🍻 Selber Bier Brauen

“We do not subscribe to the widely-held belief that the affairs of nations can be successfully conducted on a military level. In the world’s recent history there is abundant evidence to prove that neither threats of superior force nor displays of armed might have been able to create the climate in which peace can take root. The great malady which affects humanity today is fear, born of tensions following the armaments race. Fear is a bad counsellor and reduces those who fall within its grasp to a state in which no positive action is possible.”¹⁾

With these timeless lines, the famous diplomat, politician and Indian freedom fighter Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit (née Swarupa Kumari Nehru) described India’s outlook on foreign policy during the 20^th century. Her role in international politics and relations as well as in shaping the development of the United Nations is often overshadowed by her familial ties to her brother Jawharlal Nehru, the first president of independent post-colonial India, and Mahatma Ghandi, with whom she fought for an Indian state free from British imperial rule.

© Kroon, Ron
Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit during a visit to the Netherlands in 1965

The early years in colonial India

Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit was born as Swarupa Kumari Nehru in the city of Allahābād, India, on August 18^th 1900 into a wealthy Kashmiri family. Her father, Motilal Pandit – a successful Oxford-educated lawyer, politician and Ghandian nationalist – put particular emphasis on ensuring that Pandit would become the educated woman needed by the Indian nationalist movement at the time.²⁾ She became literate in English before she learned how to read and write Hindi and was home-schooled by an English governess and tutors, in line with the Western way of life only accessible to the privileged classes in Colonial India.³⁾ Motilal Pandit believed that Indians, in the 20^th-century world order, had to become English people if they wanted to succeed globally.⁴⁾

Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit’s fluent command of the English language alongside her Anglophile education certainly paved the way for her later career in international relations.

In 1921, she married lawyer Ranjit Sitaram Pandit. His family picked the name Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit for her, replacing her birthname Swarupa Kumari Nehru; a procedure customary in Hindu circles at the time.⁵⁾ They had three daughters before Ranjit Pandit passed away in 1944 while serving a prison sentence for his acts of civil disobedience against British imperial rule. As they had no sons and Ranjit left no will guaranteeing her a share of his inheritance, Hindu communal law transferred the family’s money and property to the closest male relative in her husband’s family.⁶⁾ Pandit was offered minimal widow maintenance alongside payments for their daughters until they were married by the Pandit family. She accepted this offer, relying on the support of her brother Nehru – who was himself serving a prison sentence for his nationalist activism – and Mahatma Ghandi, who urged her not to pursue a legal case against her in-laws as they ‘had more important things to do’ in pursuit of an independent post-colonial India.⁷⁾

Pandit’s contribution to the fight against British colonialism and securing Indian independence

Alongside her male relatives Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit herself became a prominent figure in the fight against the British colonial rule in India. She followed the Ghandian line of Indian nationalism and was imprisoned three times following acts of civil disobedience such as sit-ins.⁸⁾ In the Nehru family, challenging British imperialism became a family affair – Pandit served her final prison sentence in India in 1942 alongside her then 20-year-old daughter.⁹⁾

Following her national activism, Pandit was approached by Sir Tej Bahadur Sapru, then President of the Indian Council for World Affairs, to speak on behalf of India to the United States. To assert control over her following her civil disobedience, the British had confiscated Pandit’s passport to heavily restrict her international mobility. However, after meeting the chief of the Allied Air Command in the Eastern region at a consulate dinner, Pandit secured a US visa and arrived in the United States aboard a US army plane in 1944.¹⁰⁾

In the United States, Pandit attended an Allied-led conference in Virginia on post-war developments in Asia as a member of an Indian observer delegation. The following year, she used every opportunity to demand Indian independence and called for an indictment of the colonial system, especially in lectures all over the country.¹¹⁾ She attended the United Nations Conference in International Organization in San Francisco in 1945 as an unofficial representative of India (which was officially represented by three cabinet members of the British Indian government). There, she emphasised the historic importance of the UN’s stance on colonialism and imperialism – challenging the very principles of the nascent organisation.¹²⁾

Representing a newly independent nation

When India finally gained independence in 1947, Pandit’s brother Nehru became the first Indian prime minister. Having proved herself on the international stage campaigning for Indian Independence in the United States, Pandit was sent to the USSR as the first ambassador for India (1947 – 49), followed by postings to the United States, Mexico, Spain and as High Commissioner to the United Kingdom.¹³⁾

© Photo Division, Ministry of Information & Broadcasting, Government of India
Independent India’s first prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru, President of Princeton University Prof. Harold Dodds and Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit as Indian Ambassador to the United States in 1949

A first in history

In 1953, Pandit was elected President of the UN General Assembly for the eighth session. She was the first woman to be elected as president of the Assembly and remains the only Indian person to hold this position to this day.

