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On 5 February 2026, the Court of Justice (CJEU) delivered its judgment in Case C-572/23 P, setting aside the General Court’s (GC) ruling in Case T-272/21 and annulling the European Parliament’s (EP) decisions of 9 March 2021 waiving the parliamentary immunity of Carles Puigdemont (P9_TA(2021)0059), Antoni Comín (P9_TA(2021)0060) and Clara Ponsatí (P9_TA(2021)0061). By contrast, Advocate General Szpunar (AG) had proposed to uphold the GC’s judgment and the EP’s decisions (Opinion of 4 September 2025).

The judgment marks yet another striking chapter in the long-running Catalan litigation before the EU courts. Following the CJEU’s expansive interpretation of the scope of parliamentary immunity in Junqueras Vies (C-502/19) – which effectively recast an institutional guarantee as a strategically deployable privilege – the CJEU has now imposed an exacting standard of impartiality on the EP’s waiver procedure. In particular, the CJEU requires the rapporteur of the committee responsible for the reasoned proposal to be insulated from even indirect political links with the party that instigated the underlying criminal proceedings, treating such attenuated proximity as capable of vitiating the entire waiver procedure under Article 41 of the EU Charter.

Although the judgment strengthens procedural safeguards, it also risks rendering the waiver procedure structurally fragile and chronically litigated, given the pluralistic and inherently political composition of the EP. The combined effect of an expansive conception of immunity and a maximalist understanding of impartiality tilts the balance toward institutional protection, thereby reinforcing the perception of immunity as a personal privilege rather than a functional safeguard.

From referendum to Luxembourg

The appellants were prominent members of the Catalan government at the time of the unconstitutional “self-determination referendum” held on 1 October 2017. Following the referendum, the Spanish Public Prosecutor’s Office, the State Attorney’s Office and the political party VOX initiated criminal proceedings against them for insurgency, sedition and misuse of public funds.

On 26 May 2019 – long after the initiation of the criminal proceedings – the appellants stood for the first time as candidates in the EP elections and were elected.

On 19 December 2019, the CJEU delivered its judgment in Junqueras Vies. The CJEU held that a candidate acquires the status of Member of the European Parliament (MEP), and thus immunity, from the moment and by the sole virtue of being elected (temporal and personal scope). The CJEU clarified that the acquisition of MEP status cannot be made conditional upon additional national requirements (such as the oath to respect the Spanish Constitution under Article 224(2) of the Spanish Electoral Law), relying on a combined reading of Articles 2, 10(1) and 14(3) of the TEU. More controversially, the CJEU interpreted Article 9 of Protocol No 7 and Article 343 of the TFEU as conferring immunity even where criminal proceedings had been initiated long before the EP elections (objective scope). This interpretation significantly expanded the objective scope of parliamentary immunity by extending protection even to instances where the absence of fumus persecutionis was objectively ascertainable. As previously argued, this effectively transformed immunity from a functional guarantee of parliamentary independence into a personal privilege susceptible to abuse (see D. Pérez de Lamo; see also Article 5(2) of the EP Rules of Procedure (EPRP) and Notice 11/2019, paras 1-5 and 43).

On 13 January 2020, following Junqueras Vies, the EP took note of the election of Mr. Puigdemont and Mr. Comín as MEPs with effect from 2 July 2019. Ms Ponsatí acquired MEP status on 1 February 2020, following the UK’s withdrawal from the EU. The Spanish Supreme Court subsequently requested the EP to waive their immunity. On 9 March 2021, the EP granted the requests.

The appellants challenged the EP decisions. On 5 July 2023, the GC dismissed the appellants’ actions in their entirety. The appellants appealed before the CJEU.

Is the waiver a legal or a political measure?

As a preliminary matter, the CJEU addressed the nature of the EP’s waiver decisions. The GC held that the EP “has a broad discretion […] owing to the political nature” of the waiver decision (paras 112, 225 and 242). At the same time, the GC recognised that the decision is reviewable and capable of altering the legal situation of the MEP concerned and must comply with Article 41 of the EU Charter (paras 116, 225-226). The AG endorsed that approach (paras. 43-45).

