Reflections on the Dissenting Opinion of Judge Sebutinde in South Africa v. Israel

Julia Sebutinde, Judge and Vice-President of the International Court of Justice

Judge Sebutinde’s dissenting opinion in South Africa v. Israel (1) offers a careful and rigorous examination, particularly in its treatment of the legal dimensions of the conflict. With the utmost respect, however, certain aspects of the reasoning warrant closer consideration. Specifically, the opinion’s discussion of the historical background appears to understate the complexity of the balance of power between Israel and Palestine and to overlook the role of international cooperation and accountability. Judge Julia Sebutinde, a Ugandan jurist, has served on the International Court of Justice (ICJ) since March 2012 and is currently in her second term. She holds the distinction of being the first African woman appointed to the Court, which is based in The Hague. In February 2024, she was elected Vice-President of the ICJ. Judge Sebutinde is amongst the members of the Court adjudicating the proceedings instituted by South Africa against Israel under the Genocide Convention. These same judges deliberated upon the request for provisional measures aimed at protecting Palestinians in Gaza in January 2024. Earlier, in January 2024, the International Court of Justice (the Court) issued a near-unanimous Order (2) in South Africa v. Israel, indicating provisional measures under the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948). After hearing oral submissions from both South Africa and Israel on 11 and 12 January 2024, respectively, the Court determined that it had prima facie jurisdiction over the dispute and ordered six provisional measures. These included: that Israel take all measures within its power to prevent the commission of acts prohibited under Article II(a)–(d) of the Convention; that it ensure its military refrains, with immediate effect, from committing such acts; that it adopt effective measures to prevent the destruction of, and ensure the preservation of, evidence relating to allegations of genocide; and that it report to the Court within one month on steps taken to comply with the Order. Judge Sebutinde came to particular prominence for being the sole dissenting voice in that decision. While fifteen of the seventeen judges voted in favour of all six provisional measures, and the Israeli judge supported two of them, Judge Sebutinde voted against the entirety of the measures proposed. In this commentary, I seek to examine the dissenting opinion delivered by Judge Julia Sebutinde in relation to the request for the indication of provisional measures filed by South Africa against Israel under the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, with respect to the situation in the Gaza Strip. More than a year has now passed since the Court issued its Order on 26 January 2024, yet Judge Sebutinde has consistently maintained the position she set out in her dissent. Although representing a minority view, her opinion carries particular weight and remains of significant relevance for reflecting upon and assessing the ongoing developments. For this reason, her dissent provides a useful point of departure for the present analysis and for articulating certain personal considerations on this complex issue. This text cannot, of course, be regarded as an exhaustive treatment of the matter; rather, it represents an attempt to record some reflections, to clarify the tragedy before us to the best of my understanding, and to contribute to a critical discussion of the Court’s role. I have long valued dissenting opinions for the intellectual rigour they often provide and for the way they illuminate alternative perspectives. Reading and reflecting upon them can be both refreshing and challenging. Nevertheless, while I respect the right and responsibility of judges to articulate dissent, I found Judge Sebutinde’s reasoning deeply flawed in its philosophical underpinnings, and I believe it is important to articulate why. My hope is not merely to set out disagreement, but to encourage critical engagement with these issues. The stakes—both legal and human—are too high for silence or indifference. It is in this spirit that I offer these thoughts, as food for reflection, dialogue, and continued examination. Let us begin at the very foundation: why are there not two States? In principle, the United Nations Partition Plan for Palestine, adopted in 1947 through General Assembly Resolution 181 (3), envisaged precisely such an outcome. The plan provided for the creation of two independent states: a Jewish state on approximately 55 per cent of the territory of the British Mandate of Palestine, and an Arab-Palestinian state on roughly 45 per cent. Jerusalem and Bethlehem, given their religious significance, were to be placed under a special international regime administered by the United Nations. The Jewish leadership accepted the partition plan and, on 14 May 1948, proclaimed the establishment of the State of Israel. International recognition followed immediately, beginning with the United States and the Soviet Union, which conferred legitimacy upon Israel regardless of the opposition of neighbouring Arab states. By contrast, the Arab and Palestinian leadership rejected the partition plan, arguing that it was inequitable in allocating a disproportionate share of territory to the Jewish population, which at the time constituted a minority. Consequently, no Palestinian state was proclaimed, and the chosen response was one of resistance and armed conflict.

