Shining Light on Bad Practices: Re-assessing Tools for Corporate Accountability in Burma

by Kate Taylor

30 NOV 2017

Over the last twenty years, transparency has become a watchword within international policy-making institutions. Specifically, enhanced transparency has emerged as a critical component in the pursuit of corporate accountability for human rights abuses. Transparency-enhancing initiatives related to corporate accountability have proliferated enormously over this period, and their various forms have diversified substantially — from voluntary codes of conduct to mandatory reporting requirements. Despite this breadth, nearly all transparency-enhancing initiatives, whether legally mandated by the state or voluntary private initiatives, push corporations to make periodic public disclosures of financial and non-financial matters (primarily regarding human rights, labor, environmental and anti-corruption).

For human rights advocates embracing transparency as an accountability tool in the business and human rights arena, the broadly stated theory of change is that shining light on bad corporate practices can lead to remedy and reform. Of course, human rights advocates who promote such transparency do not accept corporate disclosures at face value — and many are willing to scrutinize their veracity and completeness. Yet, in assessing advocacy and accountability tools in the business and human rights arena, it seems necessary to examine the opportunity cost of this focus on transparency, querying what it both overlooks and obscures.

Recent reforms to Burma’s investment law illustrates the risks of over-emphasizing transparency as an accountability tool. Throughout 2016-17, the newly-sworn-in National League for Democracy (NLD) Burmese government rewrote its investment law, as well as its subordinate rules and regulations.  The reform process was undertaken by Burma’s Directorate of Investment and Company Administration (DICA) with technical assistance from the International Finance Corporation (IFC).

Human rights NGOs provided feedback with the aim of embedding respect for human rights and the environment within Burma’s new investment law regime. Ensuring that the Law and Rules incorporated rigorous transparency provisions was of fundamental importance to human rights advocates — bearing in mind the country’s egregious legacy of business-related human rights abuses and the opacity which has long-characterized Burma’s particular brand of crony capitalism.

Civil society feedback submissions covered a number of human rights issues and included transparency as a key concern. Notable among these suggestions was that the new government impose a set of “Responsible Investment Reporting Requirements,” which would require businesses investing over a certain monetary threshold to publicly disclose an annual report addressing a wide range of issues, including human rights, environmental matters, labor rights, anti-corruption measures, property acquisition and military communications.

Ultimately, civil society submissions regarding transparency were among the few suggestions taken up by DICA and the IFC in the re-writing of the new Investment Law and Rules. The final iteration of the Rules requires basic project information to be publicly disclosed before the government makes large-scale investment decisions. Additionally, it requires investors to submit annual reports on certain financial and non-financial matters to the Myanmar Investment Commission (which the Commission may decide to make public), including details of the investments’ impact on the environment and local community — but the disclosure requirements are bare-boned and are not accompanied by serious institutional buy-in on the part of the Myanmar Investment Commission. Ultimately, the drafters were hostile to rigorous human-rights based reporting requirements, which would have required due diligence on the part of companies, despite the urging of human rights NGOs. It seemed that the government, together with the IFC, was willing to incorporate only the smallest measure of transparency into the legal regime.

Without much more, embedding strong transparency requirements into Burma’s new investment law regime would do little to rectify the serious pathologies which characterize its business and human rights landscape. Enhanced transparency in Myanmar’s investment climate may begin to foster responsible business practices and encourage due diligence, but it does not promise to address broader structural issues that directly cause or exacerbate business-related human rights abuses extant in Burma, such as reckless investments in conflict-affected areas, systemic corporate tax avoidance, mammoth land grabs and displacement, and chronically weak labor-rights institutions.

Indeed, allowing irresponsible businesses to proceed as long as their disclosure requirements are met annually may actually legitimate a range of harmful business practices and obscure others that are undisclosed. Frequently, corporate disclosure efforts (especially in weak institutional contexts, where the prospects for audit and scrutiny are scarce) are little more than public relations exercises, with scant connection to the businesses’ real impacts on the ground. By emphasizing transparency as a global governance tool, we risk allowing corporations to give the allure of being a ‘rights-respecting’ or ‘socially responsible’ entities, with no substantive responsibilities being met to those most affected by their operations.