However, the CJEU quashed that characterisation of the waiver, holding that “[a]lthough that procedure is conducted by politicians, […] the decision by which the Parliament decides to waive the immunity are not political in nature […] but legal” (para 80).

At first glance, the divergence appears puzzling, given that both courts accepted judicial review and the need to comply with Article 41 of the EU Charter (CJEU, paras 79-80). The real divergence seems to lie in the standard of impartiality. Both the GC and the AG acknowledged that the EP and its Members are “not, by definition, politically neutral”, thereby contextualising impartiality within a political institution (GC, para 226; AG, paras 52-54). However, the CJEU rejected that contextualisation. By emphasising the legal nature of the waiver decision, the CJEU imposed a strict standard of objective impartiality detached from the EP’s political composition. That cleavage shapes the remainder of the judgment.

The rapporteur’s political affiliation

The first contested element concerned the fact that the rapporteur of the Committee on Legal Affairs (JURI) belonged to the same political group of the EP as Members of VOX, the Spanish party that – alongside the Public Prosecutor’s Office and the State Attorney’s Office – had instigated the underlying criminal proceedings. Under Rule 9 of the EPRP and Notice 11/2019, the rapporteur coordinates the JURI committee and prepares a draft report; the JURI committee adopts a reasoned proposal; and finally, the EP decides in plenary.

The GC found no infringement of Article 41(2) of the EU Charter (duty of impartiality). The GC stressed that the rapporteur acts in a committee whose composition reflects the political balance of the EP (para 243); and that political affinity cannot automatically be attributed to all MEPs of a political group (para 246). The AG similarly underlined that the waiver procedure inherently involves MEPs that oppose the political views of the appellants (para 52).

The CJEU reached the opposite conclusion. It relied decisively on point 8 of Notice 11/2019, which provides that “the rapporteur may not be a member of the same group […] as the Member whose immunity is under discussion” (paras 97, 98, 104, 105). Accepting the appellants’ interpretation, the CJEU extended this exclusion to cover membership in the same group as the party that initiated the criminal proceedings. Since the EP had adopted that standard internally, Article 41(1) of the EU Charter required its “consistent application” (para 98). The CJEU thus concluded that the rapporteur “does not offer sufficient guarantees to exclude any legitimate doubt […] as to possible bias” (paras 104-106).

In my view, the CJEU’s reasoning is open to criticism.

First, Notice 11/2019 is an internal guideline that does not create enforceable rights for individuals (GC, para 237 and the case law cited). The CJEU itself previously characterised Notice 11/2003 on the waiver of immunity as “non-binding” (AG, para 49 and Troszczynski v EP, C-12/19 P, paras 25 and 44). In addition, the Notice is issued by the JURI committee; it is not act of the EP as such. By using point 8 of Notice 11/2019 as a benchmark of objective impartiality, the CJEU effectively transformed an internal guideline of the JURI committee into a binding standard governing the entire EP.

Second, if MEPs who are politically opposed to the MEP concerned are not disqualified from voting in plenary whether to grant the waiver, a fortiori such political opposition cannot justify the exclusion at the preparatory stage of the JURI committee’s reasoned proposal (see also AG, para 54).

Third, it is the JURI committee that adopts the reasoned proposal and the EP that ultimately decides on the waiver – not the rapporteur acting alone. The CJEU does not explain why the rapporteur should be regarded as playing a decisive role in a procedure that, at every stage, requires a majority within a collegiate body whose members enjoy equal voting rights. As both the GC and the AG observed, given the pluralistic and political composition of the JURI committee and of the EP itself, it is inevitable that some MEPs involved in the waiver process will oppose the appellants’ political views or even support the criminal proceedings.

Fourth, the extension of the ideology from one national party (VOX) to the entire European and Conservatives and Reformists (ECR) political group is tenuous (see also AG, para 74). During the 9th parliamentary term, VOX represented only a small fraction of both the ECR group and the EP. Namely, at the time of the voting (post-Brexit EP composition), VOX represented c. 6% of its ECR Group, which in turn accounted for c. 9% in the EP. Moreover, political groups in the EP are heterogeneous coalitions. Notably, VOX’s departure from the ECR in July 2024 to join the Patriots for Europe indicates that their views were not representative.

