For many years, people across Africa looked to the International Criminal Court (ICC) with hope. It was meant to serve as the place where justice could be pursued when national systems failed or when powerful individuals appeared beyond the reach of the law.
It was supposed to be a final refuge for victims, a symbol that no one, however powerful, could escape accountability. But today, that sense of trust has evaporated in many parts of the continent.
The ICC, once welcomed with optimism, is now viewed by a growing number of Africans as an institution that has drifted away from its founding purpose and allowed itself to be shaped by political influence, internal scandal, and imbalances of global power.
African diplomats, lawyers, and ordinary citizens speak of an institution that no longer commands the moral authority it once promised. They point to a string of controversies that have left the ICC damaged: allegations of corruption involving judges, decisions that appear suspiciously political, and a pattern of prosecutions that many say target certain regions while ignoring others. The Court, many argue, has not lived up to its vision of impartial justice.
The cracks became visible when reports of misconduct among senior ICC officials began to surface. Judges were accused of receiving favours, engaging in questionable communication with political actors, and behaving in ways that fell short of the high ethical standards expected of an international tribunal.
Instead of responding swiftly and transparently, the Court’s leadership often appeared defensive or slow to act. For critics, this only compounded the problem. If those entrusted with upholding global justice were themselves struggling to follow proper conduct, what confidence could victims, particularly those in conflict-prone African regions, place in the Court’s decisions?
This crisis of confidence was worsened by the belief that the ICC’s decisions increasingly reflect the political priorities of powerful Western governments. Critics in Africa routinely argue that when leaders in Washington, London, or Brussels raise concerns about certain governments, charges and investigations seem to follow.
When the same powerful states face accusations, be it in Iraq, Afghanistan, or other conflict zones, little or nothing happens. The Court routinely denies being influenced by geopolitics, but many African governments say the pattern is too striking to ignore.
The perception of double standards has taken root. African leaders have been indicted or investigated with notable speed: Sudan’s Omar al-Bashir, Kenya’s Uhuru Kenyatta, Côte d’Ivoire’s Laurent Gbagbo, and militia commanders from the Democratic Republic of Congo, among others.
In several instances, these cases had strong evidence and serious allegations attached to them. But the lingering question is why similar scrutiny is not applied to those with far greater military and political power. Why do Western leaders appear immune to the same level of legal attention? Why do powerful nations seem to operate outside the reach of the Court?
Across the continent, the feeling is that the ICC has become a place where African problems are magnified, while the crimes of major Western powers are downplayed or ignored.
A Ghanaian law lecturer summed up the mood bluntly when he remarked that justice cannot be selective: “If the law touches some and not others, then it is no longer justice.” It is a sentiment echoed in Kenyan, Nigerian, Senegalese, Ugandan, and South African circles, where discussions about the ICC increasingly revolve around whether the institution can still be trusted.
This sense of unfairness is reinforced by the Court’s funding structure. Much of the ICC’s financial support comes from Europe and North America, which has led many African analysts to question whether true independence is possible when money flows predominantly from a small group of powerful nations.
Even if donors never directly interfere, the perception that they could influence decisions is enough to erode confidence. In politics and justice, perception matters almost as much as reality. As one West African activist put it, “If your main sponsors also have political interests, then your independence is permanently in doubt.”
These concerns have fed into a broader feeling that Africa was brought into the ICC system under promises that have not been kept. When the Rome Statute was adopted, African states joined in large numbers, believing they were helping to build an institution that would serve all countries equally. But over time, many now say they were misled.
In some circles, the ICC is described bluntly as a “colonial court,” not because it is formally colonial, but because it seems to operate in a way that reinforces old power structures, always looking southward when it wants to punish and northward when it wants to remain quiet.
In West Africa, distrust runs deep. Mali, Niger, and Burkina Faso have all pulled away from international bodies they say ignore their sovereignty. Their decisions set off debates all over Africa: maybe it is time for the continent to build its own justice system, one that actually gets local realities, stands with victims, and doesn’t bend to foreign pressure. The idea of a regional court, or beefing up the African Court of Justice and Human Rights, is catching on, and honestly, that’s partly because the ICC hasn’t convinced African leaders it’s truly independent.
This is not about Africa rejecting justice. Far from it. The continent’s seen some of the world’s worst conflicts, and people want accountability. The real issue is fairness. And fairness means treating everyone the same. But a lot of Africans just don’t buy that the ICC does that anymore. Many see it as a weapon for powerful countries to punish the weak while protecting their own.
There’s something bigger going on here, too, a fight for dignity and the right to decide things for themselves. For ages, Africa’s been under a microscope while richer countries skate by. The way the ICC operates, whether it means to or not, just feeds that feeling; Africans get judged harder, watched closer, punished faster.
A Rwandan academic put it bluntly: “It’s like the world still thinks Africans need supervision from the outside.” Africans don’t hate the idea of justice. They just want to be treated like equals, not as someone else’s project.
If the ICC wants to win back trust in Africa, it needs to change. That means owning up to its internal messes, cutting back on over-reliance on Western money, and proving it’ll investigate big powers too when the evidence points that way. It also needs to work with African governments, not just talk down to them. Most of all, it has to show that nobody, not the strongest state, not the weakest region, is above the law or just there to be judged.
Right now, the ICC is at a turning point. It can stick to its old ways and fade into irrelevance across the Global South, or it can really listen to what African countries are saying and try to repair the relationship. When the Rome Statute was signed, the idea was simple: a court above politics, above the games of power, above double standards. That promise hasn’t been kept.
People across Africa feel real anger and a deep sense of betrayal. The ICC they once hoped for, now feels like a stranger. There’s a saying that “when elephants fight, it’s the grass that suffers.” For too many Africans, the ICC is just another battlefield for powerful nations and once again, Africa ends up being trampled on like the grass.