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Friday, 4 August 2017

Transferring personal data outside the EU: Clarification from the ECJ?



Lorna Woods, Professor of Internet Law, University of Essex

Opinion 1/15 EU/Canada PNR Agreement, 26th July 2017

Facts

Canadian law required airlines, in the interests of the fight against serious crime and terrorism, to provide certain information about passengers (API/PNR data), which obligation required airlines under EU data protection regulations to transfer data to outside the EU.  The PNR data includes the names of air passengers, the dates of intended travel, the travel itinerary, and information relating to payment and baggage. The PNR data may reveal travel habits, relationships between two individuals, information on the financial situation or the dietary habits of individuals. To regularise the transfer of data, and to support police cooperation, the EU negotiated an agreement with Canada specifying the data to be transferred, the purposes for which the data could be used, as well as some processing safeguard provisions (e.g. use of sensitive data, security obligations, oversight requirements, access by passengers).  The data was permitted to be retained for five years, albeit in a depersonalised form.  Further disclosure of the data beyond Canada and the Member States was permitted in limited circumstances.  The European Parliament requested an opinion from the Court of Justice under Article 218(11) TFEU as to whether the agreement satisfied fundamental human rights standards and whether the appropriate Treaty base had been used for the agreement.

Opinion

The Court noted that the agreement fell within the EU’s constitutional framework, and must therefore comply with its constitutional principles, including (though this point was not made express), respect for fundamental human rights (whether as a general principle or by virtue of the EU Charter – the EUCFR).

After dealing with questions of admissibility, the Court addressed the question of appropriate Treaty base. It re-stated existing principles (elaborated, for example, in Case C‑263/14 Parliament v Council, judgment 14 June 2016, EU:C:2016:435) with regard to choice of Treaty base generally: the choice must rest on objective factors (including the aim and the content of that measure) which are amenable to judicial review.  In this context the Court found that the proposed agreement has two objectives: safeguarding public security; and safeguarding personal data [opinion, para 90].  The Court concluded that the two objectives were inextricably linked: while the driver for the need to PNR data was protection of public security, the transfer of data would be lawful only if data protection rules were respected [para 94].  Therefore, the agreement should be based on both Article 16(2) (data protection) and Article 87(2)(a) TFEU (police cooperation).  It held, however, that Article 82(1)(d) TFEU (judicial cooperation) could not be used, partly because judicial authorities were not included in the agreement.

Looking at the issue of data protection, the Court re-stated the question as being ‘on the compatibility of the envisaged agreement with, in particular, the right to respect for private life and the right to the protection of personal data’ [para 119].  It then commented that although both Article 16 TFEU and Article 8 EUCFR enshrine the right to data protection, in its analysis it would refer to Article 8 only, because that provision lays down in a more specific manner the conditions for data processing.  The agreement refers to the processing of data concerning identified individuals, and therefore may affect the fundamental right to respect for private life guaranteed in Article 7 EUCFR as well as the right to protection to personal data in Article 8 EUCFR. The Court re-iterated a number of principles regarding the scope of the right to private life:

‘the communication of personal data to a third party, such as a public authority, constitutes an interference with the fundamental right enshrined in Article 7 of the Charter, whatever the subsequent use of the information communicated. The same is true of the retention of personal data and access to that data with a view to its use by public authorities. In this connection, it does not matter whether the information in question relating to private life is sensitive or whether the persons concerned have been inconvenienced in any way on account of that interference’ [para 124].

The transfer of PNR data and its retention and any use constituted an interference with both Article 7 [para 125] and Article 8 EUCFR [para 126]. In assessing the seriousness of the interference, the Court flagged ‘the systematic and continuous’ nature of the PNR system, the insight into private life of individuals, the fact that the system is used as an intelligence tool and the length of time for which the data is available.

Interferences with these rights may be justified.  Nonetheless, there are constraints on any justification: Article 8(2)  of the EU Charter specifies that processing must be ‘for specified purposes and on the basis of the consent of the person concerned or some other legitimate basis laid down by law’; and, according to Article 52(1) of the EU Charter, any limitation must be provided for by law and respect the essence of those rights and freedoms. Further, limitations must be necessary and genuinely meet objectives of general interest recognised by the Union or the need to protect the rights and freedoms of others. 

Following WebMindLicenses (Case C‑419/14, judgment of 17 December 2015, EU:C:2015:832, para 81), the law that permits the interference should also set down the extent of that interference. Proportionality requires that any derogation from and limitation on the protection of personal data should apply only insofar as is strictly necessary. To this end and to prevent the risk of abuse, the legislation must set down ‘clear and precise rules governing the scope and application of the measure in question and imposing minimum safeguards’, specifically ‘indicat[ing] in what circumstances and under which conditions a measure providing for the processing of such data may be adopted’ [para 141], especially when automated processing is involved.

The Court considered whether there was a legitimate basis for the processing, noting that although passengers may be said to consent to the processing of PNR data, this consent related to a different purpose. The transfer of the PNR data is not conditional on the specific consent of the passengers and must therefore be grounded on some other basis, within the terms of Article 8(2) EUCFR. The Court rejected the Parliament’s submission that the meaning of ‘law’ be restricted to ‘legislative act’ internally. The Court, following the reasoning of the Advocate General, found that in this regard the international agreement was the external equivalent of the legislative act.

In line with its previous jurisprudence, the Court accepted that public security is an objective of public interest capable of justifying even serious interferences with Articles 7 and 8 EUCFR. It also noted that everybody has the right to security of the person (Art. 6 EUCFR), though this point was taken no further. The Court considered that PNR data revealed only limited aspects of a person’s private life, so that the essence of the right was not adversely affected [para 151]. In principle, limitation may then be possible. The Court accepted that PNR data transfer was appropriate, but not that the test of necessity was satisfied. It agreed with the Advocate General that the categories of data to be transferred were not sufficiently precise, specifically ‘available frequent flyer and benefit information (free tickets, upgrades, etc.)’, ‘all available contact information (including originator information)’ and ‘general remarks including Other Supplementary Information (OSI), Special Service Information (SSI) and Special Service Request (SSR) information’. Although the agreement required the Canadian authorities to delete any data transferred to them which fell outside these categories, this obligation did not compensate for the lack of precision regarding the scope of these categories.

The Court noted that the agreement identified a category of ‘sensitive data’; it was therefore to be presumed that sensitive data would be transferred under the agreement. The Court then reasoned:

any measure based on the premiss that one or more of the characteristics set out in Article 2(e) of the envisaged agreement may be relevant, in itself or in themselves and regardless of the individual conduct of the traveller concerned, having regard to the purpose for which PNR data is to be processed, namely combating terrorism and serious transnational crime, would infringe the rights guaranteed in Articles 7 and 8 of the Charter, read in conjunction with Article 21 thereof [para 165]

Additionally, any transfer of sensitive data would require a ‘precise and particularly solid’ reason beyond that of public security and prevention of terrorism. This justification was lacking. The transfer of sensitive data and the framework for the use of those data would be incompatible with the EU Charter [para 167].

While the agreement tried to limit the impact of automated decision-making, the Court found it problematic because of the need to have reliable models on which the automated decisions were made. These models, in the view of the Court, must produce results that identify persons under a ‘reasonable suspicion’ of participation in terrorist offences or serious transnational crime and should be non-discriminatory. Models/databases should also be kept up-to-date and accurate and subject to review for bias. Because of the error risk, all positive automated decisions should be individually checked.

