Semis neg v northwestern mv 1nc



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1nc t

The aff regulates authority, they don’t prohibit the action


Sinha 6

http://www.indiankanoon.org/doc/437310/

Supreme Court of India Union Of India & Ors vs M/S. Asian Food Industries on 7 November, 2006 Author: S.B. Sinha Bench: S Sinha, Mark, E Katju CASE NO.: Writ Petition (civil) 4695 of 2006 PETITIONER: Union of India & Ors. RESPONDENT: M/s. Asian Food Industries DATE OF JUDGMENT: 07/11/2006 BENCH: S.B. Sinha & Markandey Katju JUDGMENT: J U D G M E N T [Arising out of S.L.P. (Civil) No. 17008 of 2006] WITH CIVIL APPEAL NO. 4696 OF 2006 [Arising out of S.L.P. (Civil) No. 17558 of 2006] S.B. SINHA, J :
We may, however, notice that this Court in State of U.P. and Others v. M/s. Hindustan Aluminium Corpn. and others [AIR 1979 SC 1459] stated the law thus:

"It appears that a distinction between regulation and restriction or prohibition has always been drawn, ever since Municipal Corporation of the City of Toronto v. Virgo. Regulation promotes the freedom or the facility which is required to be regulated in the interest of all concerned, whereas prohibition obstructs or shuts off, or denies it to those to whom it is applied. The Oxford English Dictionary does not define regulate to include prohibition so that if it had been the intention to prohibit the supply, distribution, consumption or use of energy, the legislature would not have contented itself with the use of the word regulating without using the word prohibiting or some such word, to bring out that effect."


Voting issue – the destroy predictable limits, conditions on authority are multi-directional, and there are dozens of different small conditions on any executive action. They can claim to enhance the credibility of executive actions- effectively making the topic bidirectional



1nc legalism k

The 1AC’s approach to drone legality de-politicizes conflict and oversells the value of restrictions