Pandit continued to use her voice in the United Nations to draw attention to ongoing colonialism worldwide and to demand equal rights and freedom for the oppressed everywhere. In a speech at a UN plenary meeting in 1948, she stated that the

“Indian delegation, believing in the freedom of all peoples, wished to see the early termination of colonial system, and the speedy attainment of self government by all peoples inhabiting colonial or Trust Territories. It insisted on the strict observance of Chapters XI and XII [of the UN Charter], both in spirit and letter. In particular, it urged the colonial Powers to realize that the two hundred million people inhabiting the Non-Self-Governing Territories read into the provisions of the Charter relating to such territories far more than the colonial Powers were inclined to do so.”¹⁴⁾

Her passionate commitment to human rights all over the world made her a commendable Indian representative to the UN Human Rights Commission in the later years of her life in 1979.

Legacy

After her diplomatic career, Pandit continued to serve the Indian people as a national politician. She died in 1990. Despite her challenges as both Indian and a woman in the Western and male-dominated international arena during the first half of the 20^th century¹⁵⁾, Pandit set the tone against colonialism in the newly established United Nations. In India, she is fondly remembered for her courageous stance against British colonialism.

Further sources:

• Lecture by Prof. Manu Bhagavan on his book ‘Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit’ at the Asian American / Asian Research Institute – City University of New York on October 4, 2024
• ‘The Scope of Happiness – A Personal Memoir’ by Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit, Crown Publishers 1979
• ‘Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit – A Biography’ by Prof. Manu Bhagavan, Penguin 2023

The post Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit appeared first on Verfassungsblog.

Mit ihrer Sperrminorität blockiert die Thüringer AfD-Fraktion die Neubesetzung des Richterwahlausschusses. Im Gegenzug für die Mitwahl der Kandidat:innen anderer Parteien fordert die AfD-Fraktion nun das bereits besetzte Amt des Landtagspräsidenten und Sitze in der G10-Kommission sowie der Parlamentarischen Kontrollkommission, die u.a. für die Kontrolle des Landesamtes für Verfassungsschutz zuständig ist, das die AfD als gesichert rechtsextremistisch beobachtet. Aber existiert ihr Druckmittel überhaupt? Muss der Richterwahlausschuss tatsächlich erst neu besetzt oder sonst eine Übergangsregelung geschaffen werden (siehe dazu Wittreck/Talg), bevor neue Richter:innen ernannt werden können? Die Vorschriften des DRiG eröffnen einen Ausweg. Denn danach ist eine aktive Zustimmung des Richterwahlausschusses gar nicht zwingend erforderlich, um Richter:innen rechtmäßig auf Lebenszeit zu ernennen.

Thüringens Richterwahlausschuss heute

In Thüringen bildet der Landtag gemeinsam mit den Vertreter:innen der Richterschaft im Landesdienst gemäß Art. 89 Abs. 2 VerfTH i.V.m. §§ 50 ff. ThürRiStAG einen Richterwahlausschuss. Das Gremium setzt sich in Thüringen gemäß § 51 Nr. 1 ThürRiStAG aus fünf richterlichen Mitgliedern und zehn Abgeordneten des Landtages zusammen. Die parlamentarischen Mitglieder des Gremiums wählt der Landtag gemäß § 52 Abs. 1 ThürRiStAG zu Beginn jeder Wahlperiode mit Zweidrittelmehrheit. Beschlussfähig ist der Richterwahlausschuss gemäß § 60 Abs. 1 ThürRiStAG, wenn die Mehrheit seiner Mitglieder anwesend ist. Gegenwärtig ist der Richterwahlausschuss mit Abgeordneten und deren Stellvertreter:innen besetzt, die der Landtag in der vergangenen Legislatur wählte. Der Richterwahlausschuss sei nach Auffassung des Justizministeriums deshalb – auf Grundlage eines aktuellen Rechtsgutachtens des Jenaer Juraprofessors Dr. Michael Brenner – weiterhin handlungsfähig und könne Ernennungsentscheidungen treffen.