The focus on enhancing transparency also fails to support local communities affected by large-scale investments that frequently face intimidation and repression for speaking out against projects. Merely having information does little to open up spaces for contestation and access to justice. In addition, without linkages to domestic or transnational advocacy networks, ‘access to information’ means little for impacted communities. In the case of highly technical corporate disclosures, such reports can easily become sites of exclusion. The disclosure of a company’s Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) is a salient example. EIAs are largely unintelligible for those untrained in environmental management (and in Burma, are frequently disclosed in languages and terms not understood by impacted communities). Yet, in producing and disclosing an EIAs, companies often claim to have met their obligations toward community consultation.

As a governance tool, information disclosure and transparency fit well within the prevailing neoliberal logic and its preference for due process rights over substantive equalities. Human rights advocates would be remiss in their work to solely focus on such tools. Transparency is a laudable beginning for investments in Burma, but it is the start, and not nearly the end of the broader accountability project. The risk that mere transparency is conflated with accountability and justice should not be overlooked.

Kate Taylor is a human rights lawyer and Postgraduate Fellow at the Rapoport Center for Human Rights and Justice, and is a member of the 2017-2018 Working Paper Series Editorial Committee. Her impressions in this post are drawn from her experience working in Burma on human rights reforms to the country’s investment law regime. 

#JungleRepublic: Where a Facebook Status Can Cost You Your Freedom

by Reina Wehbi

12 APR 2017

An enraged young Lebanese activist, Ahmad Amhaz, was detained in March over this Facebook status: “Three kinds of animals currently rule our country: a donkey, a crocodile and a third whose kind is yet to be discovered.” Referencing the Lebanese president, prime minister, and speaker of parliament, Ahmad used the popular social media network to express his dissatisfaction with what he perceives as the “incompetency” of the country’s leaders, using the hashtag #JungleRepublic. After being stopped at a check point by intelligence officers for an alleged traffic violation, Ahmad was driven to a police station where he was later told he was arrested for online libel. Ahmad was then transferred to the Bureau of Cybercrime and Intellectual Property Rights for investigation. One week later, the investigative judge confirmed charges of libel and defamation against Ahmad who was kept in detention. Meanwhile, popular outrage from Lebanese civil society and human rights organizations—including Human Rights Watch and the Lebanese Center for Human Rights—grew stronger, propelling the release of a statement condemning the “arrest, detention and prosecution of Ahmad,” which constituted a violation of Lebanon’s human rights obligations under International Law. The fury of human rights defenders led the president and the prime minister to relinquish their personal rights regarding the case and the activist was released on bail after 9 days of detention. However, Ahmad is still on trial and could face up to two years in jail for violating Article 852 of the Lebanese Penal Code, which prohibits defaming the office of the President and national emblems.

The wave of arrests targeting journalists and activists in Lebanon over online statements— especially those made on Twitter and Facebook—during the last few years has escalated at an alarming rate. The Penal Code that the Cybercrime Bureau relies on to prosecute those who commit online libel, slander, and defamation dates back to the Ottoman Era, and thus does not comprehensively cover online crimes, modern norms of free expression and punishable dissemination of information. In the absence of clear law regulating cyberspace, the credibility of the Cybercrime Bureau, which was established by the Internal Security Forces in 2006 following the rise of cybercrimes, continues to be tested. Moreover, the broad and vague language of Lebanese criminal laws allows for discretion in applying the law. The Bureau enforces these vague laws against those with no political power as a way of intimidating the public. The legality and proportionality of pre-trial detention prior to conviction also remains in question and puts at stake the right to due process.

Article 13 of the Lebanese Constitution guarantees freedom of expression “within the limits established by the law.” Although the article seems to protect this basic freedom, it grants public officials immunity against criticism and results in “self-censorship” of journalists, activists and civilians who often use social media to voice their concerns and respond to officials’ activity. Although it is hard to draw a line between protected speech and extreme speech, Lebanon remains in a dire need of updated laws that are compatible with modern modes of communication. In the opinion of the young activist Ahmad, “officials should not be immune to criticism or defamation when they are not diligently serving the public.”

Reina Wehbi is an LLM student at Texas Law, concentrating in Human Rights and Comparative Constitutional Law, and member of the 2016-2017 Working Paper Series Editorial Committee.