In terms of the purposes for processing the data, the definition of terrorist offences and serious transnational crime were sufficiently clear. There were however other provisions, allowing case-by-case assessment.  These provisions (Article 3(5)(a) and (b) of the treaty) were found to be too vague.  By contrast, the Court determined that the authorities who would receive the data were sufficiently identified. Further, it accepted that the transfer of data of all passengers, whether or not they were identified as posing a risk or not, does not exceed what is necessary as passengers must comply with Canadian law and ‘the identification, by means of PNR data, of passengers liable to present a risk to public security forms part of border control’ [para 188].

Relying on its recent judgment in Tele2/Watson (Joined Cases C‑203/15 and C‑698/15, EU:C:2016:970), which I discussed here, the Court reiterated that there must be a connection between the data retained and the objective pursued for the duration of the time the data are held, which brought into question the use of the PNR data after passengers had disembarked in Canada.  Further, the use of the data must be restricted in accordance with those purposes. However,

where there is objective evidence from which it may be inferred that the PNR data of one or more air passengers might make an effective contribution to combating terrorist offences and serious transnational crime, the use of that data does not exceed the limits of what is strictly necessary [para 201].

Following verification of passenger data and permission to enter Canadian territory, the use of PNR data during passengers’ stay must be based on new justifying circumstances. The Court expected that this should be subject to prior review by an independent body. The Court held that the agreement did not meet the required standards.  Similar points were made, even more strongly, in relation to the use of PNR data after the passengers had left Canada. In general, this was not strictly necessary, as there would no longer be a connection between the data and the objective pursued by the PNR Agreement such as to justify the retention of their data. PNR data may be stored in Canada, however, when particular passengers present a risk of terrorism of serious transnational crime. Moreover, given the average lifespan of international serious crime networks and the duration and complexity of investigations relating to them, the Court did not hold that the retention of data for five years went beyond the limits of necessity [para 209].

The agreement allows PNR data to be disclosed by the Canadian authority to other Canadian government authorities and to government authorities of third countries. The recipient country must satisfy EU data protection standards; an international agreement between the third country and the EU or an adequacy decision would be required. There is a further, unlimited and ill-defined possibility of disclosure to individuals ‘subject to reasonable legal requirements and limitations ... with due regard for the legitimate interests of the individual concerned’. This provision did not satisfy the necessity test.

To ensure that the individuals’ rights to access their data and to have data rectified is protected, in line with Tele2/Watson, passengers must be notified of the transfer of their PNR data to Canada and of its use as soon as that information is no longer liable to jeopardise the investigations being carried out by the government authorities referred to in the envisaged agreement. In this respect, the agreement is deficient. While passengers are told that the data will be used for security checks/border control, they are not told whether their data has been used by the Canadian Competent Authority beyond use for those checks.  While the Court accepted that the agreement provided passengers with a possible remedy, the agreement was deficient in that it did not guarantee in a sufficiently clear and precise manner that the oversight of compliance would be carried out by an independent authority, as required by Article 8(3) EUCFR.

Comment

There are lots of issues in this judgment, of interest from a range of perspectives, but its length and complexity means it is not an easy read. Because of these characteristics, a blog – even a lengthy blog – could hardly do justice to all issues, especially as in some instances, it is hardly clear what the Court’s position is.

On the whole the Court follows the approach of its Advocate General, Mengozzi, on a number of points specifically referring back to his Opinion. There is, as seems increasingly to be the trend, heavy reliance on existing case law and it is notable that the Court refers repeatedly to its ruling in Tele2/Watson.  This may be a judicial attempt to suggest that Tele2/Watson was not an aberration and to reinforce its status as good law, if that were in any doubt. It also operates to create a body of surveillance law rulings that are hopefully consistent in underpinning principles and approach, and certainly some of the points in earlier case law are reiterated with regards to the importance of ex ante review by independent bodies, rights of redress and the right of individuals to know that they have been subject to surveillance.

The case is of interest not only in regards mass surveillance but more generally in relation to Article 16(2) TFEU. It is also the first time an opinion has been given on a draft agreement considering its compatibility with human rights standards as well as the appropriate Treaty base. In this respect the judgment may be a little disappointing; certainly on Article 16, the Court did not go into the same level of detail as in the AG’s opinion [AG114-AG120]. Instead it equated Article 16 TFEU to Article 8 EUCFR, and based its analysis on the latter provision.

As a general point, it is evident that the Court has adopted a detailed level of review of the PNR agreement.  The outcome of the case has widely been recognised as having implications, as –for example – discussed earlier on this blog.  Certainly, as the Advocate General noted, possible impact on other PNR agreements [AG para 4] which relate to the same sorts of data shared for the same objectives.  The EDPS made this point too, in the context of the EU PNR Directive:

Since the functioning of the EU PNR and the EU-Canada schemes are similar, the answer ofthe Court mayhave a significant impact on the validity of all other PNR instruments …. [Opinion 2/15, para 18]

There are other forms of data sharing agreement, for example, SWIFT, the Umbrella Agreement,  the Privacy Shield (and other adequacy decisions) the last of which is coming under pressure in any event (DRI v Commission (T-670/16) and La Quadrature du Net and Others v Commission (T-738/16)).  Note that in this context, there is not just a question of considering the safeguards for protection of rights but also relates to Treaty base.  The Court found that Article 16 must be used and that – because there was no role for judicial authorities, still less their cooperation – the use of Article 82(1)(d) is wrong.  It has, however, been used for example in regards to other PNR agreements.  This means that that the basis for those agreements is thrown into doubt.

While the Court agreed with its Advocate General to suggest that a double Treaty base was necessary given the inextricable linkage, there is some room to question this assumption.  It could also be argued that there is a dominant purpose, as the primary purpose of the PNR agreement is to protect personal data, albeit with a different objective in view, that of public security. In the background, however, is the position of the UK, Ireland and Denmark and their respective ‘opt-outs’ in the field. While a finding of a joint Treaty base made possible the argument of the Court that:

since the decision on the conclusion of the envisaged agreement must be based on both Article 16 and Article 87 TFEU and falls, therefore, within the scope of Chapter 5 of Title V of Part Three of the FEU Treaty in so far as it must be founded on Article 87 TFEU, the Kingdom of Denmark will not be bound, in accordance with Articles 2 and 2a of Protocol No 22, by the provisions of that decision, nor, consequently, by the envisaged agreement. Furthermore, the Kingdom of Denmark will not take part in the adoption of that decision, in accordance with Article 1 of that protocol. [para 113, see also para 115]

The position would, however, have been different had the agreement be found to have been predominantly about data protection and therefore based on Article 16 TFEU alone.