Die bisherige Debatte legte nahe, dass die Handlungsfähigkeit des Richterwahlausschusses maßgeblich dafür sei, ob die Justizministerin anstehende Ernennungen auf Lebenszeit überhaupt umsetzen kann und sie so lange auf Eis legen muss, bis die Handlungsfähigkeit des Gremiums hergestellt ist. Diese Ansicht hätte zur Folge, dass die Ernennungsverfahren ins Stocken gerieten, während offene Stellen an Richter:innen auf Lebenszeit in der Justiz zunehmend zu organisatorischen Problemen führten, weil nicht mehr als eine Proberichter:in an Entscheidungen der Gerichte mitwirken darf ( § 29 Abs. 1 DRiG).

Nicht mehr als ein Vetorecht

Einige Länder haben sich ganz grundsätzlich dagegen entschieden, einen Richterwahlausschuss einzurichten. Ihre Justizminister:innen können Richter:innen von vornherein eigenständig und ohne Beteiligung des Landtages ernennen. Doch selbst wenn sich ein Land wie Thüringen dafür entschieden hat, einen Richterwahlausschuss zu beteiligen, ist dessen Zustimmung nicht konstitutiv, um Richter:innen auf Lebenszeit zu ernennen. Vielmehr ist der Richterwahlausschuss allein Vertretungsorgan eines parlamentarischen Vetorechts.

An zentraler Stelle bestimmt § 12 Abs. 2 S. 1 DRiG, dass ein Richter auf Probe spätestens fünf Jahre nach seiner Ernennung zum Richter auf Lebenszeit zu ernennen ist. Das Gesetz spricht jeder Richter:in auf Probe mit Ablauf von fünf Jahren einen Anspruch auf Lebenszeiternennung zu.¹⁾ Ob ein Richterwahlausschuss der Ernennung zugestimmt hat oder ob die betreffende Personalie in dem Gremium überhaupt besprochen wurde, spielt dafür keine Rolle.

Ein weiteres Argument für diese Ansicht – quasi als andere Seite der Medaille – lässt sich auf die Vorschrift stützen, welche die Entlassung der Richter:in auf Probe regelt: Will sich die Justiz von einer Richter:in auf Probe trennen, kann sie die Richter:in nur bis zum 24. Monat nach ihrer Ernennung „einfach so“ entlassen (§ 22 Abs. 1 DRiG).

Davon abgesehen erhöhen sich die Anforderungen an eine Entlassung nach 24 Monaten Probezeit schlagartig. Nun kann eine Richter:in auf Probe nur noch zum Ablauf des dritten oder vierten Jahres entlassen werden und auch nur dann, wenn sie entweder „für das Richteramt nicht geeignet ist“ (§ 22 Abs. 2 Nr. 1 DRiG) oder „wenn ein Richterwahlausschuss seine Übernahme in das Richterverhältnis auf Lebenszeit oder auf Zeit ablehnt“ (§ 22 Abs. 2 Nr. 2 DRiG).

Erst hier kommt der Richterwahlausschuss ins Spiel. Seine ablehnende Entscheidung gibt dem Justizministerium einen weiteren, neuen Entlassungsgrund an die Hand (§ 62 Abs. 2 ThürRiStAG). Zumindest das Deutsche Richtergesetz bindet die Justizminister:in ausweislich seines Wortlauts („kann […] entlassen werden“) jedoch nicht einmal an die Entscheidung des Gremiums, sondern erweitert allein den Handlungsspielraum des Justizministeriums.

Statt eines Vetorechtes stünde dem Richterwahlausschuss dann – geht man, was naheliegend ist, in diesen Fällen nicht regelmäßig von einer Ermessensreduzierung auf Null aus – sogar nur ein Einspruchs- statt Vetorecht zu. Im Übrigen ist auch sonst an keiner Stelle ersichtlich, dass der Richterwahlausschuss einer Lebenszeiternennung zustimmen muss.