Trombly 12 (Dan, Associate Analyst @ Caerus Analytics, National Security/International Affairs Analyst, “The Drone War Does Not Take Place,” NOVEMBER 16, 2012, http://slouchingcolumbia.wordpress.com/2012/11/16/the-drone-war-does-not-take-place/)
I’ll try to make this a bit shorter than my usual fare on the subject, but let me be clear about something. As much as I and many others inadvertently use the term, there is no such thing as drone war. There is no nuclear war, no air war, no naval war. There isn’t really even irregular war. There’s just war. There is, of course, drone warfare, just as there is nuclear warfare, aerial warfare, and naval warfare. This is verging on pedantry, but the use of language does matter. The changing conduct and character of war should not be confused with its nature, as Colin Gray strives to remind us in so many of his writings. When we believe that some aspect of warfare changes the nature of war – whether we do so to despair its ethical descent or praise its technological marvels, or to try to objectively discern some new and irreversible reality – we lose sight of a logic that by and large endures in its political and conceptual character. Hence the title (with some, but not too much, apology to Baudrillard). There is no drone war, there is only the employment of drones in the various wars we fight under the misleading and conceptually noxious “War on Terror.” Why does this matter? To imbue a weapons system with the political properties of the policy employing it is fallacious, and to assume its mere presence institutes new political realities relies on a denial of facts and context. This remains the case with drones. The character of wars waged with drones is different – the warfare is different – but the nature of these wars do not change, and very often this argument obscures the wider military operations occurring. Long before the first drone strikes occurred in Somalia, America was very much at war there. Before their availability in that theater, the U.S. had deployed CIA and SOF assets to the region. It supported Ethiopia’s armies and it helped bankroll and coordinate proxy groups, whether they were Somali TFG units, militias, or private contractors. It bombarded select Somali targets with everything from naval guns to AC-130 gunships to conventional strike aircraft. It deployed JSOC teams to capture or kill Somalis. That at some point the U.S. acquired a new platform to conduct these strikes is not particularly relevant to the character of that war and even less to its nature. We sometimes assume drones inaugurate some new type of invincibility or some transcendental transformation of war as an enterprise of risk and mutual violence. We are incorrect to do so. The war in Somalia is certainly not risk free for the people who the U.S. employs or contracts to target these drones. It is not risk free for the militias, mercenaries, or military partners which follow up on the ground. Nor is it risk free for those who support the drones. Just ask Abu Talha al-Sudani, one of the key figures behind the 1998 U.S. Embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania, who sent operatives to case Camp Lemonier and launch a commando raid – one which looks, in retrospect, very much like the one that crippled Marine aviation at Camp Bastion recently – that might have killed a great many U.S. personnel on a base then and now critical to American operations in the Horn of Africa and Gulf of Aden. The existence of risk is an inherent product of an enemy whose will to fight we have not yet overcome. The degree of that inherent risk – whether it is negligible or great – is a product of relative military capabilities and war’s multifarious external contexts. Looked at through this lens, it’s not drones that reduce U.S. political and material risk, it’s the basic facts of the conflict. In the right context, most any kind of military technology can significantly mitigate risks. A 19th century ironclad fleet could shell the coast of a troublesome principality with basic impunity. When Dewey said, “You may fire when ready, Gridley,” at Manila Bay, according to most history and much legend he lost only one man – due to heatstroke! – while inflicting grievous casualties on his out-ranged and out-gunned Spanish foes. That some historians have suggested Dewey may have concealed a dozen casualties by fudging them in with desertions, which were in any case were a far greater problem than casualties since the Navy was still in the habit of employing foreign sailors expendable by the political standards of the day is even more telling. Yes, there are always risks and almost always casualties even in the most unfair fights, but just as U.S. policymakers wrote off Asian sailors, they write off the victims of death squads which hunt down the chippers, spotters, and informants in Pakistan or the contractors training Puntland’s anti-piracy forces. And no, not even the American spooks are untouchable, the