In sum, the CJEU conflates political proximity with objective bias.

The “Catalonia is Spain” event

The second contested element concerned an event organised by the rapporteur in March 2019 entitled “Catalonia is Spain”, during which the Secretary-General of VOX concluded with the words: “Long live Spain, long live Europe and lock up Puigdemont”.

The GC found no evidence of bias. In particular, the GC held that the rapporteur did not express his views orally (para 250); other MEPs were present (para 250); and the rapporteur’s opposition to the appellants’ political ideas, shown by the organisation of the event, differs from the legal assessment of the waiver procedure and support for the criminal proceedings (GC, para 251; AG, para 78).

Again, the CJEU disagreed with the GC and the AG. It held that these facts “could be perceived as reflecting bias” (para. 112). Particularly, the CJEU held that the rapporteur’s organisation of the event, in a context where VOX had already instigated the proceedings, could indicate support for the criminal prosecution (para 114). The CJEU therefore found an error in the “legal classification of the facts” (para. 115).

In my view, the CJEU’s reasoning amounts less to correcting a legal classification than to reassessing the factual context of the conference and drawing different inferences. Moreover, organising a politically charged event expressing opposition to secessionist ideas does not automatically imply support for specific criminal charges. As the GC and the AG had pointed out, the presence of other MEPs and the rapporteur’s silence during the event further weakens the inference of bias.

Impartiality uncompromised

Taken together, the CJEU’s findings establish a high standard of objective impartiality.

The CJEU further held that the duty of impartiality constitutes an essential procedural requirement whose infringement entails the annulment of the EP’s decisions (para. 132). Yet that formal logic sits uneasily with the concrete circumstances of this case. The criminal proceedings were initiated in October 2017, well before the appellants stood as candidates in May 2019 and before their election took effect on 2 July 2019 and 1 February 2020, respectively. It is therefore objectively impossible to contend that those proceedings were initiated with a view to interfering with their future, and at that stage purely hypothetical, functions as MEPs. Clearly there could not be fumus persecutionis. The reasoned proposal of the JURI committee and the EP’s decisions expressly relied on that very consideration.

Although the CJEU reiterates that immunity is an institutional guarantee (paras 76-77), the combined effect of Junqueras Vies’ expansive objective scope and a maximalist conception of impartiality reinforce the perception of immunity as a personal privilege.

Procedural rigour and structural tension

The immediate consequence is clear: the EP must restart the waiver procedure, this time ensuring compliance with the CJEU’s stringent impartiality standard. Structurally, however, the problem persists. The EP is a plural and political body. Its committees and plenary inevitably include MEPs who oppose the political views of those concerned and who may even support criminal proceedings against them. All MEPs participate on an equal footing.

If objective impartiality requires insulation from political proximity, the procedure to waive the immunity risks becoming procedurally fragile and chronically litigated.

A saga prolonged

The duration of the proceedings is remarkable. From the Supreme Court’s request in January 2020 to the CJEU’s judgment in February 2026, six years have elapsed. The appeal alone lasted approximately two and a half years, although the CJEU ultimately resolved the case on a single procedural issue. If a similar timeframe follows, the process could extend for another six years. What seemed to be the closing chapter of the Catalan litigation before the EU courts now appears far from concluded.

As time passes, the structural fragilities of Junqueras Vies become increasingly apparent. The criminal proceedings that initiated in 2017 could not plausibly have intended to interfere with parliamentary functions in 2019, still less with a second mandate beginning in 2024 – and a fortiori not with a potential mandate in 2029, should re-election occur. The further the electoral horizon recedes, the more difficult it becomes to reconcile the broad objective scope of MEP immunity with its functional rationale.

Meanwhile, the broader Catalan litigation continues, including high-profile pending cases concerning the compatibility of certain provisions of the Spanish Amnesty Law with EU law (SCC, C-523/24, and ACVOT, C-666/24; see further D. Pérez de Lamo).

Conclusion: a landmark and a warning

The Catalan litigation has once again produced a striking judgment. The CJEU has strengthened procedural guarantees in EP proceedings. That clarification is constitutionally significant. Yet by combining an expansive understanding of MEP immunity with an uncompromising conception of impartiality, the CJEU destabilises the balance between the EP’s independence and the accountability of its Members. In doing so, the CJEU also renders the waiver procedure fragile and prone to recurrent litigation.