From a historical perspective, proclaiming a Palestinian state in 1947–48 would probably have been advantageous for the Palestinians, at least from a political and legal standpoint. However, this did not happen, and several factors help explain why. The Palestinian and Arab leadership rejected the UN partition plan (4), which they regarded as unjust (5). At the time, the Jewish population made up about a third of the inhabitants, yet the plan granted more than half of the territory to Israel. Accepting such a division was seen as legitimising the creation of the Jewish state, something they were unwilling to do (6). Alongside this rejection, there was also a belief that armed struggle would be more effective. Many leaders thought that war, supported by the neighbouring Arab armies, could prevent Israel’s birth altogether or at least drastically reduce its borders. Furthermore, Palestinian politics lacked cohesion. Rivalries amongst families and factions weakened any united front, while neighbouring Arab governments often made decisions that overrode local interests. Had the Palestinians declared their own state, the outcome might have been very different. They would have secured an international legal foundation, with the United Nations recognising a State of Palestine alongside Israel. This recognition would have allowed them to claim the territory assigned by the partition plan with greater legitimacy, even if conflict had still followed. After 1948, when Israel prevailed militarily and expanded its control over more land, it would have been far harder to deny the legitimacy of a Palestinian state that had already been proclaimed. In reality, after the 1948 war, the territories assigned to the Palestinian state did not come under Palestinian authority but were instead controlled by Egypt in Gaza and by Jordan in the West Bank (7). As a result, the Palestinians remained without a state of their own, a condition that continues to this day. With hindsight, declaring a Palestinian state immediately would have given them a stronger political and diplomatic position. At the time, however, the logic of rejection and war prevailed, encouraged and supported by the surrounding Arab governments. Both sides, in fact, underestimated the impact of partition and the war that followed. The Zionist movement certainly aimed to establish a Jewish state, but many Israelis did not expect to win the 1948 war so quickly or to expand their borders beyond those assigned by the United Nations (8). Determination, effective military organisation, and the influx of immigrants during and after the Second World War enabled Israel to consolidate a strong state in a very short time. The Palestinians, on the other hand, believed that resistance—backed by neighbouring Arab armies—would put them in a better negotiating position, but they did not anticipate losing most of the assigned territory and being forced into diaspora. Political and military fragmentation, combined with underestimating the organisational and military capacity of the Jewish forces, led to a historic defeat with long-lasting consequences. From the very outset, the disparity in power and institutional organisation between the parties to the conflict was marked and decisive. The Zionist movement and the Jewish community in Mandatory Palestine had developed a comparatively advanced political and military infrastructure (9). Paramilitary organisations such as the Haganah, Irgun, and Lehi operated with significant effectiveness and were capable of coordinating military and political strategy on a broad scale (10). This internal cohesion was complemented by considerable international support, both political and financial, which intensified in the aftermath of the Second World War and the Holocaust. Such conditions facilitated the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 and enabled it to meet the classical criteria for statehood, as set out in Article 1 of the Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States (1933): a defined territory, a permanent population, an effective government, and the capacity to enter into relations with other states. The subsequent recognition of Israel by major powers such as the United States and the Soviet Union confirmed its entry into the international legal order as a sovereign state. By contrast, the Palestinians faced structural disadvantages that impeded the realisation of their right to statehood and self-determination. Politically and militarily fragmented, they lacked a unified government or organised armed forces capable of exercising effective control over territory (11). Their capacity to assert sovereignty was further constrained by the influence of external actors, including the United Nations and the former colonial powers, whose decisions frequently operated to Israel’s benefit. The failure of Arab states to coordinate a coherent strategy for Palestinian statehood further weakened their position. The consequences of this asymmetry were profound. During the 1948 conflict, the Palestinian population experienced mass displacement and the widespread loss of land—events collectively referred to as the Nakba (12). This exodus produced one of the largest and most protracted refugee crises of the twentieth century, raising enduring questions in international law concerning the rights of