Looking at the substantive issues, the Court clearly accepted the need for PNR to challenge the threat from terrorism, noting in particular that Article 6 of the Charter (the “right to liberty and security of person”) can justify the processing of personal data. While it accepted that this resulted in systemic transfer of large quantities of people, we see no comments about mass surveillance. Yet, is this not similar to the ‘general and indiscriminate’ collection and analysis rejected by the Court in Tele2/Watson [para 97], and which cannot be seen as automatically justified even in the context of the fight against terrorism [para 103 and 119]? Certainly, the EDPS took the view in its opinion on the EU PNR Directive that “the non-targeted and bulk collection and processing of data of the PNR scheme amount to a measure of general surveillance” [Opinion 1/15, para 63]. It may be that the difference is in the nature of the data; even if this is so, the Court does not make this argument. Indeed, it makes no argument but rather weakly accepts the need for the data.  On this point, it should be noted that “the usefulness of large-scale profiling on the basis of passenger data must be questioned thoroughly, based on both scientific elements and recent studies” [Art. 29 WP Opinion 7/2010, p. 4]. In this aspect, Opinion 1/15 is not as strong a stand as Tele2/Watson [c.f para 105-106]; it seems that the Court was less emphatic about significance of surveillance even than the Advocate General [AG 176].

In terms of justification, while the Court accepts that the transfer of data and its analysis may give rise to intrusion, it suggests that the essence of the right has not been affected. In this it follows the approach in the communications data cases.  It is unclear, however, what the essence of the right is; it seems that no matter how detailed a picture of an individual can be drawn from the analysis of data, the essence of the right remains intact.  If the implication is that where the essence of the right is affected then no justification for the intrusion could be made, a narrow view of essence is understandable.  This does not, however, answer the question of what the essence is and, indeed, whether the essence of the right is the same for Article 7 as for Article 8.  In this case, the Court has once again referred to both articles, without delineating the boundaries between them, but then proceeded to base its analysis mainly on Article 8.

In terms of relationship between provisions, it is also unclear what the relationship is between Art 8(2) and Art 52.  The Court bundles the requirements for these two provisions together but they serve different purposes. Article 8(2) further elaborates the scope of the right; Article 52 deals with the limitations of Charter rights.  Despite this, it seems that some of the findings will apply Article 52 in the context of other rights. For example, in considering that an international agreement constitutes law for the purposes of the EUCFR, the Court took a broader approach to meaning of ‘law’ than the Parliament had argued for.  This however seems a sensible approach, avoiding undue formality. 

One further point about the approach to interpreting exceptions to the rights and Article 52 can be made. It seems that the Court has not followed the Advocate General who had suggested that strict necessity should be understood in the light of achieving a fair balance [AG207].
 
Some specific points are worth highlighting. The Court held that sensitive data (information that reveals racial or ethnic origin, political opinions, religious or philosophical beliefs, trade-union membership, information about a person’s health or sex life) should not be transferred. It is not clear what interpretation should be given to these data, especially as regards proxies for sensitive data (e.g. food preferences may give rise to inferences about a person’s religious beliefs).

One innovation in the PNR context is the distinction the Court introduced between use of PNR data on entry, use while the traveller is in Canada, and use after the person has left, which perhaps mitigates the Court’s acceptance of undifferentiated surveillance of travellers.  The Court’s view of the acceptability of use in relation to this last category is the most stringent.  While the Court accepts the link between the processing of PNR data on arrival, after departure the Court expects that link to be proven, and absent such proof, there is no justification for the retention of data. Does this mean that on departure PNR data of persons who are not suspected of terrorism or transnational crime should be deleted at the point of their departure? Such a requirement surely gives rise to practical problems and would seem to limit the Court’s earlier acceptance of the use of general PNR data to verify/update computer models [para 198].

One of the weaknesses of the Court’s caselaw so far has been a failure to consider investigatory techniques, and whether all are equally acceptable.  Here we see the Court beginning to consider the use of automated intelligence techniques.  While the Court does not go into detail on all the issues to which predictive policing and big data might give rise, it does note that models must be accurate.  It also refers to Article 21 EUCFR (discrimination).  In that this section is phrased in general terms, it has potentially wide-reaching application, potentially even beyond the public sector.

The Court’s judgment has further implications as regards the sharing of PNR and other security data with other countries besides Canada, most notably in the context of EU/UK relations after Brexit. Negotiators now have a clearer indication of what it will take for an agreement between the EU and a non-EU state to satisfy the requirements of the Charter, in the ECJ’s view. Time will tell what impact this ruling will have on the progress of those talks.

Barnard & Peers: chapter 25
JHA4: chapter II:9

Photo credit: ctvnews.ca

Wednesday, 7 January 2015

The Missing Link: Direct Effect, CETA/TTIP and Investor-State Dispute Settlement


 


 

By Daniel Thym, Chair of Public, European and International Law, University of Konstanz

International treaties have rarely received more attention than the proposed free trade deals between the EU and the US and Canada. This entails that many law students and practitioners are confronted with a theme that does not feature prominently in legal education. In debates with students, I realise that preconceptions about the functioning of domestic legal systems are regularly projected upon the international sphere. One example is a demand that companies should challenge state action before domestic courts instead of dispute settlement bodies under the planned EU/US agreement (TTIP) and the proposed EU/Canada trade agreement (CETA). These claims often assume that national courts hold the competence to enforce corresponding rules. For lawyers working on domestic issues it seems self-evident that courts can apply the law.

Against this background, this blogpost focuses on a provision in the Draft CETA with Canada (Article 14.14: see the text below), whose relevance has not been acknowledged so far, including by the stimulating contributions to the Verfassungsblog Symposium on Investment Protection. On page 470 of the roughly 1600 pages of the consolidated CETA Draft Agreement, which the Commission regards as a template for free trade negotiations with the United States, we come across a final provision of seemingly minor relevance on ‘private rights’, which rejects the applicability of the agreement en passant. This reaffirms that the implications of the free trade deals would be less dramatic than some suggest.

Background: CETA and TTIP as International EU Agreements


In order to understand the relevance of Article 14.14 on private rights, we should apprehend that most segments of the free trade agreements would be binding upon Member States as an integral part of EU law. Axel Flessner may try to argue that the arrangements would constitute an ultra-vires-act (thereby initiating more tweets than any other contribution to the said symposium), but the plain Treaty text demonstrates that the legal picture is fairly evident. Article 207 TFEU declares that the EU’s Common Commercial Policy (CCP) allows for the conclusion of trade agreements on goods and services and embraces, among others, ‘foreign direct investment’, while Article 3 TFEU maintains that the conclusion of agreements in this area shall be an exclusive Union competence.

These provisions were a deliberate policy choice after decades of wrangles about the precise scope of the CCP. The Treaty of Lisbon was meant to replace earlier and ambiguous formulations with an overarching competence for the European Union. In its Lisbon Judgment, the German Federal Constitutional Court recognised the pertinence of this change: ‘With the exclusive competence as set out above, the Union acquires the sole power of disposition over international trade agreements which may result in an essential reorganisation of the internal order of the Member States.’ Judges in Karlsruhe gave the green light to the changes nonetheless, albeit with a minor caveat that ‘much argues in favour of assuming that the term “foreign direct investment” only encompasses investment which serves to obtain a controlling interest in an enterprise’ and excluded so-called portfolio investments (ie, non-controlling interests in companies) as a result.

This reference to the limits of the CCP is relevant, since it indicates, in general terms, that there remain uncertainties about the precise delimitation of competences for corollary aspects of international trade. For that reason, most national governments maintain that CETA and TTIP should be concluded as so-called ‘mixed agreements’, with the EU and all 28 EU Member States as signatories. If that view prevailed, national parliaments would have to give their consent as well. However, this would not modify the internal allocation of powers; the EU institutions are in the driving seat in the vast field of Union competence – both during the negotiations and with regard to legal effects. It is established case law that the legal effects of mixed agreements follow the rules of Union law for all matters that are covered by the Common Commercial Policy.