If parliamentary immunity is to remain an institutional guarantee rather than evolve into an instrument of delay, the balance between protection and accountability will require careful recalibration in future cases.

Disclaimer: The views expressed are my own and do not reflect the views of my employer.

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For decades, xenophobia – which can be defined as the civic exclusion of those presumed alien to a nation – has been relegated to the margins of the UN treaty body system: it was routinely invoked alongside racism as a formulaic pairing (“racism and xenophobia”) but rarely treated as a legal problem in its own right. On February 3, the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CERD) and the Committee on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families (CMW) broke this pattern by issuing two joint interpretative comments – a general guideline and a thematic one – on eradicating xenophobia against migrants and others perceived as such.

Ingmar Bergman once remarked, “I am living permanently in my dream, from which I make brief forays into reality”. The Committees make an overdue incursion into the uncomfortable global reality of anti-immigrant politics – but the foray remains momentary. For all their effort and ambition to provide a comprehensive response to xenophobia, the extensive joint guidelines dodge the all-important structural tension arising from migration governance: xenophobia is embedded in an international system that recognises the sovereign impulse to police migration not only as a (much critiqued) prerogative but, crucially, as a legitimate objective. Even under a “demystified” conception of sovereignty that rejects unfettered state power, posing the question of xenophobia forces a reckoning with its boundaries.

Xenophobia’s history as a legal afterthought

The joint comments by the CERD and the CMW represent the most detailed attempt yet to clarify the meaning of xenophobia within international human rights law. That this effort is made only now underscores how limited prior engagement has been. Not a single core human rights treaty mentions xenophobia. In fact, xenophobia entered the legal vocabulary only indirectly via the 1993 Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action, which, among others, called for the appointment of a Special Rapporteur on contemporary forms of racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia and related intolerance (para 21).

From the outset, however, recognition came with limitations. The 2001 Durban Declaration offered the first quasi-operational treatment but immediately framed xenophobia through its relationship to racism. Its preamble suggests that “xenophobia and related intolerance” constitute serious violations of human rights only insofar as they amount to racism and racial discrimination (p. 9). Subsequent practice largely followed this approach, subsuming xenophobia under the doctrinal umbrella of racism and racial discrimination without any bearing upon its scope. As Shreya Atrey has shown, the CERD has played a key part in consolidating this perspective, filtering individual communications by migrants and those perceived as such through narrowly defined racial grounds related to race, ethnicity, colour or descent.

Prior to the issuance of the joint guidelines, the most authoritative UN treatment of xenophobia was the 2016 thematic report by the Special Rapporteur on racism and xenophobia, Mutuma Ruteere. Surveying global and regional manifestations and proposing a working definition centred on the denial of equal rights to those perceived as outsiders based on their origins, values, beliefs, or practices (p. 1), the report sounded the alarm on the worldwide rise of xenophobic exclusion. It emphasised preventative, bottom-up responses aimed at countering anti-migrant discourses and promoting social solidarity. In legal terms, the Special Rapporteur largely mapped existing international and regional frameworks without developing a distinct doctrinal approach. Still, he problematised the equation of xenophobia with racism by outlining the diverse and intersectional forms through which perceived foreigners are marginalised.

The Venn diagram of xenophobia and racism

Building on this, one major contribution of the joint comments lies in connecting xenophobia and racism without collapsing the two. Rather than describing xenophobia in strictly racial terms, the Committees define it as the phenomenon in which “migrants and persons belonging to various social groups or minorities are portrayed and perceived as others, outsiders or enemies” based on the belief that they “threaten the predominant culture, heritage and wealth” (General Guidelines, para. 2). They offer a rare general definition of the term “migrant” not contingent on a specific legal status or purpose of stay (at para. 8), as including “all persons who move away from their country of origin across an international border with the purpose of living temporarily or permanently in another country.” At the same time, they acknowledge that xenophobia can impact non-migrants as well. The key category of xenophobia therefore becomes “migrants and others perceived as such” – institutionalising, and arguably refining, the concept of the actual or perceived foreigner introduced by E. Tendayi Achiume.

