In our era, the idea is widespread that the world can be an orderly whole, in which states adhere to clear and indispensable rules and principles that apply equally to all. In other words, it is believed that a legal order similar to that which exists within a state can be established in international relations and in conflicts between states, and that there can be a judicial path to determine who is right and who is wrong, punishing those who break the rules (through international tribunals).

Within a state, there is a recognized authority that enacts precise laws and to which citizens are subject: so is it truly possible to establish such an order at the international level, where these prerequisites do not exist?
Let’s try to answer this question.

Let’s examine one of the fundamental principles: no state may attack another state. Consider a commonly discussed case around the world (in the West, at least): in the conflict in Ukraine, Russia is the aggressor, Ukraine is the victim, and therefore, in order to preserve not only Ukraine but the global order, one must fight alongside Ukraine against Russia—it seems self-evident.

But in fact, it is not so self-evident, especially if not only Russia but also the majority of the world (China, India, and many other countries) do not at all share this interpretation of the facts.

Let’s try applying this principle to other historical events. By such a standard, Italy’s wars of independence would have been acts of aggression against Austria—just like the Expedition of the Thousand, ambiguously supported by Cavour. Yet we Italians glorify those events, view them as just, and speak of the Risorgimento, because they aligned with the principle of the nation-state: every nation has the right to its own state, that is, to freedom. Of course, this principle was not universally accepted—indeed, most Italians at the time did not support it, and it was mainly popular among the educated bourgeoisie.

Now consider the outbreak of World War II. Germany’s invasions of Czechoslovakia and then Poland were also justified by the principle of nationality, as Germany aimed to annex (liberate) lands mostly populated by Germans (the Sudetenland, Danzig, and the German Baltic). Formally, it was France and the UK that declared war on Germany. In this case, however, we believe that annexing (liberating) those German-speaking lands was merely a pretext for expansion, subjugation of other peoples, and seizure of what was called Lebensraum, with the ultimate goal of German domination over all of Europe. This interpretation seems well-founded: Germany was entirely in the wrong, the Allies entirely in the right.

Thus, a political criterion was adopted, opposite to that of our Risorgimento.

If we consider later events, we find similar political processes.
The USSR intervened in Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia claiming to defend the communist revolution against capitalist plots. The U.S. intervened in Korea, Vietnam, Cuba, and many other places claiming to fight for freedom against the communist threat. After 9/11, the invasions of Afghanistan, Iraq, and other interventions in the Middle East were justified as defenses against Islamic extremism.

All this shows how the legal fact of intervening in a sovereign state or its internal conflicts is always justified by a political vision, which one may or may not share depending on one’s beliefs. The logical consequence is that political facts cannot be judged according to legal principles (such as the principle of non-aggression). In other words, politics operates based on political—not legal—considerations: these are two entirely different realms. The political level is tied to interpretations that derive from ideological principles that vary across time and space and are not universally accepted (such as the principle of nationality, the fight against communism or capitalism, or the threat of religious fanaticism), whereas the legal level relies on principles that are universal and objective.

Returning to the example of Ukraine, it is certainly true from a legal standpoint that Russia invaded Ukraine. But this can be politically interpreted as an action to liberate Russian-speaking compatriots already in revolt and/or to counter NATO’s presence in Ukraine, perceived as a threat to Russia’s survival. Judging these motivations is not a legal matter, but a political one, shaped by differing and conflicting ideologies.

A similar argument applies to international tribunals, about which I remain very skeptical.
Take, for instance, the striking case of Al-Masri, extradited to Libya by Italian authorities.
It’s one thing if someone is a bank robber or a wife-killer: no problem there.
But Al-Masri is accused of running a horrific prison where atrocities occurred—which is likely true. However, consider that virtually all prisons in the Middle East, Africa, and much of the Global South are like that: why not arrest all their wardens then? Think of the sexual violence in Iranian prisons, what happened to Regeni in Egypt, or the massacres in Syria.

And why arrest only Al-Masri and not the rulers in Tripoli?
We also don’t know if his successor would be better or worse.
It’s true these trials damage the accused’s reputation—but not in their own countries or cultures. In fact, such trials may even enhance their prestige as heroes resisting the “evil Western colonialists.”
Indeed, Al-Masri was welcomed back as a hero. But a hero of what? Perhaps for scaring the West?

But beyond the obvious practical difficulties, can we really believe that arresting Putin, Netanyahu, or Al-Masri would change the war in Ukraine, the tragedies in the Middle East, or the fate of migrants? They would simply be replaced by others doing much the same—just as has happened with Hamas leaders.

Israelis have methodically assassinated all Hamas leaders, starting with their first, a blind imam, yet Hamas has not changed. Even had Rabin not been killed, the two-state solution likely would not have happened due to the rise of religious fanaticism—both Islamic and Jewish.
Historical problems cannot be solved by eliminating those who lead them.

It is also essential to remember that the law does not consider consequences: it simply applies the rules. Politics, by contrast, is driven precisely by consideration of consequences.
What consequences would Al-Masri’s arrest have had in our example?
Would peace be more easily achieved by arresting Putin or Netanyahu? Certainly not.

Moreover, why do we in the West claim the right to impose our principles on countries that do not accept them?
Can we seriously believe that some appointed judges are capable of truly judging historical events?

In conclusion, I would say that the impossibility of having an international judicial system modeled after the national one is not due to a lack of political will, but to objective reasons.

First and foremost, there is no authority above sovereign states able to enforce such a system: even international bodies (chief among them the UN) are made up of sovereign states, and decisions are taken by majority vote according to political alignments, rather than based on clear legal codes (which are hard to apply even for judges).

Most importantly, principles—and even more so, the interpretation of facts—can vary greatly due to deep cultural differences. Take the Palestinian issue: for Jewish fundamentalists, Palestine was given to the Jews by God; for Islamic fundamentalists, it was given to Muslims. The rest of the world sides with one or the other based on various motivations: anti-colonialism, defense of democracy, or other, sometimes strange, reasons. Everything depends on one’s cultural background.

Can we really believe that such a complex issue can be resolved through legal technicalities?
Moreover, considering that the great civilizations of history were born through the expansion of a political entity that conquered others, can we truly be certain that aggression against another state is always a bad thing?