East West Street is an important read for those interested in international human rights law and traces the origins of the concepts of genocide and crimes against humanity in the lead-up to the Nuremberg Trials of 1945-6. Human rights barrister and author Philippe Sands invites his readers to reflect on the personal and human experiences that sit behind the one of the most formative moments in the development of international law.
A mixture of biography, memoir and history, East West Street tells the stories of four men: the author’s grandfather, Leon Buchholz, academics Hersch Lauterpacht and Rafael Lemkin, and Nazi lawyer and politician Hans Frank. In one sense, the narrative is a record of Sands’ inner monologue, relaying his findings, questions, and frustrations as he delves through archival and anecdotal material about his characters. His research paints pictures of these four men with meticulous detail, inviting his readers to imagine their thoughts and motivations, relationships and lived experiences. They were all linked in some way to the city of Lviv, now in Ukraine: this was Buchholz’s birthplace, and Lauterpacht and Lemkin both studied at its university. As for Hans Frank, his connection is of a different nature: as governor-general of Nazi-occupied Poland, Frank oversaw the ghettoisation and mass murder of the city’s Jewish population.
But Sands also tells another story. Weaved into the four biographies is a history of the concepts of genocide and crimes against humanity in the years leading up to the Nuremberg Trials, when prosecutors used those terms for the first time in court. A narrative builds up as we learn about the careers and ideas of Lauterpacht and Lemkin, two academics whose work contributed to the counts on which Nazi leaders were found guilty in 1946. Lauterpacht, a seminal figure in the development of human rights law, introduced the concept of a “crime against humanity” into modern lexicon. He used his skills and influence to convince the prosecution team at Nuremberg to insert it as a count against the accused. Lemkin offered a different perspective, arguing that the crime of persecuting individuals specifically because of their belonging to an identifiable group carried a different weight, and therefore constituted a different crime. From the Greek word “genos”, meaning race or family, he coined the word “genocide”.
Their differing perspectives on whether to consider the crimes of Nazi leaders in relation to the murder of individuals, or the murder of individuals belonging to a group, are still fundamental to human rights law. Sands, an international lawyer with a record of high-profile cases attached to his name, reflects on the prevalence of the distinction in his work today. In particular, he notes that genocide is a more difficult to prove because it relies on demonstrating the accused had “intent” to destroy the group, which is not a requirement for a crime against humanity.
In his introduction, Sands notes that he “would pick up hints about the origins and purposes of the two terms” but “knew little about the personal stories involved”. His research demonstrates that the two are, of course, intrinsically linked. Both Lauterpatch and Lemkin were forced to flee Nazi persecution and suffered unimaginable family losses at the hands of the men on trial at Nuremberg. Although they may have reached different conclusions, they asked the same questions, including: How can laws best protect minorities? Must they first protect the individual, or first protect the group?
In exploring how Lauterpacht and Lemkin went about answering these questions, and the impact that the conclusions they reached had on the Nuremberg Trials and beyond, the narrative carries an implicit but important message about the processes behind legislative change. Certainly, the Nuremberg Trials brought a sense of restorative justice to an impossibly devastating context and marked the beginning of a new era of international law. But when we hone in on the efforts of individuals, the detail of their objectives and their methods of influence, we are reminded that the process of legislative change is often painstakingly slow, painful and piecemeal.
Today the words genocide and crimes against humanity feel familiar and common-place. East West Street reminds us they were once radical and ridiculed. Reflecting on this message now, in the midst of the global COVID-19 pandemic, the efforts of Lauterpacht and Lemkin demonstrate that order is not an inevitable sequel to chaos: Individual and group efforts, however much or little publicised, can be a mighty force for change. To those aspiring to make a difference in legal sphere, East West Street is an important and thought-provoking manual.
Jess is an LLM Law and Legal Practice student based in Manchester. She is passionate about children’s rights and access to justice work. She volunteers for an employment law clinic and a children’s mentoring charity. Before turning to the law, she worked at the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office.