Recently appointed as High Commissioner for Human Rights is Louise Arbour, a former Canadian professor, lawyer and Supreme Court Justice. The post, held by Sergio Vieira de Mello until his tragic death in Iraq last August, will be well-served by her record. As Chief Prosecutor for Yugoslavia and Rwanda, and Vice-President of Canada’s Civil Liberties Association, Arbour is no stranger to human rights advocacy. She also seems to enjoy popular support, having been sweepingly endorsed by both the General Assembly and human rights groups.
That said, she is in a tough spot.
Though the Centre for Human Rights is as old as the UN itself-thanks to Eleanor Roosevelt-Arbour’s job is quite new, having only been created in 1993. Thanks to a bloc of abusive states, the call for a centralized moral authority was resisted for decades; the prospect of across-the-board scrutiny was too much to bear. That the office now exists is no small accomplishment; that its legacy is still uncertain, however, is no small concern either.
To begin with, the High Commissioner waters are notoriously difficult to navigate. One could be the undaunted advocate for human rights-wherever, whenever, against whomever-but then risk political marginalization. Suffice it to say, influential countries like Iran and Pakistan do not take well to criticism. Alternatively, one could be the diplomatic advocate, valuing consensus over confrontation and restraint over rankling. While short-term effective, this route can lead to politicization and dilution.
It has been, in short, a balancing act between principled beliefs and principal players; in this regard, the Office’s scorecard is mixed.
The first High Commissioner, José Ayala-Lasso, erred on the side of diplomacy. Amnesty International reports that, as a result, he “delivered speeches which seemed to simply praise the government’s efforts and bury the…violations on everyone’s mind.” While he is credited with opening a dozen field operations and cultivating good working relations, Ayala-Lasso’s reluctance to assume the full, public force of his office left it looking irresolute.
His replacement, Mary Robinson, was also his counter-balance. Like a preacher at a pulpit, she rang out to the back row, not hesitating to strongly challenge when quiet diplomacy failed. Russia and China, usually excused, were no exception. Yet she too suffered the strokes of politics, as her preacher’s pulpit devolved into a bullypulpit for select countries. Whatever her accomplishments, Robinson’s legacy will be forever entwined with Durban’s racism-turned-racist conference that disgraced the UN.
Enter Arbour. With the Commission on Human Rights beginning this week, her acrobatic skills will see their first action. Once a center for addressing worldwide concerns, the Commission has become a den of grandstanding and crusty debate. Cuba lectures on equality, Saudi Arabia on tolerance, and Zimbabwe on moderation in the conference rooms, while the real work is confined to the corridors.
What Arbour takes from this experience-and indeed, how she publicly frames it-will go a long way in shaping her future and the Office’s foundations. Also formative will be her fluency with the HC’s mandate, which calls on her “to promote and protect the effective enjoyment by all of all civil, cultural, economic, political and social rights.”
Like her predecessors, Arbour will be judged by her courage and consistency, not convenience and courteousness.
With the past as her guide, and the law as her stick, she just might advance the cause further than ever before.