The Committees are equally clear that xenophobia “is both a systemic driver of racial discrimination and a consequence of structural forms of racism and discrimination against migrants and others perceived as such” (para. 14). They further frame this relationship as one of “intrinsic intersection” grounded in processes of racialisation and in the enduring legacies of colonialism and slavery that shape global inequalities and patterns of human mobility (para. 16). The General Guidelines accordingly call for anti-racist frameworks to be mainstreamed into migration policies and for the active involvement of relevant public institutions and civil society actors (para. 18). The resulting doctrinal map resembles a Venn diagram: xenophobia and racism emerge as distinct yet partially overlapping phenomena whose shared terrain demands explicitly intersectional responses.

Intersectionality and the risk of diffusion

Intersectionality appropriately appears as a “crucial and indispensable” theme in the comments (General Guidelines, para. 21). The General Guidelines detail the particular challenges faced by migrants whose experiences are shaped by gender, age (including children, youth and older persons), disability, race, indigeneity, statelessness, religion or belief, socio-economic status, and health. While this account echoes analyses and case law on the specific vulnerabilities of migrants and refugees, the systematic integration of their intersectional experiences into human rights practice remains a work in progress, including within the UN treaty bodies. Against this background, the Guidelines offer a forward-looking human rights agenda that – despite its shortcomings – brings a fresh perspective to the discussion especially when it highlights the narratives that sustain xenophobia and the legislative responses required to counter them.

The strong emphasis on intersectionality is not without risks, however. Precisely because xenophobia rarely fits neatly within a single ground of discrimination and often intersects with several, it has long fallen between the cracks of human rights law as “discrimination against nobody”. Simply reasserting intersectionality does not resolve this problem. On the contrary, it may contribute to the diffusion of a concept that has just begun to consolidate. The Committees themselves show that xenophobia has a defined core: it involves the exclusion or marginalisation of migrants and others perceived as such through narratives that cast them as threats to the dominant culture, heritage, or economic order. This social process cannot be fully explained by reference to intersecting grounds alone. Xenophobia is more than the sum of its parts.

How to fight xenophobic narratives?

One of the most intriguing contributions made by the Committees can be found in the Thematic Guidelines, which discuss at length the detrimental impact of xenophobic narratives and ways to counter them. The focus on narratives is clearly warranted, capturing an essential ingredient of xenophobia. It also makes the vital connection to the proliferation of xenophobic hate speech. The CERD can draw on its previous work in this regard, specifically General Recommendation 35 on combatting racist hate speech and General Recommendation 30 on discrimination against non-citizens, calling on states to protect against hate speech and racial violence.

To be sure, many of the recommendations calling for “rights-based narratives on migrants and migration” (p. 2) contained in the Thematic Guidelines are well taken. It is here, however, that the Committees start retreating from reality. One might still argue about the legal and political feasibility of extensive media regulation, such as the recommendation that “all media actors, both public and private, adopt codes of conduct and self-regulatory principles and guidelines aimed at ensuring a responsible approach to migration and ethical reporting and advertising”, para. 12). By contrast, it seems more far-fetched to expect “political parties, authorities and candidates” to “[f]ormally commit to putting an end to the instrumentalization of migration, asylum and related matters for political and electoral gain” (para. 101). More troubling still is the assertion that narratives “have wrongfully proposed that nationals should enjoy privileged protection of human rights” (para. 71) when status-based differentiations are, in fact, firmly embedded in the human rights framework. The juxtaposition of rights-based narratives and “narrow and unfair representations” (para. 3) seems to suggests that sorting machines will be undone through the sudden enlightenment of a deeply divisive discourse – a prospect that may appeal to human rights audiences but downplays the normative intricacy of debates concerning borders and belonging.