refugees and displaced persons, including the right of return, as articulated in UN General Assembly Resolution 194 (III) of 1948. In the decades that followed, the absence of a Palestinian state apparatus, coupled with continued occupation and settlement expansion (13), severely undermined the effective realisation of the Palestinian people’s right to self-determination. This right, described by the International Court of Justice as an “erga omnes” obligation in its Advisory Opinion on Namibia (1971) and reaffirmed in the Advisory Opinion on the Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (2004), has remained central to the international legal debate over Palestine’s status. Thus, while Israel successfully invoked the framework of international law to consolidate sovereignty and achieve recognition, the Palestinians were effectively relegated to a legal and political framework constructed by external powers, with only limited means to safeguard their interests. The structural imbalance between the parties not only shaped the initial outcome of the 1948 war but also continues to define the legal discourse surrounding occupation, statehood, and self-determination in the region today. In my assessment, this consideration directly challenges the reasoning advanced by Judge Sebutinde. In her dissent, she appeared to dismiss the historically evident imbalance of power between Israel and the Palestinians, to diminish the legitimacy of the Palestinian people’s aspirations to self-determination, and to frame the proceedings as merely the product of the failure, reluctance, or inability of States to resolve a political controversy (14). Yet her analysis did not identify which States allegedly bore responsibility for such inaction, nor did it explain how this political failure could negate the jurisdiction of the Court or the applicability of the Genocide Convention. More strikingly, Judge Sebutinde portrayed the application submitted by South Africa as little more than an artificial attempt to force the dispute into the context of the Genocide Convention, describing the effort metaphorically as “Cinderella’s glass slipper” (15). Such language raises concerns regarding the standards of judicial reasoning expected of a member of the principal judicial organ of the United Nations. It suggests a superficial engagement with the gravity of the allegations and a reluctance to situate the case within the broader framework of international law. The International Court of Justice has consistently held that even disputes with strong political dimensions do not deprive the Court of its judicial function (16). As the Court noted in Nicaragua v. United States, the presence of political aspects does not absolve the Court of the duty to decide cases “by applying principles and rules of international law (17).” Furthermore, Judge Sebutinde contended that the rejection of the 1947 Partition Plan by certain Arab leaders, together with the outbreak of hostilities in 1948, thwarted the attainment of the purportedly laudable objective of establishing two States for two peoples. This reasoning, however, overlooks the substantive terms of the Partition Plan itself, which was formulated by the prevailing international powers of the time without genuine negotiation or agreement between the two peoples concerned, and which, from its inception, structurally favoured the establishment of Israel. Judicial integrity requires that judges engage fully with the legal claims and evidentiary record before them, regardless of the political sensitivities involved. By characterising the proceedings in dismissive terms, Judge Sebutinde risked undermining the appearance of impartiality and the Court’s broader role in upholding the rule of law in international relations. Israel today enjoys substantial support from Western powers; however, it is notable that amongst its most vocal supporters in certain Western countries are far-right political movements. These are, in many instances, the very ideological descendants of those who, only a century ago, propagated the antisemitic doctrines that culminated in the genocide of European Jewry. This apparent paradox—namely, the alignment between the State of Israel and political actors historically associated with hostility towards Jewish communities (18)—has drawn considerable scholarly and political attention (19). The convergence of interests appears to rest on two principal factors. First, the persistence of Islamophobia as a unifying ideology has created a shared platform between Israel and segments of the European far-right. Second, the enduring sense of collective guilt in Europe for the Holocaust has often been transposed from responsibility towards Jewish citizens—who were the direct victims of persecution and genocide—to unconditional support for the State of Israel, notwithstanding the fact that the State of Israel did not exist at the time of the atrocities. From both a historical and legal standpoint, a profound irony emerges: the descendants of a people subjected to an unparalleled genocidal campaign now find themselves aligned, at least politically, with forces historically associated with the very ideologies that enabled or condoned such persecution. This contemporary alliance—often articulated through the rhetoric of combating “terrorism” or addressing an alleged “Arab threat”—does not merely distort historical accountability. It also raises significant ethical and legal concerns regarding the instrumentalisation of the Holocaust within present-day geopolitical discourse and decision-making. The question thus arises: why has the Holocaust been accorded such singular prominence in global legal and moral consciousness? As Aimé Césaire has observed, what Europe has historically found intolerable in Hitler’s crimes was not merely the crime against humanity in itself, nor the humiliation of human beings as such, but rather that these atrocities were inflicted upon Europeans, or (using the pseudo-scientific racism of the time still prevalent in some discourse today) upon white men. In this view, Hitler’s atrocities represented the transposition to Europe of methods of domination and violence that had previously been deployed almost exclusively against colonised peoples (20)—such as the Arabs in Algeria, the subjects of British India, and the populations of sub-Saharan Africa. This interpretation must be situated within a broader legal-historical context. For nearly four centuries, Western powers pursued global expansion, constructing empires that extended inter-European rivalries to other continents. These ventures often involved systematic practices of conquest, enslavement, and exploitation, often leading to the destruction or subjugation of entire populations and the appropriation of entire territories. In many cases, these appropriations extended not only to the direct control of states but also to private commercial enterprises, with corporations and trading companies acquiring vast tracts of land and exercising quasi-sovereign powers over indigenous populations. These dynamics, rooted in imperial expansion and competition, ultimately contributed to the escalation of European tribal rivalries that culminated in two world wars fought on a planetary scale. These practices, though widely documented, were never subjected to a comparable legal reckoning within the framework of international law. By contrast, the Holocaust—though unquestionably a crime of unprecedented scale and gravity—was elevated to the status of the paradigmatic atrocity, shaping the subsequent development of international criminal law, including the prohibition of genocide and crimes against humanity. Against this background, the singular elevation of the Holocaust as the defining tragedy of modern human history—while the atrocities of colonialism and imperial domination remain comparatively under-acknowledged in legal and political discourse—appears, from the perspective of much of the Global South, deeply problematic. Further, the designation of Hamas as a “terrorist organisation” is, in my view, a partial and contextually incomplete characterisation of a movement that is perceived by many within the Gaza Strip as an armed resistance against occupation. This is not to excuse or minimise the abhorrent attacks in which Israeli civilians were brutally killed, violated, and assassinated, which must be unequivocally condemned. However, it remains the case that Hamas is regarded by a significant portion of the Palestinian population as a resistance movement confronting an entrenched oppressor. At the same time, Hamas’s founding charter explicitly declares as its primary objective the destruction of the State of Israel and the assertion of exclusive sovereignty over the entire territory of historic Palestine. Both parties to the conflict invoke their ideological and spiritual heritage as a justification for their claims to the land and, in some instances, for the exclusion or eradication of the other. In this respect, Hamas’s reliance on religious zeal is not altogether distinct from that of the State of Israel, which, notwithstanding its claim to be a democratic and secular state, was founded explicitly as a homeland and refuge for the Jewish people (21). Israel’s Declaration of Independence affirms that “the Land of Israel was the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here, their spiritual, religious and political identity was shaped.” The Israeli constitutional framework, particularly its Basic Law, further enshrines the principle that Israel is the nation-state of the Jewish people, within which the right to self-determination belongs exclusively to that people. While such provisions reflect the political reality since Israel’s establishment, they remain problematic—less because of what they affirm than because of what they omit, namely, a robust articulation of democratic principles and the guarantee of equality for all inhabitants. Hamas’s charter, for its part, does not aspire to liberal values either; it embodies a patriarchal and rigid vision of society, one far removed from democratic ideals, even if Israel presents itself as comparatively more liberal. That said, the indiscriminate killing of men, women, and children is both indecent and appalling. International humanitarian law, as codified in the Geneva Conventions of 1949 and their Additional Protocols, unequivocally requires the protection of civilians during armed conflict. The principle of proportionality prohibits attacks where the expected harm to civilians would be excessive in relation to the concrete and direct military advantage anticipated. It is precisely at this juncture that Israel’s