Adejoké Babington-Ashaye
Adejoké Babington-Ashaye is a Senior Counsel at the World Bank, the Wasserstein Fellow-in-Residence at Harvard Law School, and Co-Chair of the 2020 ASIL Annual Meeting. She provides capacity-building training for national prosecution and investigation of international crimes through the Wayamo Foundation. Adejoké has worked at the International Court of Justice on the settlement of state disputes and at the International Criminal Court as an investigator. She is the co-editor and author of International Criminal Investigations: Law and Practice, and founder of Konseye: The Mentorship Network.
Adejoké holds an LL.B. from the University of Buckingham and an LL.M. in Public International Law from the London School of Economics. She is a qualified Attorney in the State of New York and a musician-activist with SongRise - a women’s social justice a cappella group that uses music to inspire social change. Her debut album was released in 2016. Follow Adejoké on Twitter @adejokemusic.
Adejoké was profiled for ATLAS by Judy Mionki, a Programme Researcher with the International Bar Association’s International Criminal Court and International Criminal Law Programme. Read more about Judy's career and work at the end of this profile.
======
What pulled you towards international law as a career? And what were your first steps?
I was raised to believe no one was better than me and I was better than no one. Identifying people on the basis of skin colour was prohibited by my mother and this ensured that I related to people on the basis of their character rather than the amount of melanin in their skin. I was taught to treat everyone equally regardless of whether they cleaned floors for a living or happened to be a dignitary. My parents never ceased reminding me that we were descended from a line of kings and kingmakers in the Yoruba kingdom (my paternal grandfather was a king) so I was never impressed by someone’s wealth, status, race or influence. I recall my father recounting a story of when, as a young man starting his career in 1970s London, his boss took him around the office to introduce him to other colleagues. Refusing to make an effort to pronounce my father’s name (Adebajo), the man said to my father, “Can I call you John?” Without missing a beat my father quipped, “Sure, if I can call you Kunta Kinte.” The man went on to pronounce my father’s name clearly at all introductions. We were not to be messed with. That was how I was raised. My parents also taught me to do as much good as I could and raised me to be a person of faith.
With these principles ingrained in me I was incensed whenever I encountered injustice and inequality. Growing up under military rule in Nigeria, I saw suppression and abuse of power. When I was around 8 years old, I witnessed two soldiers dragging and beating a crying woman. She had allegedly responded to them in a manner they deemed rude. I stood there with other residents in the neighborhood paralyzed by fear of the soldiers and their guns. We did not help the woman. As a child I wished there was something I could do. I was disturbed that the adults – who outnumbered the soldiers – were disempowered and couldn’t act. I knew then that I wanted to fight for social justice, but I did not know how. Later, living in Tanzania in 1994, my school educated students on the ongoing crisis in Rwanda. We were encouraged to bring clothes to help families fleeing genocide. I knew I had to help even though I did not fully understand the crisis as a child.
However, law was not my first career choice as my knowledge of legal paths was limited. I believed I had no choice but to become a commercial lawyer, the very thought of which I detested. At the time I had no role models in human rights so I defaulted to my passion: filmmaking. Yet a film career was not viewed as feasible and I was encouraged to rethink my future. I planned to practice commercial law for five years and then quit law altogether. However, when selecting subjects for my LL.M. I fell in love with international law and human rights. The principles enshrined in the different human rights conventions reflected how I was raised and I felt at home in this field of law. I saw international law as a vehicle through which to help people like the woman brutalized by the soldiers and the families fleeing genocide in Rwanda.
When I determined my path, I started off in human rights and social justice. The summer before my LL.M. I volunteered with the Wandsworth Citizens Advice Bureau in London which works to improve the policies and practices affecting people’s lives. I saw the impact of adverse social policies on individuals and communities. Upon completing my LL.M. at the age of 20, I interned at the International Service for Human Rights in New York where I monitored the Third Committee of the General Assembly which deals with human rights, humanitarian affairs and social matters. I recall being surprised that states voted in blocs against critical human rights resolutions because representatives did not like the words or phrases used. Fresh from my studies in the international protection of human rights, I thought certain countries would always defend human rights. I was wrong. Through an internship at the Carr Center, I soon learned about the influence of international politics over international law from research work for Samantha Power and Michael Ignatieff. Following these internships, I returned to Nigeria and conducted investigative missions to the Niger Delta to assess justice for vulnerable groups following violations of social and economic rights by the government and multinational oil companies. I then worked with a London based NGO to design and coordinate an advocacy campaign for the ratification and entry into force of the Protocol on the Rights of Women in Africa.
Two institutions were perpetually on my radar – the ICC, given my specialization in international criminal law, and the ICJ, given my fascination with treaty interpretation and public international law. I was fortunate to eventually work at the ICC in its formative years and to have addressed a diverse range of state disputes at the ICJ.
What do you consider to be the high points of your career thus far?
I have been blessed with several highs in my career. A newspaper article I wrote in 2004 launched a campaign against gender inequality and stereotypes in advertising in Nigeria. The campaign forced a major telecommunications company to pull its advert which, in my view, perpetuated preferences for the male child.I’m grateful to have forged a career in international institutions addressing important matters from individual criminal responsibility at the ICC to the judicial settlement of disputes at the ICJ, and now the obligations owed by international organizations to their staff at the World Bank Administrative Tribunal.
