Brick by brick, fear by fear by Mathew Walls

There is something revealing about the language of demolition. When a government promises to dismantle an international institution "brick by brick," it inadvertently admits that the structure standing before it is solid enough to deserve fear. Secretary of State Marco Rubio's declaration that the United States intends to weaken the International Criminal Court was presented as a display of American strength. Instead, it sounded remarkably like an expression of anxiety. Great powers rarely threaten institutions they truly consider irrelevant.

The International Criminal Court has never been a perfect tribunal. It has been criticised for inconsistency, accused of moving too slowly and often criticised for focusing disproportionately on weaker states while struggling to reach the powerful. Yet none of those imperfections erase the principle at its foundation: that war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide should not disappear behind the protective curtain of national sovereignty or military might.

That principle has always unsettled governments accustomed to operating without meaningful international scrutiny. Washington has long maintained an uneasy relationship with the court. The United States helped shape many of the legal principles that eventually inspired the ICC, yet refused to become one of its members. It has celebrated international justice when dictators, militia leaders and foreign war criminals stood in the dock, while becoming deeply uncomfortable whenever the possibility arose that American officials or military personnel might themselves face legal examination.

This contradiction has never been about justice. It has always been about exceptionalism. Marco Rubio's latest rhetoric merely strips away the diplomatic polish that previous administrations occasionally preferred. Instead of arguing legal technicalities or jurisdictional disputes, he has embraced the language of destruction. The message is unmistakable: if an institution cannot be controlled, it should be weakened. If it cannot be ignored, it should be attacked.

That is not confidence. It is insecurity dressed as patriotism. The Trump administration has repeatedly portrayed international organisations as obstacles rather than partners. Whether the subject is climate agreements, global trade institutions or international courts, the instinct remains remarkably consistent: sovereignty is interpreted not as independence but as immunity. Accountability becomes an inconvenience rather than a virtue.

But justice was never designed to comfort governments. It exists precisely because governments, left entirely to themselves, have often proved incapable of judging their own actions honestly.

The irony is difficult to ignore. The United States regularly calls upon authoritarian governments to respect international law, human rights and democratic principles. American officials rightly condemn atrocities committed by hostile regimes and insist that those responsible must eventually answer before impartial courts. Such demands carry moral weight only if the same standards are accepted universally. Justice loses credibility the moment it becomes something reserved exclusively for geopolitical rivals.

Perhaps this explains the hostility towards the ICC more than any legal argument ever could.

Institutions devoted to accountability possess an unsettling quality: they recognise no permanent exemptions. Power, wealth and military dominance may delay scrutiny, but they do not invalidate the underlying principle that no individual should stand permanently above the law.

For governments accustomed to defining the rules rather than being judged by them, that principle can feel profoundly threatening.

One does not attempt to dismantle an institution brick by brick because it is powerless. One seeks its destruction because it possesses an authority that cannot easily be dismissed. The International Criminal Court may lack armies, economic sanctions or political muscle, but it possesses something more enduring: the uncomfortable idea that justice should eventually reach everyone.

That idea has survived dictators, wars and political intimidation before. It will likely survive rhetorical sledgehammers as well. History has an inconvenient habit of remembering those who defended accountability far more kindly than those who sought to bury it beneath the rubble. It is the possibility that America itself may cease to distinguish between democracy and leverage.