invocation of the inherent right of self-defence under Article 51 of the UN Charter appears increasingly tenuous, given the scale of destruction and loss of civilian life in Gaza. The devastation inflicted cannot be reasonably ascribed to incidental casualties of a conventional war; rather, it reflects a level of violence that is grossly disproportionate and, in its scope, unspeakable. With regard to the statements of Israeli senior officials cited by South Africa as containing genocidal rhetoric, I respectfully disagree with Judge Sebutinde’s assertion that such remarks were not considered in their proper and full context. A careful examination indicates that South Africa neither misquoted nor fundamentally misunderstood these statements. Less than one year after the Court’s provisional measures, Israeli finance minister Bezalel Smotrich has openly described the Gaza Strip as a potential “real estate bonanza,” indicating ongoing discussions with the United States regarding the post-war division and redevelopment of the territory (22) —plans reminiscent of colonial appropriation and previously condemned by the international community. He declared in a public event: “We have completed the demolition phase. Now we need to build,” further claiming that “a business plan is on President Trump’s table.” In February 2025, U.S. President Donald Trump even suggested that the United States could assume “a long-term ownership position” over Gaza, presenting through an artificial intelligence–generated video a vision of transforming the territory into the “Riviera of the Middle East”—a project premised upon the mass displacement of Palestinians (23). Other Israeli ministers have openly advocated measures amounting to forcible transfer, in contravention of Article 49 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, including calls to encourage Palestinian emigration, cut off humanitarian aid, and pursue operations until Hamas is destroyed, irrespective of civilian suffering. Judge Sebutinde is correct in observing that the present case is complicated by the fact that Hamas, as one of the belligerents, is not a party to these proceedings. It may, therefore, appear unrealistic to impose legal constraints upon Israel while Hamas remains beyond the Court’s jurisdiction (24). However, this reasoning overlooks the inconsistent manner in which Hamas is framed: at times characterised as a terrorist organisation operating as a small guerrilla movement, and at other times treated as though it were a sovereign entity engaged in war with Israel. This dual framing serves to justify Israel’s extensive military campaign. When Hamas is described as state-like, Israel legitimises its conduct of war; when Hamas is reduced to a mere armed group, the massive civilian toll of Israeli operations is dismissed as collateral damage in the struggle against terrorism. This ambiguity, combined with the prevailing asymmetry of power, risks obscuring the underlying Palestinian struggle for self-determination. UN General Assembly Resolution 1514 (XV)—the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples—affirms that the denial of self-determination constitutes a violation of international law. Yet, the present trajectory points, at best, toward continued dispossession, and at worst, toward destruction as contemplated under Article II of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948). Israel today is no longer the fragile entity it was at its inception. It commands overwhelming military, political, and diplomatic power. What was uncertain in 1947—when many observers, including Palestinians themselves, believed the balance of power lay elsewhere—has since shifted decisively. Through political determination (25) and military force (26), Israel secured both statehood and territorial control, and its existence is now sustained as a fait accompli. From a jurisprudential perspective (27), this trajectory can be understood in two distinct but complementary registers. First, as Hans Kelsen observed, once a new legal order is effectively established and recognised, the Grundnorm (fundamental norm) adjusts to validate it, regardless of the irregularities of its origin (28). Effectiveness and consolidation are what ultimately confer legality. By this measure, Israel’s statehood, once disputed, is now an entrenched legal reality in the international order. By contrast, Carl Schmitt’s theory of the state of exception reveals another dimension: the birth of Israel was not primarily the result of a consensual legal process or a fully implemented partition plan, but rather a suspension of normative order in which sovereignty was asserted through force and subsequently normalised by international recognition. For Schmitt, the decisive act—the assertion of sovereignty in a moment of crisis—precedes and shapes legality itself (29). Together, these perspectives underscore the profound asymmetry at play. Kelsen’s positivism explains how Israel’s existence has been juridically consolidated, while Schmitt’s decisionism highlights how its foundation lay in forceful assertion beyond law. The Palestinian case, by contrast, exposes the limits of both frameworks: lacking effective control on the ground, Palestinians have been unable to generate the conditions for Kelsenian recognition, while the international community has not