I am where I am today because I have stood on the shoulders of those who came before me. It is a personal high if I can help someone else advance their career. For this reason, diversity and inclusion are important to me. As Diversity Officer of the ABA Section of International Law, I designed a comprehensive diversity and inclusion plan and initiated a survey assessing the perception of diversity and inclusion within this membership body. Committed to fostering the development and dissemination of African perspectives and practices of international law, I volunteered as the Director of Programmes for the African Association of International Law and organized its 2015 Conference on International Law & Economic Development in Africa in Gabon. As the Wasserstein Fellow at Harvard Law School, I organized a panel on legal careers in international organizations, and the majority of the panelists were lawyers of colour. The panel was constructed in this manner because representation matters. It is extremely important for students to see themselves represented by individuals who look like them and have inspiring careers.
What are some of the challenges that you've had, and how have you tackled them?
Having started this career at a young age I found myself having to justify my presence, even though I was well qualified to be present and heard. It was equally frustrating to be told that I couldn’t hold certain positions because I was a young woman. With time, persuasion or pure assertiveness it became clear my age did not define me and that I should be judged on the quality of my work and the knowledge I brought to bear.
I have encountered sexism. A male human rights lawyer once commented I must be on my period when I requested payment for work I had done and for which payment was promised. I was once mistaken for the “female companion” of my older Caucasian male investigator colleague while we were on mission. I have also encountered subtle forms of racism and micro-aggressions e.g., people expressing surprise at how “eloquently” I speak or feeling comfortable enough to state that I was not like other Africans as though there was one type of African from the mythical country of Africa. These micro-aggressions are bewildering particularly when they come from well-educated individuals operating in international law and human rights. I recall being told by a colleague in the Netherlands that the only black person he knew growing up was Zwarte Piet! Such a statement was problematic on many levels not including the obvious: Zwarte Piet is a caricature of people of African descent.
At times I have spoken up, for instance when a former colleague crudely said that during a rape, since the woman had no choice, she should lie there and enjoy it. Another time, a European Ambassador refused to shake my outstretched hand when my ICC team and I met him at a refugee camp in an African country because he thought I was a refugee. I subsequently educated the Ambassador on his biases and assumptions: why would you come to a refugee camp and not shake hands with refugees? Why would you assume the only African person standing with representatives of the ICC was a refugee? Other times I succumbed to a fear of being misunderstood and then silenced myself – a course of action to which I no longer subscribe. We should never silence ourselves out of fear of what another person may think or feel.
The micro-aggressions faced as a woman of colour working in international law and development can be exhausting. I have been in spaces where diversity and inclusion were touted but not pursued. Yet we cannot afford to be tired. We who fight the good fight must persist in doing good, speaking our minds and supporting one another. I have been fortunate that some of my mentors and avid supporters of my career were men who believed in me (Chidi Odinkalu, Simo Vaatainen and Femi Elias are three examples). Until we eliminate systemic inequalities and address unconscious biases even in the minds of those doing human rights work globally, this is an issue we will continue to face (See Savages, Victims and Saviours by Prof. Makau Mutua).
Do you have any advice for people, particularly women, hoping to work in international law in the future?
You are more than one “thing”, so develop your many talents. This allows you to find the right balance in your life and gives you strength for the important work you wish to do. I derive personal fulfilment from my music and performing as a musician activist.
It is never too early to create opportunities for others. Use whatever privilege you have to open doors and keep them open for other women and women of colour. If you are organizing a panel think about gender parity and showcase amazing diverse people doing great work (there are millions!). Use your platform to raise others up, especially those not in your immediate circle. This opens up your network and enriches the body of international lawyers.
Embrace fear. I have learned that it is ok to feel fear so long as I do not let it take over. Surround yourself with honest cheerleaders who will tell you as it is but are cheering you along the way. They are your anchor.
Whether you are starting your career, facing a mid-life crisis, seeking to pivot, or considering other opportunities, think about your Plan A, Plan B and Plan Cand ensure these are in the realm of what you love to do and what makes your heart sing. I like to think of my Plan A as the “stars” – something that gets me excited to jump out of bed in the morning. I imagine what my day would look like and even though things may be challenging, doing such work – whatever it is – is immensely fulfilling. I envision my Plan B as the “sky.” It is like winning second place in the 100 metres race and the winner was Usain Bolt. It is not the “stars,” but it is pretty darn good (I could never beat Usain!), and I’m developing skills that are useful for my “stars.” Finally, Plan C represents the “clouds.” While it may not be my first or second choice, the clouds represent a cushion – a good, enjoyable base from which I can develop necessary skills which are transferrable to my Plans A and B. The cushion enables me to do side projects or provides a good work-life balance while I work towards my Plans A and B. My Plan C should never be work that I hate – this would be doing my soul a great injustice.
Adejoké Babington-Ashaye was profiled for ATLAS by Judy Mionki. Judy is a Programme Researcher with the International Bar Association’s International Criminal Court and International Criminal Law Programme. Previously, Judy worked as Legal Consultant with the Organized Crime and Illicit Trafficking Branch of the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, and prior to that, as a Legal Assistant/Case Manager for the defence teams of William Ruto and Joshua Sang at the International Criminal Court. Judy holds an LL.M in International Law from the University of Kent, and a Bachelor’s degree in International Relations from USIU-Africa. @JudyMionki