Anders ausgedrückt: Mit Ernennung einer Person zur Richter:in auf Probe setzt ein Automatismus ein. Sofern niemand die Richter:in auf Probe innerhalb von fünf Jahren seit ihrer Ernennung entlässt, erwirbt sie einen (fast uneingeschränkten, § 22 Abs. 3 DRiG) Anspruch auf die Ernennung zur Richter:in auf Lebenszeit. Entlassen werden kann eine Richter:in auf Probe – außer bei disziplinarrechtlich relevantem Verhalten – nur bis zum Ablauf des vierten Jahres ihrer Ernennung. Die ablehnende Entscheidung eines Richterwahlausschusses ermöglicht der Justizministerin vor Erreichen der Vierjahresgrenze lediglich, die Richter:in zu entlassen, ohne ihre Nichteignung begründen zu müssen.

Bundeseinheitlichkeit des Ernennungsverfahrens – unabhängig von der Einrichtung von Richterwahlausschüssen durch einzelne Länder

Die Rechtsstellung der Richter:innen auf Probe in allen Ländern einheitlich zu regeln, war auch Ansinnen des Rechtsausschusses des Bundestags, als er den Regierungsentwurf des Deutschen Richtergesetzes diskutierte. Der Kabinettsentwurf sah in seiner ursprünglichen Fassung vor, dass die Entscheidung des Richterwahlausschusses in Ländern, die diese Gremien eingerichtet hatten, konstitutiv für die Ernennung sein sollte.²⁾

Hiervon wich der Rechtsausschuss bewusst ab, um Wartezeiten mit ungewisser Länge bis zu einer endgültigen Entscheidung durch den Wahlausschuss für die Proberichter:innen zu vermeiden, und entwarf die später vom Bundestag schließlich auch beschlossene Regelung, wonach Proberichter:innen nach Ablauf einer bestimmten Zeit zu Richter:innen auf Lebenszeit zu ernennen sind – unabhängig davon, ob der Richterwahlausschuss sich mit der jeweiligen Richter:in in der Zwischenzeit schon einmal befasst hat: „Wird er zu diesem letzten Zeitpunkt nicht entlassen, hat der Richter auf Probe auch in den Ländern, die einen Richterwahlausschuß an der Anstellung beteiligen, […] einen Anspruch auf Anstellung“.³⁾

Nur scheinbar ein Dilemma

Insoweit lässt sich eine „Lösung“ für die Blockade von Richterernennungen bereits auf Ebene des einfachen Rechts finden. Die Frage nach der aktuellen Legitimation des Richterwahlausschusses – wie in dem oben genannten Rechtsgutachten thematisiert – kann dahinstehen. Nur ein handlungsfähiger, nicht ein handlungsunfähiger Richterwahlausschuss kann Ernennungen verhindern:

Die Lösung dieser nur vermeintlichen „Blockade“ ergibt sich aus dem oben dargelegten Zusammenspiel von § 12 und § 22 DRiG: Nach Ablauf von vier Jahren (§ 22 Abs. 2 DRiG) und spätestens nach fünf Jahren (§ 12 Abs. 2 S. 1 DRiG) hat die jeweilige Richter:in auf Probe einen uneingeschränkten Anspruch auf Lebenszeiternennung (mit Ausnahme des § 22 Abs. 3 DRiG). Diesen Anspruch kann sie klageweise geltend machen, sodass die Justizministerin die Ernennung vornehmen muss – wozu diese jedoch gemäß § 113 Abs. 5 S. 1 VwGO lediglich zu verpflichten, die Handlung indes nicht gerichtlich zu ersetzen ist. Für den Ernennungsakt als solchen ist die Justizministerin gemäß § 62 Abs. 1 ThürRiStAG allein zuständig.

Unerheblich ist nach der hier vertretenen Ansicht also, dass nach Art. 89 Abs. 2 VerfTH (i.V.m. § 62 Abs. 1 ThürRiStAG) keine aktive „Zustimmung“ des Richterwahlausschusses erfolgt ist. Eine „Zustimmung“ im Sinne einer positiv erforderlichen und damit konstitutiven Voraussetzung der Ernennung enthält das DRiG eben nicht. Die Regelung des § 62 Abs. 1 ThürRiStAG ist stattdessen dahingehend zu verstehen, dass die „Zustimmung“ im Rahmen des § 22 Abs. 2 DRiG als Verzicht auf ein dort vorgesehenes „Veto“ gilt. Eine positive Zustimmung des Richterwahlausschusses für die Ernennung auf Lebenszeit ist zu keinem Zeitpunkt erforderlich – erst recht nicht mehr nach dem Ablauf von vier Jahren.