permitted a Schmittian “exception” in their favour. Thus, while international law affirms self-determination as an inalienable right, the historical formation of states—including Israel—demonstrates that law both reflects and legitimises power. The paradox remains that legality in international law often emerges ex post facto, codifying what force has already achieved. For the Palestinians, this gap between law’s promises and law’s practice continues to define their struggle. The pressing question, therefore, is whether any genuine hope for peaceful coexistence remains. Judge Sebutinde, while entitled to her dissent, might have adopted a more constructive approach by recognising the severe imbalance of power and, at the very least, affirming the Palestinians’ legitimate aspiration to statehood. Doing so would not only have strengthened the Court’s moral authority but also upheld the centrality of the right of peoples to self-determination, the principle of equality of states, and the absolute prohibition on genocide—foundational principles of international law. In this light, the dissent reflects not merely a divergence of legal opinion but a methodological stance at odds with the standards of judicial deliberation that safeguard the legitimacy of the Court itself. According to recent reports, Judge Julia Sebutinde has publicly acknowledged that her position was motivated by religious conviction. She is reported to have stated that she acted because she believed “the Lord” expected her “to stand on the side of Israel.” Judge Sebutinde further indicated that, in her view, current events in the Middle East signify the approach of the “End Times,” expressing her conviction that “time is running out” and that she wished to be “on the right side of history (30).” These statements, published by the Ugandan newspaper The Daily Monitor, have generated renewed concern within the international legal community. They raise fundamental questions regarding judicial impartiality, particularly the implications of a judge of the ICJ asserting a religious obligation to favour one party in contentious proceedings. Against this background, her conclusion—standing alone in opposition to nearly all of her colleagues—appears less the product of a principled application of law to fact than of an unwillingness to grapple with the complexities of the case. From the perspective of international judicial ethics, as reflected in the Bangalore Principles of Judicial Conduct, the duty of impartiality requires not only freedom from actual bias but also the avoidance of language or reasoning that could reasonably be perceived as trivialising the claims of one party (31). Since Israel today wields overwhelming military, political, and diplomatic power, and is recognized as a sovereign state, it is difficult to envisage circumstances under which it would voluntarily cede territory that it has conquered—particularly to a population it seeks to displace and which it views not as possessing an independent territorial claim, but as residing on land that Israel regards as inherently and exclusively its own. Nor is there any clear indication that, were the positions reversed, the Palestinians would have acted differently. The structural imbalance of power, entrenched over decades, makes a territorial compromise unlikely in the absence of exceptional political will. Moreover, in light of recent developments, particularly former U.S. President Trump’s address before the United Nations General Assembly in September 2025 (32), which openly questioned the efficacy and legitimacy of the United Nations system, and the parallel statements of Israeli leaders undermining the authority of the same institution (33), it appears that both the United States and Israel are moving toward a deliberate strategy of delegitimising the international framework itself. This is particularly significant given that Israel’s very existence as a sovereign state was grounded in, and legitimised by, the framework of international consensus forged under the auspices of the United Nations. Should this delegitimisation process continue, Israel may seek to position itself as entirely independent of that original framework, thereby severing its dependence on the foundational international consensus that once conferred its legitimacy. Such a trajectory suggests a course of action by both states, pursued through convergent as well as independent interests, that relies on self-serving tactics which defy established norms of international order while simultaneously being presented under the guise of moral or political righteousness. Only the most principled and forward-looking voices—on both sides, but especially within Israeli society, given its dominant position—can sustain the hope that peace, reconciliation, and coexistence might ultimately be given a genuine chance. In this respect, I concur with Judge Sebutinde’s conclusion that the dispute reflects the failure of political processes. Yet, with equal respect, I consider her reasoning to be flawed, partial, and misplaced, for it disregards the historical asymmetries, the deficiencies of the partition process, and the continuing denial of Palestinian self-determination, all of which are essential to a proper legal and moral assessment of the situation.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