fallen at Camp Chapman are testament to that. This is hardly unique to drones or today’s covert wars. The CIA’s secret air fleet in Indochina lost men, too, and the Hmong suffered mightily for their aid to the U.S. in the Laotian civil war. The fall of Lima Site 85, by virtue or demerit of policy, resonated little with the American public but deeply marks the intelligence community and those branches of the military engaging in clandestine action. The wars we wage in Pakistan, Yemen, and Somalia are not drone wars any more than our war in Laos was an air war simply because Operation Barrel Roll’s bombers elicit more attention than the much more vulnerable prop-driven spotting aircraft or Vang Pao’s men on the ground. There is a certain hubris in thinking we can limit war by limiting its most infamous weapons systems. The taboo and treaties against chemical weapons perhaps saved men (but not the Chinese at Wuhan, nor the Allied and innocents downwind of the SS John Harvey at Bari) from one of the Great War’s particular horrors, but they did nothing appreciable to check the kind of war the Great War was, or the hypersanguinary consequences of its sequel but a generation later. The Predators and Reapers could have never existed, and very likely the U.S. would still be seeking ways to carry out its war against al Qaeda and its affiliates under the auspices of the AUMF in all of today’s same theaters. More might die from rifles, Tomahawks, Bofors guns or Strike Eagles’ JDAMs than remotely-launched Griffins, and the tempo of strikes would abate. But the same fundamental problems – the opaque decisions to kill, the esoteric legal justifications for doing so, the obtuse objectives these further – would all remain. Were it not for the exaggerated and almost myopic focus on “killer robots,” the U.S. public would likely pay far less attention to the victims, excesses, and contradictions. But blaming drones qua drones for these problems, or fearing their proliferation at home, makes little more sense than blaming helicopters for Vietnam, or fearing airmobile assaults when DC MPD’s MD-500s buzz over my neighborhood. That concern that proliferation of a weapons system equates to proliferation of the outcomes associated with them, without regard to context, is equally misleading. Nobody in America should fear the expansion of the Chinese UAV fleet because, like the U.S. UAV fleet, it is merely going to expand their ability to do what similar aircraft were already doing. Any country with modern air defenses can make mincemeat of drone-only sorties, and for that reason China, which unlike Yemen and Pakistan would not consent to wanton U.S. bombing of its countryside, need not fear drones. For an enormous number of geographical, political, and military reasons, the U.S. ought fear the “drone war” coming home even less. Drones do not grant a country the ability to conduct the kind of wars we conduct against AQAM. The political leverage to build bases and clear airspaces, and the military and intelligence capabilities to mitigate an asymmetric countermeasure operation do. If another country gains that ability to conduct them against a smaller country, even, it is not because they lacked the ability to put weapons on planes, but because of the full tapestry of national power and military capabilities gave them such an ability. It was not asymmetry in basic technical ability that made the U.S. submarine blockade of Japan so much more effective than the Axis’s attempts to do the same against America’s shores, but the total scope of the assets in the field and context of their use. It was not because of precedent or moral equivalence, or lack thereof that the Axis could bomb Britain or lose the ability to do so, but because of the cumulative effect of military capabilities and the judgments guiding them. What might expand the battlefield of a “drone war” is much the same. America’s enemies do not refrain from attacking bases in CONUS or targeting dissidents in the U.S. (not that they have not before), they wait for an opportunity and practical reason to do so, and that has very little to do with drones in particular and even less the nature of the war itself. Fearing that the mere use of a weapons system determines the way in which our enemies will use it without regard to this context is not prophetic wisdom. It is quasi-Spenglerian hyperventilation that attributes the decision to use force to childlike mimesis rather than its fundamentally political purposes. Iran and Russia do not wait on drones to conduct extrajudicial targeted killings, and indeed drones would be of much less use to them in their own political contexts. Focusing on drones and the nature of targeted killings as some sort of inherent link ignores those contexts and ultimately does a disservice to understanding of wars past, present, and future, and by doing so, does little help – and possibly a great deal of harm – to understanding how to move forward.