Domestic Application of Agreements concluded by the EU


The predominance of Union law in legal practice can obscure our awareness of the specificities of the international legal system. Law students across Europe learn in their undergraduate courses about the direct and supreme effect of supranational rules, but are not always familiar with public international law. Domestic courts have to apply Union law in pretty much the same was as national law, but this assumption cannot be extended to public international law without modification, including in situations in which the EU concludes international agreements with third states.

It is true that the ECJ maintains that international agreements can have direct effect as an integral part of the Union legal order – and an example demonstrates that this can have critical implications: for example, judges in Luxembourg decided in July that Member States cannot automatically require the spouses of Turkish nationals to acquire basic language skills of the host country. Legally, this conclusion rests upon an interpretation of the so-called standstill provision for the self-employed in the Additional Protocol of 1970 to the Association Agreement between Turkey and today’s European Union. In the terminology of international trade law, the case concerned a so-called non-tariff barrier to the freedom of establishment. It is these non-tariff barriers that take centre stage in both CETA and TTIP negotiations (neither of the latter treaties will affect migration, though).

If the underlying legal arguments about direct effect and court jurisdiction extended to free trade deals with Canada and the United States, the implications could be dramatic indeed. Both the ECJ and domestic courts would hold the power to correct domestic or supranational legislation, whenever it falls foul of CETA or TTIP. Yet, this outcome is no foregone conclusion, since the ECJ opts for a direct applicability of international agreements ‘only where the nature and the broad logic of the latter do not preclude this.’ In deciding whether this is the case, the Court considers, among other things, the purpose of the agreement, the will of the parties and the question of reciprocity, i.e. whether the Union would be alone in recognising direct effect. Luxembourg may have largely ignored the question of reciprocity with regard to Turkey and other neighbours of the EU, but it traditionally takes centre stage in the evaluation of trade liberalisation agreements.

Article 14.14 of the CETA Draft Treaty


Once we have understood the far-reaching implications of direct applicability, we may appreciate the bearing of the clause on private rights in the final provisions of the consolidated Draft CETA Agreement, which states: ‘Nothing in this Agreement shall be construed as conferring rights or imposing obligations on persons other than those created between the Parties under public international law, nor as permitting this Agreement to be directly invoked in the domestic legal systems of the Parties.’

That is nothing less than the official denial of direct effect in the operative treaty text; neither the ECJ nor domestic courts would hold the power to apply CETA rules in domestic proceedings or to annul legislation which contradicts trade law. CETA and TTIP would get the same treatment that the ECJ accords to WTO law, which also does not have direct effect in the EU legal order and the domestic legal systems of the Member States – not even in situations, in which the appellate body of the WTO Dispute Settlement Mechanism confirmed that EU legislation falls foul of WTO standards.

Denial of direct effect is an important stumbling block for the long-term success of any free trade agreement, especially when it comes to the elimination of non-tariff barriers to trade, since corresponding rules are often formulated in an open manner. The real-life implications of such vaguely formulated provisions depends decisively upon the continued will of the parties and the availability of control and enforcement mechanisms – as the experience with non-tariff barriers to trade in the EU single market and the example of language requirements for spouses of Turkish nationals demonstrate. Without institutional control mechanism, vague treaty formulations are often ineffective.

Implications for the Debate about Investor-State-Dispute Settlement


In the light of Article 14.14 of the CETA Draft Agreement, we may have to re-consider our perspective on the proposed investor-state-dispute settlement rules in both CETA and TTIP. Critics will use the absence of direct application as an argument to decry the special treatment for investors; supporters, by contrast, will argue with the Commission that the dispute settlement bodies are a compensation for domestic legal remedies, which would not be available for the substantive rules of CETA and TTIP. I personally share the opinion of Christian Tams that the debate should focus on the desirability of special rules for investors (and not the question of procedure). The latter may be superfluous in relations with the US and Canada, but to abandon them would render it difficult to insist upon similar provisions in negotiations with China, Russia or other states we trust less.

In any case, the absence of direct effect in domestic proceedings shows that the legal implications of CETA and TIIP would be less dramatic than some commentators in the public debate suggest. Courts in Europe would not hold the power to annul domestic or supranational legislation, which violates the agreements – a power that also the dispute settlement bodies would be denied explicitly, together with the option for the state parties to force their reading of the agreements upon the arbiters by means of an authoritative interpretation. This would orientate the dispute settlement rules in CETA and TTIP towards inter-state bargaining, pretty much like in the WTO context.

The denial of direct application demonstrates that both the CETA Draft Agreement and the TTIP negotiation position are far removed from resembling anything like EU-style integration through law – and I consider this to be a good thing given that any dynamic interpretation would lack much of the democratic legitimacy and procedural constraints, which we have, notwithstanding all the deficits, in the European context. It seems to me that it is the biggest benefit of the debate about CETA and TTIP to this date that the broader public has started discussing the governance of economic globalisation. That debate will stay with us, even if an seemingly unimpressive provision on page 470 of the CETA Draft Agreement excludes the domestic enforcement of the transatlantic trade rules.

This blogpost has been published previously on ‚Verfassungsblog – On Matters Constitutional‘

 

Barnard & Peers: chapter 25
Image credit: capreform.eu

Sunday, 29 November 2015

The EU or the Commonwealth: a dilemma for the UK – or a false choice?




Steve Peers

The United Kingdom has its finger in many pies: the EU, NATO, the United Nations Security Council and the Commonwealth, to name just a few. Of these, the Commonwealth – which has just finished its latest summit meeting – obviously has the closest specific link to British culture and history, since it’s mainly comprised of our former colonies. (A few Commonwealth members are not former colonies, and some obscure ex-colonies like the USA chose not to join. For a full list of members, see here).
   
Like many British citizens, I have friends and relatives in many Commonwealth countries: Canada, India, New Zealand, Australia, Singapore and South Africa. But I also have friends in the rest of the EU, as well as a professional interest in EU law. There’s no incompatibility between the two at a personal level: we can all enjoy poutine as well as paella, or watch Antonio Banderas one day and Hugh Jackman the next. But is the same true of the UK's trade relationships?

When the UK joined the EU over forty years ago, it sundered special trade links which it had with most of the Commonwealth, and replaced them with trade links with the EU (as it’s called now). One of the arguments sometimes invoked in favour of the UK leaving the EU in the forthcoming referendum on membership is that the UK could reverse this process, reviving its Commonwealth trade.

But a lot has changed in forty years. In my view, what’s true for individuals is also true for the country as a whole: the UK does not have to choose between trade with the Commonwealth and trade with the EU, but can (and increasingly does) have both. This blog post explains why. (I’ll write another post on the issue of the EU’s trade with non-Commonwealth countries in future).

Background

Back in 1973, the UK had to end special trade ties with the Commonwealth because the EU is a customs union, which (according to the definition set out in international law) means that it has common trade rules with the rest of the world. The EU has power to sign certain types of trade deals, instead of its Member States (although in practice those deals are usually subject to Member States' unanimous consent). But the EU’s powers don’t extend to all types of ‘trade deals’, as that phrase is used by non-specialists. Those powers apply to the imposition of taxes at the border (known as tariffs) or other economic regulation of trade between countries, but not to commercial agreements with other countries to buy British goods. So, for instance, the UK and India were free to conclude £9 billion worth of trade deals of that broader type during the recent visit of the Indian Prime Minister.