Xenophobia and the stubborn problem of boundary-drawing

So, when does migration governance become xenophobic discrimination? Here, the Committees offer little guidance. Instead, the Thematic Guidelines highlight the “reciprocal connection between xenophobic narratives and migration policies” (para. 48) to survey a wide range of state practices. Next to clearly illegal acts (such as pushbacks, collective expulsions, and racial profiling), they also list measures that the Committees cannot dismiss categorically: visa regulations, entry controls, asylum procedures, residence permits and discretionary regularisation programmes, detention, as well as migration law enforcement more broadly. Beyond general calls for greater transparency, effective remedies and stronger due process guarantees, the guidelines do not consider when these restrictive policies cross the threshold into xenophobic action. There are a few notable exceptions here; for instance, the discussions on detention and expulsion describe these as last resort measures (at paras. 49 and 52). These relatively clear signposts could inform future legal assessments.

Admittedly, it would have been asking much of the CERD and the CMW to resolve the difficult question of xenophobic boundary-drawing by themselves. The problem, however, is that the guidelines do not even pose it. Answering this question will be necessary to restore the authority of human rights law in a field where violations are “entrenched and pervasive”. Getting there requires not only an awareness of the limits of the human rights framework but also more than a quick foray into a reality that may appear unbearable when seen through a “decolonial, anti-racist, and intersectional lens” (General Guidelines, para. 19). Having recognised the persistent force of hostile narratives that target migrants and others perceived as such, the next step must be to establish convincing red lines for state actions. One obvious example would be policies aptly described as xenophobic on their face, such as the much-discussed Danish Housing Law, which explicitly targets “immigrants and their descendants from non-Western countries”. While drawing such lines will be more difficult in other cases, xenophobia will have to be confronted as a sui generis form of exclusion that challenges the very premises of the human rights framework.

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On 13 April 2026, France’s Court of Cassation will rule on whether cement giant Lafarge financed terrorism and violated international sanctions by paying over USD 5 million to armed groups in Syria, including ISIS, to keep its factories running. Beyond the question of terrorist financing looms an even more consequential issue: whether the corporation is complicit in crimes against humanity.

Under French law, corporate complicity turns on knowledge and facilitation, not on a shared criminal purpose. This marks a clear departure from the ICC’s “purpose” test, which requires proof that the accomplice intended to further the crime.

The stakes extend far beyond Lafarge. If that standard prevails, corporations cannot distance themselves from atrocities by invoking commercial motives. The case may crystallise a fault line between domestic and international standards of complicity – and reshape the legal parameters of operating in conflict zones.

Corporate criminal liability in French law

Article 121-2 of the French Criminal Code provides that “[l]egal persons… are criminally liable for offences committed on their behalf by their organs or representatives, as set out in Articles 121-4 and 121-7.” Article 121-4 defines direct perpetration, while Article 121-7 governs complicity.

In its 7 September 2021 judgement (the “Lafarge Judgement”), the Court of Cassation first applied corporate complicity standards to grave international crimes. It answered unequivocally: “Article 121-7 of the Criminal Code makes no distinction according to the nature of the principal offence or the status of the accomplice. This analysis is intended to apply to both legal persons and natural persons.” In one decisive sentence, the Court confirmed that corporations can be accomplices to crimes against humanity – a global landmark.

Article 121-7 defines an accomplice as anyone who “knowingly, by aiding or abetting, facilitates [the] preparation or commission [of a felony or misdemeanour].” Three elements must therefore be met under French law: first, the existence of a principal offence; second, the facilitation of its preparation or commission by aiding or abetting; and third, the knowledge that one’s act facilitates that offence.

The second and third elements hinge on the mens rea – the mental element or “élément moral”, particularly challenging for corporate actors where individual intent must be attributed collectively: does knowledge that one’s actions facilitate a crime suffice, or must intent to advance it be shown?

French vs. international standard

In contrast to the French provision, the statutes of international criminal tribunals vary significantly in structure and wording. These nuances are not merely semantic. They have shaped diverging interpretations that now place the French “knowledge test” at odds with the International Criminal Court’s (ICC) stricter “intent” requirement.

The ICC’s high threshold

The International Criminal Court (ICC) has taken a clear, restrictive position: aiding and abetting requires specific intent. Under Article 25(3)(c) of the Rome Statute, an accomplice must act “for the purpose of facilitating” the crime. As the Trial Chamber clarified in Bemba et al., mere awareness is insufficient; the accessory must actually desire the criminal outcome (Bemba et al., para. 97). From a corporate accountability perspective, this high evidentiary bar arguably operates as a “safe harbour” for corporations, allowing them to claim that their involvement in conflict zones was driven by commercial necessity rather than a shared criminal purpose.