The impact is militarism which outweighs


Smith 2 – prof of phil @ U of South Florida

(Thomas, International Studies Quarterly 46, The New Law of War: Legitimizing Hi-Tech and Infrastructural Violence)


The role of military lawyers in all this has, according to one study, “changed irrevocably” ~Keeva, 1991:59!. Although liberal theorists point to the broad normative contours that law lends to international relations, the Pentagon wields law with technical precision. During the Gulf War and the Kosovo campaign, JAGs opined on the legal status of multinational forces, the U.S. War Powers Resolution, rules of engagement and targeting, country fly-overs, maritime interceptions, treatment of prisoners, hostages and “human shields,” and methods used to gather intelligence. Long before the bombing began, lawyers had joined in the development and acquisition of weapons systems, tactical planning, and troop training. In the Gulf War, the U.S. deployed approximately 430 military lawyers, the allies far fewer, leading to some amusing but perhaps apposite observations about the legalistic culture of America ~Garratt, 1993!. Many lawyers reviewed daily Air Tasking Orders as well as land tactics. Others found themselves on the ground and at the front. According to Colonel Rup- pert, the idea was to “put the lawyer as far forward as possible” ~Myrow, 1996–97!. During the Kosovo campaign, lawyers based at the Combined Allied Operations Center in Vicenza, Italy, and at NATO headquarters in Brussels approved every single targeting decision. We do not know precisely how decisions were taken in either Iraq or Kosovo or the extent to which the lawyers reined in their masters. Some “corrections and adjustments” to the target lists were made ~Shot- well, 1993:26!, but by all accounts the lawyers—and the law—were extremely accommodating.¶ The exigencies of war invite professional hazards as military lawyers seek to “find the law” and to determine their own responsibilities as legal counselors. A 1990 article in Military Law Review admonished judge advocates not to neglect their duty to point out breaches of the law, but not to become military ombuds- men either. The article acknowledged that the JAG faces pressure to demonstrate that he can be a “force multiplier” who can “show the tactical and political soundness of his interpretation of the law” ~Winter, 1990:8–9!. Some tension between law and necessity is inevitable, but over the past decade the focus has shifted visibly from restraining violence to legitimizing it. The Vietnam-era perception that law was a drag on operations has been replaced by a zealous “client culture” among judge advocates. Commanding officers “have come to realize that, as in the relationship of corporate counsel to CEO, the JAG’s role is not to create obstacles, but to find legal ways to achieve his client’s goals—even when those goals are to blow things up and kill people” ~Keeva, 1991:59!. Lt. Col. Tony Montgomery, the JAG who approved the bombing of the Belgrade television studios, said recently that “judges don’t lay down the law. We take guidance from our government on how much of the consequences they are willing to accept ~The Guardian, 2001!.¶ Military necessity is undeterred. In a permissive legal atmosphere, hi-tech states can meet their goals and remain within the letter of the law. As noted, humanitarian law is firmest in areas of marginal military utility. When opera- tional demands intrude, however, even fundamental rules begin to erode. The Defense Department’s final report to Congress on the Gulf War ~DOD, 1992! found nothing in the principle of noncombatant immunity to curb necessity. Heartened by the knowledge that civilian discrimination is “one of the least codified portions” of the law of war ~p. 611!, the authors argued that “to the degree possible and consistent with allowable risk to aircraft and aircrews,” muni- tions and delivery systems were chosen to reduce collateral damage ~p. 612!. “An attacker must exercise reasonable precautions to minimize incidental or collat- eral injury to the civilian population or damage to civilian objects, consistent with mission accomplishments and allowable risk to the attacking forces” ~p. 615!. The report notes that planners targeted “specific military objects in populated areas which the law of war permits” and acknowledges the “commingling” of civilian and military objects, yet the authors maintain that “at no time were civilian areas as such attacked” ~p. 613!. The report carefully constructed a precedent for future conflicts in which human shields might be deployed, noting “the presence of civilians will not render a target immune from attack” ~p. 615!. The report insisted ~pp. 606–607! that Protocol I as well as the 1980 Convention on Prohibitions or Restrictions on the Use of Certain Conventional Weapons “were not legally applicable” to the Gulf War because Iraq as well as some Coalition members had not ratified them. More to the point that law follows practice, the report claimed that certain provisions of Protocol I “are not a codification of the customary practice of nations,” and thus “ignore the realities of war” ~p. 616!.¶ Nor can there be any doubt that a more elaborate legal regime has kept pace with evolving strategy and technology. Michael Ignatieff details in Virtual War ~2000! how targets were “developed” in 72-hour cycles that involved collecting and reviewing aerial reconnaissance, gauging military necessity, and coding antici- pated collateral damage down to the directional spray of bomb debris. A judge advocate then vetted each target in light of the Geneva Conventions and calcu- lated whether or not the overall advantage to be gained outweighed any expected civilian spillover. Ignatieff argues ~2000:198–199! that this elaborate symbiosis of law and technology has given birth to a “veritable casuistry of war.” Legal fine print, hand-in-hand with new technology, replaced deeper deliberation about the use of violence in war. The law provided “harried decision-makers with a critical guarantee of legal coverage, turning complex issues of morality into technical issues of legality.” Astonishingly fine discrimination also meant that unintentional civilian casualties were assumed to have been unintentional, not foreseen tragedies to be justified under the rule of double effect or the fog of war. The crowning irony is that NATO went to such lengths to justify its targets and limit collateral damage, even as it assured long-term civilian harm by destroy- ing the country’s infrastructure.¶ Perhaps the most powerful justification was provided by law itself. War is often dressed up in patriotic abstractions—Periclean oratory, jingoistic newsreels, or heroic memorials. Bellum Americanum is cloaked in the stylized language of law. The DOD report is padded with references to treaty law, some of it obscure, that was “applicable” to the Gulf War, as if a surfeit of legal citation would convince skeptics of the propriety of the war. Instances of humane restraint invariably were presented as the rule of law in action. Thus the Allies did not gas Iraqi troops, torture POWs, or commit acts of perfidy. Most striking is the use of legal language to justify the erosion of noncombatant immunity. Hewing to the legal- isms of double effect, the Allies never intentionally targeted civilians as such. As noted, by codifying double effect the law artificially bifurcates intentions. Har- vard theologian Bryan Hehir ~1996:7! marveled at the Coalition’s legalistic word- play, noting that the “briefers out of Riyadh sounded like Jesuits as they sought to defend the policy from any charge of attempting to directly attack civilians.”