Blockade zulasten des parlamentarischen Einflusses statt der Proberichter:in

Das Vetorecht des Richterwahlausschusses im ThürRiStaG und der Verfassung des Freistaates Thüringen steigert zwar die demokratische Legitimation der Richterernennung.⁴⁾ Konstitutive Ernennungsvoraussetzung ist die Zustimmung des Gremiums indes wegen des Vorrangs der bundesrechtlichen Regelungen (auch gegenüber der Landesverfassung⁵⁾) nicht.

Solange der Richterwahlausschuss eine Bewerber:in nicht ablehnt, fehlt es an den Voraussetzungen für eine Entlassung nach § 22 Abs. 2 DRiG und es besteht spiegelbildlich ein Anspruch auf Ernennung nach fünf Jahren Probezeit. Dem steht auch nicht der insoweit offene Wortlaut des Art. 98 Abs. 4 GG entgegen, der von einer gemeinsamen Entscheidung von Justizminister und Richterwahlausschuss spricht. Die Norm statuiert allein eine Kompetenzbestimmung und Garantie für die Länder, „ob“ sie Richterwahlausschüsse schaffen und „wie“ sie ihre Tätigkeit gestalten können.⁶⁾ Insbesondere soll sie die Länder davor schützen, „dass der Bund […] durch Bundesgesetz das Recht der Länder zur Errichtung von Wahlausschüssen aushebelt“.⁷⁾

Das DRiG hebelt dieses Recht aber gerade nicht aus, sondern gibt über § 22 DRiG die verfassungsrechtliche Abwägungsentscheidung zwischen Art. 33 Abs. 2 GG und Art. 98 Abs. 4 GG wieder. Die Richterwahlausschüsse können effektiv durch § 22 Abs. 2 Nr. 2 DRiG an der Ernennungsentscheidung mitwirken. Zugleich verhindert das zeitlich befristete Veto- gegenüber dem Blockaderecht, dass es zu potenziell langen Schwebelagen kommt. Die Bildung oder Betätigung der Richterwahlausschüsse wird damit nicht eingeschränkt. Allein das Risiko, dass sie nicht arbeitsfähig sind, geht nach der hier vertretenen Ansicht nicht auf Kosten der Möglichkeit, Richter:innen auf Lebenszeit zu ernennen.

In diese Richtung gingen schon die oben angeführten Ausführungen des Rechtsausschusses zum DRiG-E: „Die Richterwahlausschüsse müssen jedoch ihre Entscheidungen so rechtzeitig treffen, daß im Falle der Ablehnung die obersten Dienstbehörden die Entlassung spätestens zum Ablauf des vierten Jahres nach der Ernennung zum Richter auf Probe aussprechen können. Wird er zu diesem letzten Zeitpunkt nicht entlassen, hat der Richter auf Probe […] einen Anspruch auf Anstellung.“⁸⁾

Die Arbeitsunfähigkeit des Gremiums schadet danach allein seinem eigenen Einfluss. Insoweit ist auch die Schaffung einer neuen Notkompetenz der Justizministerin für die Lebenszeiternennung bei Untätigkeit des Richterwahlausschusses oder bei dessen Nichtbildung nicht erforderlich (vgl. Wittreck/Talg), weil diese Kompetenz bereits jetzt (zumindest nach Ablauf von vier Jahren der Probezeit) besteht. Eben das entspricht der historischen Konzeption des DRiG, die dem Richterwahlausschuss ein Veto-, aber kein Blockaderecht der Exekutivernennung zugestehen wollte. Anders ausgedrückt: in dubio pro Richternennung.

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Despite its modest uptake since its inception in 2012, the European Citizens’ Initiative (ECI) has become the subject of several cases before the Court of Justice of the EU. The ECI is the world’s first and only instrument of direct transnational democracy, allowing a group of at least seven European citizens from seven different EU member states to request that the Union take new action.

