Learning about the war in Ukraine has shown me a new side of warfare one where regular people, like you and me, are central to gathering and sharing evidence in real-time. Through tools like Ukraine’s “e-Enemy” app, civilians can document what they see around them and contribute directly to how the world views the conflict. This app empowers millions of Ukrainians to submit information about Russian military actions, each time reminding them with a message: “Their relatives, friends, and the whole world will learn about their brutal crimes against the Ukrainian people” (TIME). But as I read about this, I began to wonder: could this be a double-edged sword? What happens when ordinary citizens become the main witnesses to war crimes? Where do the desires of ethics clash with the desire to showcase the raw truth? I find trouble with this intersections and I cannot imagine what it would be like for someone else.
One part of this new wave of evidence gathering is something called the Berkeley Protocol, which establishes guidelines for verifying content so that it’s accurate and credible. It’s basically a roadmap to make sure digital information collected by people in war zones can be used as real evidence. But with all of this new technology, it seems like the law is still playing catch-up, and there’s no guarantee courts will accept “citizen evidence.” This made me question whether international law needs to evolve. Should courts adapt to include new types of digital evidence, and if so, how would that change the legal landscape? It’s fascinating but also challenging to think about. I enjoyed thinking about the legal and humanitarian intersection of the reading.
Another big limitation is that the International Criminal Court (ICC), which is supposed to hold people accountable for war crimes, doesn’t have the power to prosecute certain crimes, like Russia’s aggression in Ukraine. This is partly because powerful countries including the United States have been reluctant to support a system that might someday hold their own leaders accountable. It makes me wonder: what happens to all this evidence collected by Ukrainians if no court can prosecute the biggest offenses? If justice isn’t possible at this level, does the whole idea of open-source evidence lose its impact?
As I read about open-source investigations, I couldn’t help but think about Bellingcat, a group of volunteers who analyze videos, images, and background clues to verify events like the MH17 shootdown. These people work from home, using digital tools to find the truth, often at great personal risk. But this raises another question: How do open-source investigators keep themselves safe? And what kinds of protections should exist for people doing this risky but essential work? I know that there are things such as the whistleblowers protections for legally important people so how do these protections translate?
I also found myself thinking about how people’s motivations and patience play a role in this kind of evidence collection. The TIME article mentions how Ukrainians want to ensure the truth is recorded before memories fade. Yet, legal processes are slow, and there’s a real risk that people may get frustrated with the pace of justice. I wondered how delays might affect the motivation of those documenting events. If justice takes too long, could it lead to a sense of helplessness or discourage people from submitting evidence? And what impact does this have on both the victims and those working tirelessly to record these events?
Ultimately, reading about open-source investigations in Ukraine has left me with a lot of questions. We’re seeing how ordinary people can contribute to documenting war crimes, but there’s still so much to figure out. How can we make sure this evidence is reliable and safe to collect? And in a world where everyone is a potential witness, what will justice look like in the future? These questions feel urgent, especially as we consider how technology is reshaping not just warfare but also the pursuit of truth and accountability.
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