in there because I knew what the outcome would be.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Book shop close to the Peace Palace, The Hague -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
“Will you be taking the tram?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“My hotel is just an hour and half walk away, so I’ll walk. It was nice talking to you. See you at the protest tomorrow?” she smiled. She smiles a lot.
“I think Eritrea will have nothing to lose if I attend the summer course at the Hague Academy of International Law. It will gain one added human resource with proper knowledge of international law,” I said as I stepped onto the tram.
She smiled again. Maybe at my naivety.
“Make sure you focus on reforming the system,” she said as the doors closed.
I leaned out of the window.
“See you at the protest tomorrow.”