As highlighted in two recent cases – Minority Safe Pack, which was decided last week, and End of Cage, which is currently pending –, the nature of ECI-related litigation has evolved significantly over time, reflecting deeper tensions about the instrument’s purpose and effectiveness. This piece provides a sobering perspective on the ECI, offering both legal and policy-based insights into its past, present and future applications and competing understandings as shaped by the Court’s case law.

The Evolution of ECI Litigation

In the early years, the Court was asked to review the legality of the Commission’s decisions rejecting the registration of some ECIs (e.g. Anagnostakis, Costantini, HB & others). Yet, more recently, notably since Puppinck, attention has turned towards the Commission’s follow-up obligations for ‘successful’ ECIs that reach the required one million signature threshold.

Two developments explain this evolution. First, the Commission’s registration policy has relaxed significantly, moving from the stringent standard set out in the original 2012 ECI Regulation to the more permissive approach introduced in the current 2019 ECI Regulation – a change largely prompted by the Court’s case law criticism of the former. Second, it is a testament to the organic emergence of the first batch of successful ECIs. Having reached the required threshold of one million signatures, a handful of initiatives began putting the instrument’s operation and effectiveness to the test. As a result, today’s litigation raises critical questions about the nature of the Commission’s obligations when confronted with successful initiatives. What type of response is the EU Commission legally required to provide to initiators of ECIs that have crossed the signature threshold? And how far can the Court go in reviewing the substantive adequacy of the Commission’s response?

Two recent cases exemplify this judicial scrutiny.

The Minority SafePack case, recently rejected on appeal, confirmed the established case law: successful ECIs merely ‘invite’ the Commission to propose legislation rather than creating a legally binding obligation to do so. Meanwhile, the pending case on the End of Cage ECI asks the General Court to go further by defining not only the substantive obligations but also the specific procedural requirements that the Commission must fulfill when responding to successful citizens’ initiatives.  Ultimately, the case centers on two complaints: the Commission’s failure to provide updated legislative timelines as required by Article 15.2 of the ECI regulation, and improper denial of document access.

A Democratic Revolution Unfulfilled

The ECI represents the world’s first instrument of direct transnational democracy. Originating in the failed Constitutional Treaty and enshrined in the 2009 Treaty of Lisbon before becoming operational in 2012, the ECI marked a revolutionary shift in EU governance. For the first time, a right previously reserved for the European Parliament (under Article 255 TFEU) and the Council (under Article 241 TFEU) was extended to citizens themselves: directly requesting that the Commission propose EU legislation.

Article 10.3 TEU framed this as recognizing citizens’ rights “to participate in the democratic life of the Union,” fostering belonging and strengthening European community bonds. Suddenly, European democracy would not be confined to elections, but citizens could now collectively propose, support and participate in the legislative process itself, by potentially prompting it.

Yet despite positioning the EU as a pioneer in participatory governance, the ECI’s promise remains largely unfulfilled, leading to widespread disenchantment among citizens – a frustration now manifesting in the significant volume of litigation challenging the Commission’s responses.

A reality check reveals the scale of the ECI’s underperformance, leaving its democratic potential largely unexplored and untapped.

ECIs in low numbers

Since April 2012, the statistics tell a sobering story. EU citizens have registered 119 ECIs, with dozens more rejected on admissibility grounds, including the notable STOP TTIP, which led to the Efler case. Of these 119 registered initiatives, only 14 reached the one million signature threshold, representing a success rate of barely 11 percent.

This limited uptake explains why, after more than a decade, the legal nature of the instrument and the corresponding Commission’s obligations remain underdeveloped, poorly defined and, as a result, contested.

ECI’s Competing understandings

Today’s ECI operates under two fundamentally different and competing understandings of its nature and purpose. The first is an orthodox, formalistic understanding promoted by EU institutions that considers the ECI worthy of attention and follow-up only insofar as it complies with its formal requirements. The second is predicated on a pragmatic understanding, espoused by civil society, that perceives the ECI principally as a strategic, multi-purpose instrument for agenda-setting and political influence, the impact of which is decoupled from its formal validity.