¶ The Pentagon’s legal narrative is certainly detached from the carnage on the ground, but it also oversimplifies and even actively obscures the moral choices involved in aerial bombing. Lawyers and tacticians made very deliberate decisions about aircraft, flight altitudes, time of day, ordnance dropped, confidence in intelligence, and so forth. By expanding military necessity to encompass an extremely prudential reading of “force protection,” these choices were calculated to protect pilots and planes at the expense of civilians on the ground, departing from the just war tradition that combatants assume greater risks than civilians. While it is tempting to blame collateral damage on the fog of war, much of that uncertainty has been lifted by technology and precision law. Similarly, in Iraq and in Yugoslavia the focus was on “degrading” military capabilities, yet a loose view of dual use spelled the destruction of what were essentially social, economic, and political targets. Coalition and NATO officials were quick to apologize for accidental civilian casualties, but in hi-tech war most noncombatant suffering is by design.¶ Does the law of war reduce death and destruction? International law certainly has helped to delegitimize, and in rare cases effectively criminalize, direct attacks on civilians. But in general humanitarian law has mirrored wartime practice. On the ad bellum side, the erosion of right authority and just cause has eased the path toward war. Today, foreign offices rarely even bother with formal declara- tions of war. Under the United Nations system it is the responsibility of the Security Council to denounce illegal war, but for a number of reasons its mem- bers have been extremely reluctant to brand states as aggressors. If the law were less accommodating, greater effort might be devoted to diplomacy and war might be averted. On the in bello side the ban on direct civilian strikes remains intact, but double effect and military demands have been contrived to justify unnecessary civilian deaths. Dual use law has been stretched to sanction new forms of violence against civilians. Though not as spectacular as the obliteration bombing to which it so often is favorably compared, infrastructural war is far deadlier than the rhetoric of a “clean and legal” conflict suggests. It is true that rough estimates of the ratio of bomb tonnage to civilian deaths in air attacks show remarkable reductions in immediate collateral damage. There were some 40.83 deaths per ton in the bombing of Guernica in 1937 and 50.33 deaths per ton in the bombing of Tokyo in 1945. In the Kosovo campaign, by contrast, there were between .077 and .084 deaths per ton. In Iraq there were a mere .034 ~Thomas, 2001:169!. According to the classical definition of collateral damage, civilian protection has improved dramatically, but if one takes into account the staggering long-term effects of the war in Iraq, for example, aerial bombing looks anything but humane.¶ For aerial bombers themselves modern war does live up to its clean and legal image. While war and intervention have few steadfast constituents, the myth of immaculate warfare has eased fears that intervening soldiers may come to harm, which polls in the U.S., at least, rank as being of great public concern, and even greater military concern. A new survey of U.S. civilian and military attitudes found that soldiers were two to four times more casualty-averse than civilians thought they should be ~Feaver and Kohn, 2001!. By removing what is perhaps the greatest restraint on the use of force—the possibility of soldiers dying—law and technology have given rise to the novel moral hazards of a “postmodern, risk-free, painless war ~Woollacott, 1999!. “We’ve come to expect the immacu- late,” notes Martin Cook, who teaches ethics at the U.S. Army War College in Carlisle, PA. “Precision-guided munitions make it very much easier to go to war than it ever has been historically.” Albert Pierce, director of the Center for the Study of Professional Military Ethics at the U.S. Naval Academy argues, “standoff precision weapons give you the option to lower costs and risks . . . but you might be tempted to do things that you might otherwise not do” ~Belsie, 1999!.¶ Conclusion¶ The utility of law to legitimize modern warfare should not be underestimated. Even in the midst of war, legal arguments retain an aura of legitimacy that is missing in “political” justifications. The aspirations of humanitarian law are sound. Rather, it is the instrumental use of law that has oiled the skids of hi-tech violence. Not only does the law defer to military necessity, even when very broadly defined, but more importantly it bestows on those same military demands all the moral and psychological trappings of legality. The result has been to legalize and thus to justify in the public mind “inhumane military methods and their consequences,” as violence against civilians is carried out “behind the protective veil of justice ~af Jochnick and Normand, 1994a:50!. Hi-tech states can defend hugely destructive, essentially unopposed, aerial bombardment by citing the authority of seemingly secular and universal legal standards. The growing gap between hi- and low-tech means may exacerbate inequalities in moral capital as well, as the sheer barbarism of “premodern” violence committed by ethnic cleansers or atavistic warlords makes the methods employed by hi-tech warriors seem all the more clean and legal by contrast.This fusion of law and technology is likely to propel future American interventions. Despite assurances that the campaign against terrorism would differ from past conflicts, the allied air war in Afghanistan, marked by record numbers of unmanned drones and bomber flights at up to 35,000 feet, or nearly 7 miles aloft, rarely strayed from the hi-tech and legalistic script. While the attack on the World Trade Center confirmed a thousand times over the illegality and inhu- manity of terrorism, the U.S. response has raised further issues of legality and inhumanity in conventional warfare. Civilian deaths in the campaign have been substantial because “military objects” have been targeted on the basis of extremely low-confidence intelligence. In several cases targets appear to have been chosen based on misinformation and even rank rumor. A liberal reading of dual use and the authorization of bombers to strike unvetted “targets of opportunity” also increased collateral damage. Although 10,000 of the 18,000 bombs, missiles, and other ordnance used in Afghanistan were precision-guided munitions, the war resulted in roughly 1000 to 4000 direct civilian deaths, and, according to the UNHCR, produced 900,000 new refugees and displaced persons. The Pentagon has nevertheless viewed the campaign as “a more antiseptic air war even than the one waged in Kosovo” ~Dao, 2001!. General Tommy Franks, who commanded the campaign, called it “the most accurate war ever fought in this nation’s history” ~Schmitt, 2002!.9¶ No fundamental change is in sight. Governments continue to justify collateral damage by citing the marvels of technology and the authority of international law. One does see a widening rift between governments and independent human rights and humanitarian relief groups over the interpretation of targeting and dual-use law. But these disputes have only underscored the ambiguities of human- itarian law. As long as interventionist states dominate the way that the rules of war are crafted and construed, hopes of rescuing law from politics will be dim indeed.