It’s sometimes argued that trade deals are irrelevant, because ‘governments don’t trade, businesses do’. While it’s true to say that much trade takes place on the basis of contracts between companies, governments still play a large role – either as purchasers of many goods and services, or as regulators with the power to impose tariffs or regulation which might reduce the volume of trade.

When the UK joined the EU, the EU was mainly only interested in special trade deals with nearby countries (although this included the Commonwealth countries of Cyprus and Malta). Mostly the EU then preferred to trade with third countries on the basis of multilateral rules instead. However, the EU did extend its existing special trade agreement for former sub-Saharan African, Caribbean and Pacific (ACP) colonies of France and Belgium to most of the former colonies of the UK in those parts of the world. But it did not extend any special treatment to richer Commonwealth countries, like Canada and Australia, or Commonwealth states in Asia, like India or Malaysia.  

But times have changed. In recent years, the EU has become more interested in negotiating bilateral trade agreements with many countries, and not relying so much on the multilateral trade system established by the World Trade Organisation (WTO). This has transformed the EU’s trade relationship with Commonwealth countries (along with many other states). Some of these treaties don't have the words 'free trade agreement' in their title, but the substance includes free trade rules; and indeed the agreements are notified as free trade agreements to the World Trade Organisation.

EU/Commonwealth trade today

The result of this change in policy is that the EU has agreed free trade agreements (FTAs), or is in the process of negotiating free trade agreements, with the vast majority of Commonwealth states – a full 90% of the 50 Commonwealth countries that are not in the EU. This includes the six Commonwealth states that accounted (in 2011) for 84% of Commonwealth trade – and many more besides.

More precisely, there are already FTAs in force between the EU and 18 of those 50 Commonwealth states (36% of the remaining Commonwealth). The EU has agreed FTAs with 14 of those countries (28%), subject only to completing the ratification process. It is negotiating or about to start negotiating FTAs with 13 states (26%). That leaves only 5 Commonwealth states (10% of the non-EU total) that the EU is not planning FTA talks with. (For full details of the status of EU trade relations with each of the countries concerned, with links to further information, see the annex to this blog post).

Of course, the Commonwealth includes many different types of economy, but the EU has agreed FTAs with two of the wealthiest Commonwealth states (Canada and Singapore), and has recently committed to talks with two more (Australia and New Zealand). It also has deals or is negotiating with most of the larger developing Commonwealth members (India, Nigeria, South Africa and Malaysia).

It’s sometimes suggested that the EU’s trade deals with other countries don’t benefit the UK. But the UK’s exports to Commonwealth countries have been increasing at over 10% a year – with increases (over two years) of 33% to India, 31% to South Africa, 30% to Australia and 18% to Canada. In fact, since 2004, British exports to India are up 143%. Needless to say, this increase in trade with the Commonwealth (while an EU member) must have created or maintained many British jobs.

Criticisms of the EU’s trade policy

The EU’s trade policy is often criticised on three particular grounds. While there may be some force to these arguments, the issue in the upcoming referendum is whether these problems would actually be solved by the UK leaving the EU.

First of all, it’s often argued that EU trade agreements are not fair for developing countries. In fact, the EU’s negotiation of FTAs with developing Commonwealth countries in the last decade is in part due to WTO rulings that the EU could not just sign one-way trade deals, liberalising only access to EU markets; such treaties have to liberalise trade on both sides (the EU had resisted this). The EU does offer less generous unilateral trade preferences as an alternative to two-way deals (and some Commonwealth states, like Bangladesh, prefer this).

If the UK left the EU, it could decide not to sign trade deals with some of the developing Commonwealth countries that the EU has signed deals with. It could also offer a more generous version of unilateral trade preferences. However, the UK would not be free to sign deals for one-way trade liberalisation, since it would be bound by the same WTO rules on trade agreements that the EU breached when it signed those deals. Moreover, while not replacing the EU’s trade deals would arguably help the poorest countries’ economies, UK exports to those States would logically be lower.

The second argument is that the EU’s trade deals are a problem for the environment and public services, and give industry overly generous intellectual property protection, with the result (for instance) that prices of basic medicines rise due to extended patent protection. But this argument is equally made against many trade deals that the EU is not a party to at all – such as the recent Trans-Pacific Partnership agreement.

So, while (stepping outside the Commonwealth for a moment) the planned EU/US trade agreement, known as TTIP, has attracted critics concerned about its effect upon the UK’s health care (among many other things), those issues would not magically go away if the UK, having left the EU, sought to negotiate its own trade agreement with the USA instead. The controversial parts of the draft deal are surely attractive to the US side as well as the EU side; it’s not as if the EU is in a position to issue non-negotiable demands to desperate, poverty-stricken Americans.

The third argument is that the EU is not sufficiently interested in pursuing trade deals. As the facts discussed above show, it’s quite false to suggest that the EU is not interested in trade deals with Commonwealth countries, or that the UK's EU membership makes it impossible for British businesses to increase their exports to those countries. But could it be argued that the UK alone would do a better job of negotiating such trade deals, and negotiating them more quickly, after Brexit?

It’s true that it often takes years to negotiate EU trade agreements, and that some negotiations stall or slow down to a snail’s pace (with India, for instance). But this is not unique to the EU. Over twenty years ago, for instance, the Clinton administration developed a plan for a ‘Free Trade Area of the Americas’ – but it has never come to full fruition, and talks eventually fizzled out. There’s no guarantee that the UK alone would be able to reach agreements more quickly than the EU as a whole.

In any event, as noted above, the EU already has agreed trade deals with 64% of Commonwealth countries, and is negotiating with another 26%. Some of the latter negotiations are likely to be completed by the time that Brexit took place – since that would probably happen two years after the referendum date, so likely in 2018 or 2019 (for more discussion of the process of withdrawal from the EU, see here).  

So the UK would have to ask perhaps three-quarters of its Commonwealth partners for trade deals to replace those already agreed with the EU. They might agree quickly to extend to the UK a parallel version of their existing arrangement with the EU, since that would not really change the status quo. But they might not be interested in negotiating any further trade liberalisation. If they are interested, they will ask for concessions in return, and this will take time to negotiate.

For the remaining one-quarter or so of states, the UK will have to start negotiations from scratch, in some cases having to catch up with EU negotiations that are already underway. And there is no guarantee that these other states will want to discuss FTAs, or that negotiations would be successful.

Overall then, there’s no certainty that UK exports to the Commonwealth would gain from Brexit. They might even drop, if some Commonwealth countries aren’t interested in replicating the EU’s trade agreements. Alternatively, they might increase – but it’s hard to see how any gain in British exports would be enormous, given the existence of so many FTAs between the EU and Commonwealth countries already, and the uncertainty of those states’ willingness to renegotiate those deals.

Could this very hypothetical increase in exports to the Commonwealth make up for any loss in UK exports to the EU following Brexit? Obviously, this assessment depends on how Brexit would affect UK/EU trade relations. That’s a hugely complex subject, which I will return to another day, but suffice it to say that while I think a UK/EU trade deal after Brexit is likely, it’s far from guaranteed. And it’s hugely unlikely that any such trade deal would retain 100% of the UK’s access to the EU market. There are many reasons to doubt this could happen, but first and foremost: why would the EU send the signal that a Member State could leave the EU but retain all of its trade access? If it did that, the EU would be signing its own death warrant.