The legacy of ad hoc tribunals

However, the landscape of international criminal law is more complex than the Rome Statute suggests. The ad hoc tribunals for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) and Rwanda (ICTR) offer a more fragmented precedent. Their statutes distinguish between “complicity” and “aiding and abetting,” leading to a long-standing debate over the requisite mens rea.

Scholars such as Boas, Bischoff, and Reid have highlighted how different chambers – in landmark cases like Stakić, Semanza, Akayesu, and Krstić – vacillated between requiring “intent” and accepting “knowledge.” While “intent” raises the evidentiary bar, “knowledge” lowers the threshold for liability. Despite these diverging approaches, prominent experts like van Sliedregt argue that the “customary mens rea” for aiding and abetting remains knowledge, not purpose (see An Introduction to International Criminal Law and Procedure, 5th edn, p. 340; Boas, Bischoff and Reid, p. 296) – a view that supports a knowledge-based understanding of aiding and abetting in customary international law.

The Rwandan parallel to France

Building on this, several ICTR judgements (Akayesu, Musema, Bagilishema, and Semanza) drew on the Rwandan Criminal Code. This structural parallel reinforces the French Court’s approach: by fusing “complicity” and “aiding and abetting” into the single concept of “knowingly aiding or abetting,” both systems prioritise the act of objective facilitation over the specific intent of the accomplice.

It suggests that the French Court of Cassation’s interpretation – which explicitly rejected the need for an accomplice to “approve” or “intend” the underlying crime – is not a legal outlier. By holding in the Lafarge Judgement that knowledge of the principal crime is sufficient, the French court situates its standard within that broader tradition of “knowing facilitation”.

Applying the standard: Implications for Lafarge

If this “knowledge-only” standard governs the forthcoming decision on crimes against humanity, the prosecution’s burden of proof is significantly lower than under the ICC’s Bemba et al. standard. The focus shifts from the corporation’s internal “commercial purpose” to its “operational awareness.”

In its 2021 ruling, the Court already confirmed that Article 121-7 does not require the accomplice to intend or “approve” the underlying crime. It explicitly rejected the idea that the accomplice needs an “intention to commit” the crimes themselves (Lafarge Judgement, para. 66), stating that “it is sufficient that they have knowledge that the principal perpetrators are committing or about to commit such a crime” (Lafarge Judgement, para. 67).

The difference is decisive for the scope of corporate complicity: alignment with the criminal purpose is no longer a shield against liability.

Corporate liability in international criminal law and beyond

Efforts to codify corporate criminal liability at the international level reveal how consequential the choice of mental element can be. When drafters define complicity or aiding and abetting, the wording they select determines the reach of liability. Domestic approaches, including the French knowledge model, therefore offer important guidance for future international instruments.

The Malabo Protocol illustrates both the progress and the remaining uncertainty in this area. It expressly recognises corporate criminal liability and defines two mental elements: “corporate intention to commit an offence” and “corporate knowledge of the commission of an offence” (see Article 46C). Yet it does not clarify which standard applies to which mode of liability. Article 28N provides for both complicity (in sub-section 1) and for aiding and abetting (in sub-section 2), but it does not specify whether the courts must determine that the company meant for the crime to occur, or whether awareness that its conduct would facilitate the crime is sufficient. The allocation of the mental element is thus deferred to judicial interpretation once the Protocol enters into force.

Despite this ambiguity, the Protocol marks a significant development. It places corporate criminal liability within an international framework and makes the knowledge–intent distinction explicit. That distinction will shape how broadly corporate actors may be held responsible.

Developments in domestic and transnational criminal law will continue to influence this design. The implications are practical as much as doctrinal. Parent companies can no longer rely on complex corporate structures as a barrier to liability for conduct abroad. The Lafarge proceedings show that payments within supply chains may trigger responsibility where decision-makers knew that their support facilitated international crimes. In high-risk environments, meaningful due diligence becomes a legal imperative rather than merely a matter of corporate reputation for companies seeking to insulate themselves from complicity charges.

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