Vote neg to interrupt the legal discourse of the 1ac


Krasman 2012 - professor, Dr, Institute for Criminological Research, University of Hamburg (Susanne Krasmann, “Targeted Killing and Its Law: On a Mutually Constitutive Relationship,” Leiden Journal of International Law (2012), 25, pg. 67)
The legal debate on targeted killing, particularly that referring to the US practice, has increased immensely during the last decade and even more so very recently, obviously due to a ‘compulsion of legality’.87 Once this state practice of resorting to the use of lethal force has been recognized as systematically taking place, it needs to be dealt with in legal terms. Whether this is done in supportive or critical terms, the assertion of targeted killing as a legal practice commences at this point. This is due to the fact that the law, once invoked, launches its own claims. To insist on disclosing ‘the full legal basis for targeted killings’; on criteria, legal procedures, and ‘access to reliable information’ in order to render governmental action controllable; or on legal principles to be applied in order to estimate the necessity and proportionality of a concrete intervention at stake,88 not only involves accepting targeted killing as a legitimate subject of debate in the first place. It requires distinctions to be made between, for example, a legitimate and an illegitimate target. It invokes the production of knowledge and the establishment of pertinent rules. Indeterminate categories are to be determined and thus established as a new reading of positive law. The introduction of international human rights standards into the debate, for example, clearly allows limits to be set in employing the pre-emptive tactic. As Wouter Werner has shown with regard to the Israeli High Court of Justice’s decision on the legality of targeted killing operations,89 this may well lead, for example, to recognizing the enemy as being not ‘outlaws’ but, instead, combatants who are to be granted basic human rights. Subsequently, procedural rules may be established that restrict the practice and provide criteria for assessing the legality of concrete operations.90 At the same time, however, targeted killing is recognized as a legitimate tactic in the fight against terrorism and is being determined and implemented legally.91 When framed within the ‘theatre of war’, targeted killing categorically seems to be justifiable under the legal principles of necessity, proportionality, discrimination, and the avoidance of unnecessary suffering. This is true as long as one presupposes in general terms, as the juridical discourse usually does, both a well-considered proceeding along those principles92 and, accordingly, that targeted killing, by its very nature, is a ‘calculated, precise use of lethal force’.93 Procedural rules, like the ‘proportionality test’, that are essentially concerned with determination, namely with specifying criteria of intervention for the concrete case or constellation, certainly provide reliability by systematically inciting and provoking justifications. Their application therefore, we may say, contributes to clarifying a controversial norm- ative interpretation, but it will never predict or determine how deliberation and justification translate into operational action. The application of procedural rules does not only notoriously remain ‘indeterminate’,94 but also produces its own truth effects. The question of proportionality, for example, is intrinsically a relational one. The damage that targeting causes is to be related to the anticipated military advantage and to the expected casualties of non-targeted operations. Even if there are ‘substantial grounds to believe’ that such an operation will ‘encounter significant armed resistance’,95 this is a presumption that, above all, entails a virtual dimension: the alternate option will never be realized. According to a Foucauldian perspective, decisions always articulate within an epistemic regime and thus ‘eventualize’ on the political stage.96 There is, in this sense, no mere decision and no mere meaning; and, conversely, there is no content of a norm, and no norm, independent of its enforcement.97 To relate this observation to our problem at hand means that, rather than the legal principles’ guiding a decision, it is the decision on how to proceed that constitutes the meaning of the legal principle in question. The legal reasoning, in turn, produces a normative reality of its own, as we are now able to imagine, comprehend, and assess a procedure and couch it in legal terms. This is also noticeable in the case of the Osama bin Laden killing. As regards the initial strategy of justification, the question of resistance typically is difficult to establish ex post in legal terms. Such situations are fraught with so many possible instances of ambiguous behaviour and risk, and the identification of actual behav- iour as probably dangerous and suspicious may change the whole outcome of the event.98 But, once the public found itself with little alternative but to assume that the prospect of capturing the subject formed part of the initial order, it also had to assume that the intention was to use lethal force as a last resort. And, once the public accepts the general presumption that the United States is at war with the terrorist organization, legal reasoning about the operation itself follows and constitutes a rationale shaping the perception of similar future actions and the exercise of governmental force in general.99 Part of this rationale is the assumption, as the president immediately pointed out in his speech, that the threat of al Qaeda has not been extinguished with bin Laden. The identification of a threat that emanates from a network may give rise to the question of whether the killing of one particular target, forming part of a Hydra, makes any sense at all.100 Yet, it equally nourishes the idea that the fight against terrorism, precisely because of its elusiveness, is an enduring one, which is exactly the position the United States takes while considering itself in an armed conflict with the terrorist organization. Targeting and destroying parts of a network, then, do not destroy the entire network, but rather verify that it exists and is at work. The target, in this sense, is constituted by being targeted.101 Within the rationale of the security dispositif, there continue to be threats and new targets. Hence, at work is a transformation of laws through practice, rather than their amendment. Giorgio Agamben maintains that a legal norm, because abstract, does not stipulate its application.102 ‘Just as between language and world . . . there is no internal nexus’ between them. The norm, in this sense, exists independent of ‘reality’. This, according to Agamben, allows for the norm in the ‘state of exception’ both to be applied with the effect of ‘ceasing to apply’103 – ‘the rule, suspending itself, gives rise to the exception’104 – and to be suspended without being abolished. Although forming part of and, in fact, being the effect of applying the law, the state of exception, in Agamben’s view, disconnects from the norm. Within a perspective on law as practice, by contrast, there is no such difference between norm and reality. Even to ignore a pertinent norm constitutes an act that has a meaning, namely that the norm is not being enforced. It affects the norm. Targeted killing operations, in this sense, can never be extra-legal.105 On the contrary, provided that illegal practices come up systematically, they eventually will effectuate the transformation of the law. Equally, the exception from the norm not only suspends the norm, transforming it, momentarily or permanently, into a mere symbol without meaning and force, but at the same time also impinges upon the validity of that norm. Moreover, focus on the exception within the present context falls short of capturing a rather gradual transitional process that both resists a binary deciphering of either legal or illegal and is not a matter of suspending a norm. As practices deploying particular forms of knowledge, targeted killing and its law mutually constitute each other, thus re-enforcing a new security dispositif. The appropriate research question therefore is how positive law changes its framework of reference. Targeted killing, once perceived as illegal, now appears to be a legal practice on the grounds of a new understanding of international law’s own elementary concepts. The crux of the ‘compulsion of legality’ is that legality itself is a shifting reference. Seen this way, the United States does not establish targeted killing as a legal practice on the grounds of its internationally ‘possessing’ exceptional power. Rather the reverse; it is able to employ targeted killing as a military tactic, precisely because this is accepted by the legal discourse. As a practice, targeted killing, in turn, reshapes our understanding of basic concepts of international law. Any dissenting voice will now be heard with more difficulty, since targeted killing is a no longer an isolated practice but, within the now establishing security dispositif, appears to be appropriate and rational. To counter the legal discourse, then, would require to interrupt it, rather than to respond to it, and to move on to its political implications that are rather tacitly involved in the talk about threats and security, and in the dispute about targeted killing operations’ legality.