These two conflicting interpretations of the instrument coexist in an ironic relationship: the pragmatic approach has emerged as a direct result of the limitations of the orthodox approach, as reinforced by the Commission’s practices, which were in turn shaped by the Court of Justice. While EU institutions adhere to procedural orthodoxy, civil society has learned to exploit the participatory potential and public visibility of the ECI to achieve political impact through alternative channels.

ECI’s Orthodox View

Under the formalistic approach, an ECI must be understood as a legal instrument that must meet all procedural requirements—from registration to validation of one million signatures—to merit attention and become eligible for impact. Even successful ECIs remain mere invitations that can be dismissed with limited judicial scrutiny, confined to checking for “manifest errors” as confirmed in Minority SafePack. This understanding, manifested in refusing over 30% of pre-2021 initiatives at registration, has historically constrained the instrument’s democratic potential, limiting its effective use to well-resourced organizations while discouraging broader participation.

This interpretation focusing on procedural compliance and formal thresholds reflects a legalistic interpretation that prioritizes institutional control over democratic participation. By maintaining high barriers and minimal obligations for follow-up, this understanding effectively confines the ECI from a participatory tool into a performative exercise with limited substantive impact.

ECI’s Pragmatic View

As a direct consequence of the orthodox approach spearheaded by the original Commission’s ECI practice, civil society has developed an alternative and pragmatic understanding of the instrument. This views the ECI as a multi-purpose mechanism for direct citizen influence on EU policy, which is inherently valuable, regardless of signature threshold attainment. This unconventional perspective sees ECIs as a useful instrument throughout the entire policy cycle. As such, it is not confined to the pursuit of agenda-setting, but can also attain multiple opportunities to exercise democratic participation rights. Under this view, ECIs can engage with EU policymaking at multiple stages—during the preparation of a Commission proposal, during co-decision by the Council-Parliament and even after adoption of new initiatives, to prompt ex post evaluations and induce the revision of existing legislation.

This approach recognizes that the major predictor of ECI impact is not formal Commission validation, but the ability to spark debate and influence priorities within the College of Commissioners and broader EU political space.

This pragmatic understanding stems from, and largely explains, the paradoxical fact that formally unsuccessful ECIs have often led to more legislative action than those that were successful. Thus, initiatives that never reached the formal threshold – and thus remain “unsuccessful”—have produced tangible policy results. One Single Tariff, which failed to gather sufficient signatures, nonetheless contributed to the elimination of international roaming charges (disclaimer: I was personally involved with my then students). Stop TTIP, rejected at the registration stage, mobilized unprecedented public opposition that ultimately contributed to the trade agreement’s abandonment, and to a new publicity regime surrounding the negotiations of EU trade agreements. Most strikingly, the Ban on Conversion Practices in the EU achieved inclusion in the Commission’s 2024-2029 political priorities within just four months of registration in May 2024, when it had collected only a few thousand signatures – well before reaching any meaningful threshold, let alone the million-signature target that it ultimately did.

Consider the stark contrast: despite crossing the one million signature threshold and triggering formal Commission obligations, no successful ECI has directly prompted the Commission to put forward a legislative proposal addressing its primary objectives. Even initiatives like Right2Water and SavetheBees, often cited as ECI success stories, achieved legislative outcomes only for secondary or tangential aims rather than their core demands.

This counterintuitive outcome reveals the fundamental disconnect between the orthodox emphasis on procedural compliance and the actual mechanisms of political influence within EU institutions.

This reveals how civil society has learned to use the ECI’s constitutional recognition and public visibility as a platform for broader political engagement, treating the registration process itself as an opportunity to generate media attention, build coalitions, and signal political priorities to Commission officials – regardless of whether the initiative ultimately succeeds in formal terms.

This pattern recognizes that the major predictor of ECI impact isn’t formal Commission validation, but the ability to spark debate and influence priorities within the College of Commissioners and broader EU political space.

ECI’s future is pragmatic

The pragmatic understanding of the ECI and its multi-purpose use is set to expand, by potentially leading to greater uptake.

In an era characterized by shrinking and often unequal institutional access and rising anti-NGO campaigns across Europe, traditional lobbying and advocacy pathways available to the citizenry and organized civil society have become increasingly constrained. Civil society organizations face growing restrictions on their activities, reduced funding opportunities, and heightened scrutiny of their operations in several member states.