The key fact to keep in mind here is that the UK’s trade with the Commonwealth is less than one-quarter of its trade with the EU. So to make up for even a 10% drop in exports to the EU, the UK would have to increase exports to the Commonwealth by more than 40%. How likely is that, if the vast majority of trade between the EU and the Commonwealth would already be covered by FTAs at that point?

Taken as a whole then, it’s clear that the UK can remain a member of the EU and trade with the Commonwealth – and that this trade will only increase in future as more EU FTAs with Commonwealth states come into force or are negotiated. Leaving the EU, on the other hand, is liable to lead to reduction in trade with the remaining EU without any plausible likelihood that trade with the Commonwealth would increase by anything near the level necessary to compensate.

Annex

Canada: FTA agreed. It must still undergo the formal ratification process.
Australia: FTA negotiations start soon
New Zealand: FTA negotiations start soon
South Africa: FTA in force
India: FTA under negotiation
Singapore: FTA agreed. It must still undergo the formal ratification process.
Malaysia: FTA under negotiation
Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Maldives: No plans for FTA
12 Caribbean Commonwealth states: FTA in force between EU and 15 countries including Antigua and Barbuda, Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, Dominica, Grenada, Guyana, Jamaica, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Saint Lucia, Saint Kitts and Nevis and Trinidad and Tobago
Brunei: No plans for FTA
2 Pacific Commonwealth states: FTA in force with Papua New Guinea and Fiji
7 more Pacific Commonwealth states: FTA under negotiation between EU and 12 more countries including Kiribati, Nauru, Samoa, the Solomon Islands, Tonga, Tuvalu and Vanuatu
3 West African Commonwealth states: FTA agreed with 16 West African countries including Nigeria, Ghana and Sierra Leone. It must still undergo the formal ratification process. (Note that Gambia left the Commonwealth in 2013; but it is also part of this agreement).
Cameroon: FTA in force
4 East African Commonwealth states: FTA agreed with 5 East African countries including Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda and Rwanda. It must still undergo the formal ratification process. (Update: the Commission proposed the signature and provisional application of this deal in February 2016)
2 Southern and Eastern African Commonwealth states: FTA in force with 4 Southern and Eastern African countries including Mauritius and Seychelles (and also Zimbabwe, a former Commonwealth country).
2 other Southern and Eastern African Commonwealth states: FTA under negotiation with 7 more Southern and Eastern African countries including Malawi and Zambia.
5 Southern African Commonwealth states: FTA agreed with Botswana, Lesotho, Namibia, Swaziland and Mozambique. It must still undergo the formal ratification process. (Update: the Council decided on the signature and provisional application of this deal in June 2016; it will be signed and enter into force provisionally in mid-June).


Photo credit: www.google.com

Thursday, 2 May 2019

‘We *aren’t* the world’: the CJEU reconciles EU law with international (investment) law




Professor Steve Peers, University of Essex

Background

In recent years, investor-state dispute settlement (ISDS) has become a political minefield. Its critics argue that ISDS is a secret court system designed to allow multinational corporations to thwart any progressive legislation approved by democratically elected governments. Its defenders argue that these claims are exaggerated, and that ISDS performs a useful function attracting investment and securing property rights.

The arguments about ISDS are worldwide, but they have increasingly arisen within the particular framework of EU law. From 2009, the Treaty of Lisbon gave the EU exclusive competence over foreign direct investment as part of its common commercial (trade) policy, alongside goods, services and trade-related aspects of intellectual property. EU trade policy developed to include negotiations for ISDS as part of trade negotiations (although pre-existing investment treaties between EU Member States and non-EU countries were grandfathered, with a process in place to regulate negotiation of such treaties in future).

However, this led to political and legal difficulties in negotiating trade agreements: the former because of public concern about ISDS in both the EU and the non-EU countries, and the latter because of uncertainty about whether the EU had sole competence to negotiate treaties with ISDS provisions, or shared it with the Member States. Shared competence means that Member States have to become parties to the treaties concerned, meaning unanimity is required to agree them and there is a process of national ratification, although in practice the EU and the non-EU countries concerned often agree to provisional application of the trade-related parts of the treaty pending such national ratification.

The legal position was clarified when the CJEU ruled in 2017 that ISDS, like 'portfolio' investment (ie non-controlling shares in companies) did not fully form part of the common commercial policy (CCP), but was rather a shared competence between the EU and its Member States. (There’s EU legislation dividing up responsibility between the EU and its Member States in the event of successful investor claims.) Otherwise the Court took a broad view of the scope of the CCP. Coupled with the political concerns about ISDS, this was an opportunity to rethink the role of ISDS in trade policy, either leaving it out of talks completely (Australia and New Zealand, along with the mandate for stripped back trade negotiations with the USA), concluding a trade agreement without insisting on an investment agreement (Japan), or separating the issues into two distinct treaties (Singapore and Vietnam). This revised approach, splitting up trade and investment on a case by case basis, was confirmed more broadly by a Commission communication of 2017 and subsequent Council conclusions in 2018.

In parallel to these developments, the EU responded to concerns about the legitimacy of ISDS by seeking to reform it into a system more palatable to Main Street, rather than Bay Street, as a centre-left Canadian politician might say. A discussion paper of 2015 sums up the Commission’s approach, in particular securing greater transparency, limiting the scope of controversial provisions of investment law, confirming the ‘right to regulate’, and transforming investment tribunals into a quasi-judicial system, with the longer-term intention of establishing a multilateral investment court. Subsequently, the Commission tabled a proposal for such court, and the Council approved a negotiation mandate to that end. (For further details of the negotiations, see here).

Many EU trade and investment policy disputes came to a head early in 2017, when there was a delay in approving the Canada-EU Free Trade Agreement (CETA) because of concerns about ISDS and other issues in one Belgian region. (There were also national constitutional court proceedings challenging CETA in France and Germany, as well as an EU General Court judgment on whether a European Citizens’ Initiative could be launched to stop its ratification). This kerfuffle, coming shortly before the CJEU ruling clarifying the scope of the EU’s common commercial policy, partly prompted the move to downgrade investment objectives in EU trade policy, as discussed above. And part of the overall settlement of the dispute over CETA was the Belgian government asking the CJEU whether the CETA ISDS rules – renegotiated in light of the reformed approach to ISDS – were compatible with EU law. 

The Belgian government’s request – submitted on the basis of Article 218 TFEU, which allows the CJEU to rule on proposed international treaties – was answered by the Court of Justice this week (Opinion 1/17).  In the meantime, in its judgment in Achmea (discussed here) the CJEU had found that investment treaties between Member States were potentially incompatible with EU law.  Those treaties were duly wound up, but it remained to be seen if the Court would have the same concerns about investment treaties with non-EU countries. More generally, the Court has always had concerns about protecting the autonomy of EU law from international courts (see, for instance, Opinion 2/13 on accession to the ECHR, discussed here). Could these concerns about autonomy possibly be reconciled with the nature of ISDS tribunals?

The judgment

First of all, the CJEU ruled that the case was admissible. Although the Court only has jurisdiction to rule under Article 218 as long as a treaty has not yet entered into force, the provisional application of the trade provisions of CETA did not stand in the way of the Court’s jurisdiction. (Indeed, it appears that the Court would have found the case admissible even if the whole of CETA, including the investment disputes section, was in force provisionally).