Reject their framework for solving the problem of indefinite detention in favor of investing in a more expansive definition of political community —legal accountability will fail without an interrogation of what life can be excluded from definitions of legally human


Butler 4—not Judy

(Judith, Precarious Life pg 86-92, dml)


So, these prisoners, who are not prisoners, will be tried, if they will be tried, according to rules that are not those of a constitutionally defined US law nor of any recognizable international code. Under the Geneva Convention, the prisoners would be entitled to trials under the same procedures as US soldiers, through court martial or civilian courts, and not through military tribunals as the Bush administration has proposed. The current regulations for military tribunals provide for the death penalty if all members of the tribunal agree to it. The President, however, will be able to decide on that punishment unilaterally in the course of the final stage of deliberations in which an executive judgment is made and closes the case. Is there a timeframe set forth in which this particular judicial operation will cease to be? In response to a reporter who asked whether the government was not creating procedures that would be in place indefinitely, "as an ongoing additional judicial system created by the executive branch," General Counsel Haynes pointed out that the "the rules [for the tribunals] ... do not have a sunset provision in them ... I'd only observe that the war, we think, will last for a while." One might conclude with a strong argument that government policy ought to follow established law. And in a way, that is part of what I am calling for. But there is also a problem with the law, since it leaves open the possibility of its own retraction, and, in the case of the Geneva Convention, extends "universal" rights only to those imprisoned combatants who belong to "recognizable" nation-states, but not to all people. Recognizable nation-states are those that are already signatories to the convention itself. This means that stateless peoples or those who belong to states that are emergent or "rogue" or generally unrecognized lack all protections. The Geneva Convention is, in part, a civilizational discourse, and it nowhere asserts an entitlement to protection against degradation and violence and rights to a fair trial as universal rights. Other international covenants surely do, and many human rights organizations have argued that the Geneva Convention can and ought to be read to apply universally. The International Committee of the Red Cross made this point publicly (February 8, 2002). Kenneth Roth, Director of Human Rights Watch, has argued strongly that such rights do pertain to the Guantanamo Prisoners (January 28, 2002), and the Amnesty International Memorandum to the US Government (April 15, 2002), makes clear that fifty years of international law has built up the assumption of universality, codified clearly in Article 9(4) of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, ratified by the US in 1992. Similar statements have been made by the International Commission on Jurists (February 7, 2002) and the Organization for American States human rights panel made the same claim (March 13, 2002), seconded by the Center for Constitutional Rights (June ro, 2002). Exclusive recourse to the Geneva Convention, itself drafted in 1949, as the document for guidance in this area is thus in itself problematic. The notion of "universality" embedded in that document is restrictive in its reach: it counts as subjects worthy of protection only those who belong already to nation-states recognizable within its terms. In this way, then, the Geneva Convention is in the business of establishing and applying a selective criterion to the question of who merits protection under its provisions, and who does not. The Geneva Convention assumes that certain prisoners may not be protected by its statute. By clearly privileging those prisoners from wars between recognizable states, it leaves the stateless unprotected, and it leaves those from nonrecognized polities without recourse to its entitlements. Indeed, to the extent that the Geneva Convention gives grounds for a distinction between legal and illegal combatants, it distinguishes between legitimate and illegitimate violence. Legitimate violence is waged by recognizable states or "countries," as Rumsfeld puts it, and illegitimate violence is precisely that which is committed by those who are landless, stateless, or whose states are deemed not worth recognizing by those who are already recognized. In the present climate, we see the intensification of this formulation as various forms of political violence are called "terrorism," not because there are valences of violence that might be distinguished from one another, but as a way of characterizing violence waged by, or in the name of, authorities deemed illegitimate by established states. As a result, we have the sweeping dismissal of the Palestinian Intifada as "terrorism" by Ariel Sharon, whose use of state violence to destroy homes and lives is surely extreme. The use of the term, "terrorism," thus works to delegitimate certain forms of violence committed by non-state-centered political entities at the same time that it sanctions a violent response by established states. Obviously, this has been a tactic for a long time as colonial states have sought to manage and contain the Palestinians and the Irish Catholics, and it was also a case made against the African National Congress in apartheid South Africa. The new form that this kind of argument is taking, and the naturalized status it assumes, however, will only intensify the enormously damaging consequences for the struggle for Palestinian self-determination. Israel takes advantage of this formulation by holding itself accountable to no law at the very same time that it understands itself as engaged in legitimate self-defense by virtue of the status of its actions as state violence. In this sense, the framework for conceptualizing global violence is such that "terrorism" becomes the name to describe the violence of the illegitimate, whereas legal war becomes the prerogative of those who can assume international recognition as legitimate states. The fact that these prisoners are seen as pure vessels of violence, as Rumsfeld claimed, suggests that they do not become violent for the same kinds of reason that other politicized beings do, that their violence is somehow constitutive, groundless, and infinite, if not innate. If this violence is terrorism rather than violence, it is conceived as an action with no political goal, or cannot be read politically. It emerges, as they say, from fanatics, extremists, who do not espouse a point of view, but rather exist outside of "reason," and do not have a part in the human community. That it is Islamic extremism or terrorism simply means that the dehumanization that Orientalism already performs is heightened to an extreme, so that the uniqueness and exceptionalism of this kind of war makes