Against this backdrop, the ECI has become the only direct channel of influence citizens have to shape the whole EU policymaking. Due to its institutional embeddedness, the ECI provides a “guaranteed platform” for citizen engagement that transcends national political volatility. Unlike traditional advocacy channels that depend on institutional goodwill or political access, this makes the ECI an increasingly valuable tool for civil society to maintain democratic participation even when other avenues are being closed off.

The ECI’s Coming Wave

The emergence and diffusion of this new pragmatic understanding is already showing signs of driving greater reliance on the ECI as a democratic tool. As civil society organizations increasingly recognize the instrument’s potential for strategic political engagement – regardless of formal outcomes – we can expect to see record numbers of ECI registrations in the coming years. This shift represents more than just increased usage; it signals a fundamental transformation in how citizens approach EU policymaking in the present political landscape. The most recent illustration is the Save Your Right, Save Your Flight ECI asking the EU legislator to maintain the level of protection guaranteed by the EU Passengers’ Rights Regulation.

The rise in ECI registrations, driven by growing demand for participation and influence, may eventually force the EU Commission and the entire EU institutional machinery to confront the instrument’s democratic significance. When faced with dozens or even hundreds of active ECIs simultaneously engaging with different aspects of EU policy – from security defence to housing, from climate action to social protection and migration –, the Commission will no longer be able to treat each initiative as an isolated procedural exercise to be managed and easily dismissed.

The sheer volume of citizen engagement is set to create a new dynamic where the Commission will be expected to develop more substantive and systematic approaches to ECI follow-up, not only because of existing legal obligations (as they will be refined by the Court’s case law) but also because of political necessity. This organic pressure from below might prove more effective than top-down regulatory reforms in forcing institutional adaptation.

Moreover, as the number of ECIs picks up, it will inevitably attract new constituencies to the ECI process—activists, advocacy groups, citizen movements and philanthropies – who previously viewed the instrument as too cumbersome or ineffective. These new users will bring fresh perspectives and innovative strategies, further expanding the ECI’s potential as a tool for democratic engagement.

This “democratization“’ of ECI use—where success is measured not by signature thresholds but by political impact— is long overdue, and carries the potential to finally realign institutional practice with the instrument’s original democratic aims. The Commission may find itself compelled to develop more meaningful engagement mechanisms, not because the Treaties require it, but because the political cost of dismissing widespread citizen participation becomes too high.

In this scenario, the emergent pragmatic understanding of the ECI does not just represent an adaptation to institutional limitations—it could become the catalyst for institutional reform, potentially transforming the ECI from a neglected and marginalized procedural tool into a central feature of EU democratic governance.

Conclusions

The growing legal challenges around successful but ineffective ECIs reflect a fundamental mismatch between constitutional recognition of participatory democracy and institutional realities. While the 2019 regulation improved accessibility, it failed to address the core disconnect between citizen expectations and the ECI’s capacity to produce legislative outcomes.

The Commission’s policy shift has merely transferred disappointment from registration to post-success follow-up, creating new forms of democratic disillusionment. Citizens who successfully navigate complex registration processes and mobilize one million signatures across multiple member states often find their efforts dismissed with minimal consideration.

As we await the Court’s decision in End the Cage Age, which will clarify procedural obligations, civil society is set to pursue its pragmatic understanding and use of this instrument. Rather than focusing solely on formal validation, future ECI strategies might prioritize building broader political momentum and strategic engagement with existing policy priorities – recognizing that democratic participation sometimes achieves more through informal influence than formal procedures.

If two competing understandings of the ECI coexist today in an ironic relationship is largely because the orthodox approach, as originally promoted by the Commission, has inadvertently created the conditions for a pragmatic use of the instrument to flourish. By severely confining the ECI’s use, the Commission has undeliberately pushed civil society toward more creative and potentially more influential uses of the instrument. The Commission’s and Court’s shared commitment to procedural orthodoxy has thus generated its own alternative, transforming the ECI from what institutions intended it to be into what democratic practice requires it to become.

As institutional access continues to narrow and the ECI’s Commission practice proves increasingly inadequate for meaningful democratic participation, a new pragmatic and unconventional understanding of the instrument is likely to become the dominant mode of ECI use, potentially completing the transformation of the instrument from a formal legislative mechanism into the primary avenue for strategic democratic engagement with European policymaking.

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