The Court then examined the compatibility of the CETA investment provisions with EU law from three angles: the autonomy of the EU legal order; equal treatment and effectiveness; and the right of access to an independent tribunal. In each case, the Court set out the principles and then applied them to CETA.

On the the autonomy of the EU legal order, the Court first recalled its case law that in principle, the EU could sign up to an international treaty which created an international court which could give rulings binding the EU. However, the Court also recalled that any such planned international court cannot infringe the autonomy of EU law. (In practice, the Court has usually been quick to complain that such courts do raise an autonomy problem). This autonomy is, in particular, guaranteed by the EU’s judicial system, which provides for ‘national courts and tribunals and the Court to ensure the full application of that law in all the Member States and to ensure effective judicial protection, the Court having exclusive jurisdiction to give the definitive interpretation of that law’.

For the Court, the crucial factor was that ‘the envisaged ISDS mechanism stands outside the EU judicial system’. The CETA investment court system created by CETA is not part of the domestic court system of Canada, the EU or its Member States. This did not necessarily mean that the ISDS system ‘adversely affects the autonomy of the EU legal order’, because as regards international treaties, the EU judicial system ‘does not take precedence over either the jurisdiction of the courts and tribunals of the non-Member States with which those agreements were concluded or that of the international courts or tribunals that are established by such agreements’. While those treaties form part of EU law and ‘may therefore be the subject of references for a preliminary ruling’ to the CJEU, they ‘concern no less those non-Member States and may therefore also be interpreted by the courts and tribunals of those States’. The ‘reciprocal nature’ of international treaties means that the EU can sign up to treaties creating an international court that is not bound by the interpretations of that treaty given by the courts of any of its parties.

But while EU law did not prevent the creation of such courts, it did place limits on what they could do: ‘they cannot have the power to interpret or apply provisions of EU law other than those of the CETA or to make awards that might have the effect of preventing the EU institutions from operating in accordance with the EU constitutional framework’. It was therefore necessary to address two points: (a) no power for the CETA bodies ‘to interpret or apply EU law other than the power to interpret and apply the provisions of that agreement having regard to the rules and principles of international law applicable between the Parties’; and (b) no power to impact EU law indirectly, by issuing ‘awards which have the effect of preventing the EU institutions from operating in accordance with the EU constitutional framework’.

On the first point, CETA explicitly specifies that its bodies will not have jurisdiction ‘to determine the legality of a measure, alleged to constitute a breach of this Agreement, under the domestic law of a Party’. This was different from treaties which the CJEU had criticised in the past, which would have given an international court the power to interpret EU law. In particular, it was different from an investment treaty between Member States only (which the Court criticised in Achmea), because the EU law ‘principle of mutual trust’…. ‘is not applicable in relations between the Union and a non-Member State’.

Furthermore, the Court was pleased that the CETA investment bodies could not determine the division of powers between the EU and its Member States, unlike the treaty on accession of the EU to the ECHR (on the Court’s ruling in the latter case, see my discussion here).  This distinction between the international and domestic systems was consistent with the lack of a prior role for the CJEU, or any power of the CETA bodies to send a reference for a preliminary ruling to the CJEU. It was also consistent with the lack of any national court review of an investment body decision.

On the indirect impact point, several Member States were concerned that a CETA tribunal might rely on the EU Charter ‘freedom to conduct business’ to rule on whether an EU measure is ‘fair and equitable’ under investment law, or ‘whether it constitutes indirect expropriation’, or it is ‘an unjustified restriction on the freedom to make payments and transfers of capital’ as defined in CETA. The CJEU noted that the provisions of CETA were broad and the EU could not block a decision being made against it or an obligation to pay damages, and that a challenger under the CETA investment rules could concern an EU measure ‘of general application’. There was a risk that a series of damages awards might mean that the EU decides to give up the level of protection concerned. Such an indirect impact could, in principle, be incompatible with EU law:

150    If the Union were to enter into an international agreement capable of having the consequence that the Union — or a Member State in the course of implementing EU law — has to amend or withdraw legislation because of an assessment made by a tribunal standing outside the EU judicial system of the level of protection of a public interest established, in accordance with the EU constitutional framework, by the EU institutions, it would have to be concluded that such an agreement undermines the capacity of the Union to operate autonomously within its unique constitutional framework.

In this context, the Court asserted that ‘EU legislation is adopted by the EU legislature following the democratic process defined in the…Treaties’, subject to EU ‘principles of conferral of powers, subsidiarity and proportionality’, and subject to judicial review by the CJEU ‘to ensure review of the compatibility of the level of protection of public interests established by such legislation with, inter alia, the…Treaties, the Charter and the general principles of EU law’.

However, the Court was satisfied that there were enough safeguards against this indirect impact upon EU law. One provision of CETA states that the investment rules:

…cannot be interpreted in such a way as to prevent a Party from adopting and applying measures necessary to protect public security or public morals or to maintain public order or to protect human, animal or plant life or health, subject only to the requirement that such measures are not applied in a manner that would constitute a means of arbitrary or unjustifiable discrimination between the Parties where like conditions prevail, or a disguised restriction on trade between the Parties.

So the CETA Tribunal ‘has no jurisdiction to declare incompatible with the CETA the level of protection of a public interest established by the EU’ in such cases. Therefore it could not ‘order the Union to pay damages’. The Court was also reassured by provisions that state that parties can ‘regulate within their territories to achieve legitimate policy objectives, such as the protection of public health, safety, the environment or public morals, social or consumer protection or the promotion and protection of cultural diversity’, and that regulation which ‘negatively affects an investment or interferes with an investor's expectations, including its expectations of profits, does not amount to a breach of an obligation under this Section’. It also relied upon the Joint Interpretative Instrument to CETA, which states that CETA ‘will … not lower [the standards and regulations of each Party] related to food safety, product safety, consumer protection, health, environment or labour protection’, that ‘imported goods, service suppliers and investors must continue to respect domestic requirements, including rules and regulations’, and that the CETA ‘preserves the ability of the European Union and its Member States and Canada to adopt and apply their own laws and regulations that regulate economic activity in the public interest’.

The Court summed up its view that the CETA bodies’ powers: ‘do not extend to permitting them to call into question the level of protection of public interest determined by the Union following a democratic process’. This was also confirmed by another provision confirming that ‘except in the rare circumstances when the impact of a measure or series of measures is so severe in light of its purpose that it appears manifestly excessive, non-discriminatory measures of a Party that are designed and applied to protect legitimate public welfare objectives, such as health, safety and the environment, do not constitute indirect expropriations’.

While the CETA Tribunal has jurisdiction to apply the broad ‘fair and equitable treatment’ test of investment law, the CJEU was satisfied that this power was limited, only applying to ‘inter alia, situations where there is abusive treatment, manifest arbitrariness and targeted discrimination’. So again, in the Court’s view ‘the required level of protection of a public interest, as established following a democratic process, is not subject to the jurisdiction conferred on the envisaged tribunals to determine whether treatment accorded by a Party to an investor or a covered investment is ‘fair and equitable’.’

