In the aftermath of the 2009 stadium massacre, the Guinean courts ordered financial reparations awarding between 200 million to one billion Guinean francs (approximately US$23,000 to $115,000) for the different groups of victims, including those who have suffered physical and psychological trauma. However, despite these orders, the practical challenges of ensuring reparations are immense.
I remember a particular moment during my research this summer when the reality of reparations hit me hardest. I was reading about the victims of Hissène Habré, Chad’s former dictator—how decades after the crimes, these victims were still waiting for the reparations they had been awarded in court. I felt a wave of hopelessness. What does it mean to win a judgment for reparations if they’re never paid? How do we celebrate legal victories when the victims, who should be at the center of our work, continue to live without justice?
This tension brings to mind sentiments expressed in Barbora Bukovská’s article, “Perpetrating Good: Unintended Consequences of International Human Rights Advocacy,” where she criticizes the use of popular strategies such as strategic litigation—lawsuits brought with the aim of achieving broader societal goals. Bukovská questions whether these methods truly serve the victims they purport to help—or if they perpetuate victimization and power imbalances. Strategic litigation is often presented as a powerful tool to achieve systemic change. Yet, Bukovská argues, it can also strip victims of agency, making them instruments in a broader agenda without regard for their personal interests or well-being.
The magnitude of the reparations ordered, coupled with the limited financial resources of the convicted, casts doubt on whether these amounts can ever realistically be paid. The challenges of securing sustainable funding, ensuring administrative reparations reach all victims equitably, and balancing individual versus collective reparations reveal just how overwhelming these efforts are. The reality is that, for many victims of grave crimes in Africa, reparations remain more of a promise than a tangible reality, leaving many still waiting for justice and redress.
This disillusionment is reflected in the many instances where reparations have been awarded but ultimately failed due to bureaucratic inefficiencies, lack of political will, and inadequate funding. This repeated pattern of incomplete efforts raises a critical question: why do we continue to pursue reparations when history shows they are rarely, if ever, fully realized? Each pursuit risks giving victims false hope, further frustrating them and deepening their mistrust in the justice system. I have been grappling with my despair over reparations—what happens when conflict and corruption prevent life-changing money from reaching those who need it most? I can’t help but wonder if, in such cases, we risk causing even greater harm. How do we break this cycle, where reparations are ordered but victims remain empty-handed due to systemic failures?
I remain interested in exploring solutions that advocate for reparations, especially financial ones, because I know how transformative that money can be. However, the process of putting a value on grave crimes will always lead to substantial sums being ordered—and with that comes the challenge of ensuring that funds are effectively delivered. Instead of perpetuating an unattainable ideal, there needs to be a candid reassessment of what justice means for victims. Should there be a shift toward more achievable forms of accountability that do not leave them perpetually waiting for a remedy that may never come? That, I do not know. What should be recognized is that reparations do not only have to be about money; they can encompass a range of actions—restitution, rehabilitation, symbolic gestures like memorials, and guarantees of non-repetition. If the goal is to acknowledge harm, restore dignity, and prevent future violations, then reparations matter. They symbolize an attempt to right historical wrongs, even if imperfectly.
Ultimately, I believe the pursuit of reparations is about more than just justice—it can also be about reconciliation. Whether in Guinea or elsewhere, reparations seek to address the past while laying the groundwork for a more just future. Reparations are difficult to achieve, but they remain essential. They demand that we, as advocates, critically examine our approaches, prioritize the victims themselves—not just the symbols of justice—and find ways to overcome these challenges.