1)        Dissenting opinion of Judge Sebutinde

https://www.icj-cij.org/sites/default/files/case-related/192/192-20240126-ord-01-02-en.pdf

2)        APPLICATION OF THE CONVENTION ON THE PREVENTION AND PUNISHMENT OF THE CRIME OF GENOCIDE IN THE GAZA STRIP (SOUTH AFRICA v. ISRAEL) REQUEST FOR THE INDICATION OF PROVISIONAL MEASURES ORDER OF 26 JANUARY 2024
https://www.icj-cij.org/sites/default/files/case-related/192/192-20240126-ord-01-00-en.pdf

3)        UN General Assembly, Resolution 181 (II), Future Government of Palestine, 29 November 1947, UN Doc. A/RES/181(II)
https://www.securitycouncilreport.org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27-4E9C-8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/A%20RES%20181%20(II).pdf

4)        UN GAOR, 2nd Sess., Ad Hoc Committee on the Palestinian Question, Official Records, UN Doc. A/AC.14/SR.21 (1947).

5)        United Nations, The Origins and Evolution of the Palestine Problem, 1917–1988 (Part II, UN publication, 1990)

6)        Benny Morris, 1948: A History of the First Arab-Israeli War (Yale University Press, 2008)

7)        UN General Assembly, UNCCP, First Progress Report, UN Doc. A/819, 22 April 1949

8)        David Ben-Gurion, War Diary 1948–49

9)        Anita Shapira, Israel: A History (Brandeis University Press, 2012)

10)   Simha Flapan, The Birth of Israel: Myths and Realities (Pantheon Books, 1987)

11)   Rashid Khalidi, Palestinian Identity: The Construction of Modern National Consciousness (Columbia University Press, 1997)

12)   Walid Khalidi (ed.), All That Remains: The Palestinian Villages Occupied and Depopulated by Israel in 1948 (Institute for Palestine Studies, 1992)

13)   Ilan Pappé, The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (Oneworld, 2006)

14)   Sebutinde (1) p. 37

15)   Ibid

16)   Application of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (Bosnia and Herzegovina v. Serbia and Montenegro), Judgment, ICJ Reports 2007, para 403

17)   Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States of America), Merits, ICJ Reports 1986, para 96

18)   https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2018/7/17/an-unlikely-union-israel-and-the-european-far-right

19)   Max Blumenthal, Goliath: Life and Loathing in Greater Israel (2013)

20)   Discourse on Colonialism, Aimé Césaire, Monthly Review Press 1972, pp. 14 – 15

21)   ISRAEL BASIC LAW, ARTICLE 1
https://main.knesset.gov.il/EN/activity/documents/BasicLawsPDF/BasicLawNationState.pdf

22)   Israeli minister touts Gaza 'real estate bonanza', defying international backlash
https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c5y59z6rznvo

23)   Trump proposes the US taking ownership of Gaza Strip
https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/clyk0r3kvxyo

24)   Sebutinde (1) p. 49

25)   Tom Segev – 1949: The First Israelis (Free Press, 1986) pp. 3–20, 95–110

26)   Walid Khalidi (ed.) – From Haven to Conquest: Readings in Zionism and the Palestine Problem until 1948 (Institute for Palestine Studies, 1971; reprint 2001)

27)   Norberto Bobbio, Il positivismo giuridico, Giappichelli (1979)

28)   Hans Kelsen — Pure Theory of Law (Max Knight translation, 2d revised & enlarged German edition, 1967), p. 279

29)   Carl Schmitt — Political Theology: Four Chapters on the Concept of Sovereignty

30)   Justice Sebutinde under fire for Israel-Gaza case remarks
https://www.monitor.co.ug/uganda/news/national/justice-sebutinde-under-fire-for-israel-gaza-case-remarks-5173288

31)   Bangalore Principles of Judicial Conduct (2002), endorsed by UN Economic and Social Council Resolution 2006/23, Principles 1–2

32)   President Trump Delivers Remarks to the United Nations General Assembly
https://www.youtube.com/live/fpD_GViQe_A?si=wvOReuhdIG_vIuba

33)   Israel vs the UN: A long history
https://www.lemonde.fr/en/international/article/2023/12/25/israel-vs-the-un-a-long-history_6374681_4.html