More generally, the CETA tribunals ‘have no jurisdiction to call into question the choices democratically made within a Party relating to, inter alia, the level of protection of public order or public safety, the protection of public morals, the protection of health and life of humans and animals, the preservation of food safety, protection of plants and the environment, welfare at work, product safety, consumer protection or, equally, fundamental rights.’ So they did not ‘adversely affect the autonomy of the EU legal order’.

The Court then moved on to the principle of equal treatment and effectiveness. Here, the issue was whether CETA had to be compatible with Article 20 of the Charter (‘equality before the law’) and Article 21(2) of the Charter (non-discrimination on grounds of nationality). On this point, the Court first confirmed long-standing case law that treaties which the EU signed up to had to be compatible with fundamental rights. This issue could also be examined in an Article 218 proceeding, and extended to the Charter. (Indeed, see a 2017 CJEU ruling on another treaty with Canada, concerning the exchange of passenger data, discussed here).

In the Court’s view, Article 21(2) of the Charter did not apply, since it banned discrimination on grounds of nationality only as between EU citizens. However, Article 20 could apply, as its personal scope was not limited. While Article 20 does not oblige the EU to treat all non-EU countries the same (ie, the EU has no internal equivalent to the WTO’s Most Favoured Nation rule), it could apply if there is a difference of treatment within the EU of non-EU citizens on the one hand and EU citizens on the other. As for the principle of effectiveness, it only arose where a CETA Tribunal might find that a fine implementing EU competition law was a breach of the investment guarantees.

Applying these principles, the equal treatment issue was that EU citizens and companies could not invoke the investment provisions in the EU, whereas Canadian citizens and companies could. However, the Court ruled that these two groups were not comparable. The principle of effectiveness was not breached because if the EU or national competition authorities overstepped the limits of EU competition law, their decision could be struck down by the courts anyway.

Finally, as for the right of access to an independent tribunal, the principles were that Article 47 of the Charter bound the EU when entering into international treaties. In the Court’s view, the CETA bodies were very similar to courts, and bound by similar principles of independence. Although the Court was concerned about the accessibility of ISDS for small and medium-sized businesses, it was ultimately satisfied by a statement by the Commission and Council that the issue would be addressed, given that approval of CETA by the EU depended upon that commitment. On the independence of CETA bodies, the Court was satisfied that there was sufficient protection against removal of members, and the rules on payment of members would not preclude their independence. It was unproblematic that the parties could issue a binding interpretation of CETA, since this was a usual feature of international law. In any event, the EU could only agree to interpretations that were compatible with the principles set out in the Court’s opinion, and such interpretations could not have retroactive effects.

Comments

First, the Court’s confirmation that the case was admissible is useful. This means that the EU and non-EU countries can decide to apply a treaty provisionally while an Article 218 case is pending before the CJEU. However, this does risk legal complications in the event that the CJEU ultimately finds that the treaty concerned is incompatible with EU law – by analogy with the Council’s statement (no. 20 in the list of statements for the Council minutes) that if a national constitutional court or parliament objects to ratification of CETA, provisional application must be terminated.

As for the substance of the Court’s ruling, its analysis of the equal treatment and effectiveness rules was rather brief. Like the French constitutional court ruling on CETA, there was no clear explanation of why Canadian investors in the EU were in a different position than EU investors. (Possible answers are that the ISDS offers equivalent protection for EU investors in Canada, and that EU investors in the EU can rely on EU internal market law). The assessment of effectiveness takes it for granted that an ISDS body and the EU or Member States’ national courts will reach the same conclusions about the correct application of EU competition law, which is hardly a foregone conclusion. As for the independence of the ISDS system, the Court largely follows its usual approach to defining judicial independence.

The heart of the Court’s judgment is its reconciliation of the autonomy of EU law with the ISDS system. There’s an unusually strong acceptance by the Court of the EU legal system’s co-existence with international law – rather than supremacy over it. But that acceptance is conditional upon the safeguards which the Court then sets out. Here, there is a fundamental tension between the procedural aspect of the ruling (separate court system) and the substantive aspect of preserving the ‘right to regulate’. What if an ISDS body does issue a ruling that arguably infringes the capacity of the EU to decide on the appropriate level of regulation? Given that it’s essential that the ISDS system stands outside the national and EU court systems, how can the boundaries – also essential – which the Court insists must be set upon that system be enforced? The division between ISDS and national courts systems is simultaneously part of the solution and part of the problem.

In short, in British English, the key question for the Court was whether it was willing to throw a spanner into the works of the international investment system. The Court’s answer, in Canadian English, is like having a black fly in your chardonnay.

Is there a way to square this circle? The power of the CETA Joint Committee to issue interpretative rulings would arguably not go far enough to ‘fix’ the problem of an ISDS body ‘running wild’, as such rulings cannot be retroactive and Canada might not agree to them anyway. So let’s return to the courts. The Court rules out a national court review of an ISDS decision. However, it also refers to the possibility of national courts asking the CJEU questions about CETA.  Arguably, then, it’s possible to enforce the limits on ISDS bodies by a Member State or the EU refusing to pay a damages award ordered by an ISDS body, leading to a court challenge of that refusal to pay by the winning party – which is technically not a court review of the ISDS body’s decision as such. It would be similar to the well-known case of Kadi, in which the CJEU did not rule on the validity of a UN Security Council measure as such, but on the legality of its application in the EU legal order.

Is the judgment relevant to Brexit? At first sight the judgment is encouraging for those who would like to avoid any role for the CJEU as regards the UK after Brexit, given the Court’s willingness to reconcile the EU legal order with international law. However, that was not the sole factor in the Court’s reasoning, which distinguishes (rather than overturns) prior case law on the autonomy of EU law. A key part of the Court’s reasoning is that the ISDS body, unlike previous international courts which the Court objected to, does not have power to interpret EU law. The position is quite different under the Brexit withdrawal agreement (as I discuss here), and it remains to be seen if it might also be different as regards EU/UK future relationship treaties.

Finally, given that the new ruling concerns a reformed ISDS, how can it be enforced as regards unreformed bilateral investment treaties between EU Member States and non-EU countries (see the most recent list of such treaties here), to the extent that they do not comply with the standards set out by the Court and may apply to issues falling within the scope of EU law? Here the 2012 Regulation grandfathering pre-existing treaties, which also puts in place a process to regulate negotiation of such treaties in future, may be relevant. The review of pre-existing treaties, and control of future treaties, which that Regulation provides for may be applied taking account of the criteria in the Court’s judgment, so as to coordinate updating such treaties to ensure that they are compatible with EU law. This could be similar to the earlier process of updating bilateral aviation treaties between EU Member States and non-EU countries, in light of a series of CJEU judgments on their EU law compatibility.

It's too soon to say whether the reforms of the ISDS, as endorsed by the CJEU in its ruling, will satisfy a sufficient number of critics of the system to reduce the political opposition which ISDS has attracted in the past. Maybe the Court's judgment will turn out to be a death row pardon, two minutes too late. But it's striking that unlike many prior rulings, the CJEU does not appear intrinsically hostile to an international court, but willing in principle to find a way to accommodate it. Furthermore, the constraints the Court insists upon are not justified (as is usually the case) in terms of the Court's own institutional interests in the autonomy of EU law, but in terms of the EU's political institutions' accountability to the democratic process. To adapt the Canadian term, this is a judgment for Main Street, rather than the Kirchberg plateau. 

Barnard & Peers: chapter 24
Photo credit: cbc.ca