it exempt from the presumptions and protections of universality and civilization. When the very human status of those who are imprisoned is called into question, it is a sign that we have made use of a certain parochial frame for understanding the human, and failed to expand our conception of human rights to include those whose values may well test the limits of our own. The figure of Islamic extremism is a very reductive one at this point in time, betraying an extreme ignorance about the various social and political forms that Islam takes, the tensions, for instance, between Sunni and Shiite Muslims, as well as the wide range of religious practices that have few, if any, political implications such as the da'wa practices of the mosque movement, or whose political implications are pacifist. If we assume that everyone who is human goes to war like us, and that this is part of what makes them recognizably human, or that the violence we commit is violence that falls within the realm of the recognizably human, but the violence that others commit is unrecognizable as human activity, then we make use of a limited and limiting cultural frame to understand what it is to be human. This is no reason to dismiss the term "human," but only a reason to ask how it works, what it forecloses, and what it sometimes opens up. To be human implies many things, one of which is that we are the kinds of beings who must live in a world where clashes of value do and will occur, and that these clashes are a sign of what a human community is. How we handle those conflicts will also be a sign of our humanness, one that is, importantly, in the making. Whether or not we continue to enforce a universal conception of human rights at moments of outrage and incomprehension, precisely when we think that others have taken themselves out of the human community as we know it, is a test of our very humanity. We make a mistake, therefore, if we take a single definition of the human, or a single model of rationality, to be the defining feature of the human, and then extrapolate from that established understanding of the human to all of its various cultural forms. That direction will lead us to wonder whether some humans who do not exemplify reason and violence in the way defined by our definition are still human, or whether they are "exceptional" (Haynes) or "unique" (Hastert), or "really bad people" (Cheney) presenting us with a limit case of the human, one in relation to which we have so far failed. To come up against what functions, for some, as a limit case of the human is a challenge to rethink the human. And the task to rethink the human is part of the democratic trajectory of an evolving human rights jurisprudence. It should not be surprising to find that there are racial and ethnic frames by which the recognizably human is currently constituted. One critical operation of any democratic culture is to contest these frames, to allow a set of dissonant and overlapping frames to come into view, to take up the challenges of cultural translation, especially those that emerge when we find ourselves living in proximity with those whose beliefs and values challenge our own at very fundamental levels. More crucially, it is not that "we" have a common idea of what is human, for Americans are constituted by many traditions, including Islam in various forms, so any radically democratic self-understanding will have to come to terms with the heterogeneity of human values. This is not a relativism that undermines universal claims; it is the condition by which a concrete and expansive conception of the human will be articulated, the way in which parochial and implicitly racially and religiously bound conceptions of human will be made to yield to a wider conception of how we consider who we are as a global community. We do not yet understand all these ways, and in this sense human rights law has yet to understand the full meaning of the human. It is, we might say, an ongoing task of human rights to reconceive the human when it finds that its putative universality does not have universal reach. The question of who will be treated humanely presupposes that we have first settled the question of who does and does not count as a human. And this is where the debate about Western civilization and Islam is not merely or only an academic debate, a misbegotten pursuit of Orientalism by the likes of Bernard Lewis and Samuel Huntington who regularly produce monolithic accounts of the "East," contrasting the values of Islam with the values of Western "civilization." In this sense, "civilization" is a term that works against an expansive conception of the human, one that has no place in an internationalism that takes the universality of rights seriously. The term and the practice of "civilization" work to produce the human differentially by offering a culturally limited norm for what the human is supposed to be. It is not just that some humans are treated as humans, and others are dehumanized; it is rather that dehumanization becomes the condition for the production of the human to the extent that a "Western" civilization defines itself over and against a population understood as, by definition, illegitimate, if not dubiously human. A spurious notion of civilization provides the measure by which the human is defined at the same time that a field of would-be humans, the spectrally human, the deconstituted, are maintained and detained, made to live and die within that extra-human and extrajuridical sphere of life. It is not just the inhumane treatment of the Guantanamo prisoners that attests to this field of beings apprehended, politically, as unworthy of basic human entitlements. It is also found in some of the legal frameworks through which we might seek accountability for such inhuman treatment, such that the brutality is continued-revised and displaced-in, for instance, the extra-legal procedural antidote to the crime. We see the operation of a capricious proceduralism outside of law, and the production of the prison as a site for the intensification of managerial tactics untethered to law, and bearing no relation to trial, to punishment, or to the rights of prisoners. We see, in fact, an effort to produce a secondary judicial system and a sphere of non-legal detention that effectively produces the prison itself as an extra-legal sphere maintained by the extrajudicial power of the state. This new configuration of power requires a new theoretical framework or, at least, a revision of the models for thinking power that we already have at our disposal. The fact of extra-legal power is not new, but the mechanism by which it achieves its goals under present circumstances is singular. Indeed, it may be that this singularity consists in the way the "present circumstance" is transformed into a reality indefinitely extended into the future, controlling not only the lives of prisoners and the fate of constitutional and international law, but also the very ways in which the future may or may not be thought.
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