Welcome to the latest interview of the Völkerrechtsblog’s symposium ‘The Person behind the Academic’! With us we have Dr. Tania Ixchel Atilano, and through the following questions, we will try to get a glimpse of her interests, sources of inspiration and habits.
Welcome and thank you very much for accepting our invitation!
Thank you, Sissy for considering me for this series!!! I am really very honoured to be along so many accomplished scholars!!
It’s a great pleasure to have you in the symposium!
May I first ask what it was that brought you to academia and what made you stay?
I guess like many others, I didn’t exactly plan on being in academia, and I would have probably stayed in Mexico, if it had not been that I was always interested in different cultures and ways of thinking. And so, during high school I decided to start learning something that felt somewhat exotic at the time, especially in a place like Mexico where American culture is so dominant: German. Now that I think about it, the Goethe Institut in Mexico City, was a sort of place where the utopian spirit of the end of the nineties could be intensely felt. Maybe that had something to do with the optimism that followed German reunification, which seemed to carry a broader promise of a world without borders. The teachers were mostly German and some of them were also very optimistic, while others sometimes talked about their experience as children after the war. That left a very strong impression on me. The building wasn’t large but it brimmed with cultural life, with art exhibitions hanging on the walls, screenings of Wim Wenders’ films, or readings of authors like Elfriede Jelinek and Günter Grass. I remember the film So weit, so nah! (Faraway, So Close!) by Wim Wenders left a lasting impression on us. The fact that the title song (Faraway, So Close!) was performed by U2, and that the music video revolved around Berlin, added another layer of fascination. In retrospect, U2’s tribute to German reunification makes sense, given that territorial division in Ireland has been a major historical and political issue. It might now seem naive or even banal given the actual situation of the world, but back then, in a faraway place from Germany such as Mexico City, for us teenagers learning German, the quotes from Wenders’ films, the image of Trabis hanging above the stage during U2’s Achtung Baby tour concerts – all of it – symbolized the possibility of a different and peaceful world. Coincidentally, back then the director of the Goethe Institut in Mexico City was Bernd Scherer who later became intendant of the Haus der Kulturen der Welt in Berlin. It’s weird, but in all these amazing events at the HKW, which I attended while writing my dissertation, like the Anthropozän Projekt or Now is the time of Monsters, I felt something familiar – maybe it was Bernd Scherer’s imprint or simply the big German cultural tradition reflected.
But back to law…During my studies I was especially interested in criminal law – a field with the extraordinary power to deprive individuals of their liberty. The paradox of using state-sanctioned force to respond to harm has always intrigued me. Because after all, imprisonment is in itself a form of violence. What’s more, the effects of a crime — and of criminal punishment — reach far beyond the victim and the perpetrator. Families and communities are drawn into the consequences.
For some reason Mexican criminal lawyers are big admirers of German “Strafrechtstheorie” (criminal law theory), and so since I already knew some German, I decided to go direct to the sources of German criminal law theory and so I embarked on an LLM at the LMU in München. When I returned to Mexico, I worked at the Public Prosecutor’s Office in Mexico City, where I was lucky to collaborate with prominent criminal law academics, like Dr. Miguel Ontiveros Alonso, (a former student of Claus Roxin). Through him, I met Professor Francisco Muñoz Conde and both kind of convinced me to return to Germany and pursue a doctoral degree. I was fortunate to receive a scholarship from the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD), which brought me to Berlin — and the dissertation project led to another… and so, here I am.
If you were not an academic, what would you be?
I think I would have worked as a criminal defense lawyer or perhaps in labor law. Outside the legal field, I’ve always been drawn to history, so I imagine I’d enjoy being a history teacher.
How did your research interest in the history of international law and international criminal law arise?
While working at the Public Prosecutor’s Office in the mid-2000s, the so-called “war on drugs” was initiated by former President Calderón. Violence and the level of cruelty inflicted rose dramatically. It also intrigued me that from newspaper reports the number of civilian casualties far exceeded those of public security or military personnel.
It occurred to me that International Criminal Law (ICL) might offer useful analytical tools to make sense of the violence unfolding in Mexico, particularly in terms of disentangling the web of criminal responsibility, uncovering corruption, and addressing impunity. And so, the magnitude and complexity of the situation raised urgent questions that led me to write a dissertation on how ICL could be implemented within the Mexican legal system. I was very fortunate to write the dissertation under the supervision of Professor Gerhard Werle, whose lectures and scholarship influenced my thinking on the subject a lot.
In particular, I attended his course on the history of international criminal law, where he made extensive use of primary sources. His historically grounded approach – as seen in works like Auschwitz vor Gericht – left a lasting impact on the way I understand both international law, international criminal law and international humanitarian law. Perhaps even unconsciously, his methodology encouraged me to think more deeply about the historical contexts in which legal concepts develop.
While conducting research for my dissertation, I also came across fascinating 19th-century legal materials from Mexico regarding the laws of war. These sources reveal – in my view – a largely overlooked chapter in Mexican history; one that reveals a rich, but underexplored, relationship between gaining independence, state-building, codification and international law. Especially how international law was invoked to be part of the so- called “civilized nations”. The primary sources I found, strongly resonated to Arnulf Becker Lorca’s Mestizo International Law, which helped me connect the dots and gave me a new lens through which to understand these 19th century materials. It was through this process that my interest in the history of international law began to grow more intentionally.
Finally, what has struck me the most is how many of the arguments made in 19th-century Mexico – particularly those concerning equal sovereignty and non-intervention – continue to echo across the Global South today, especially in efforts to contest Western hegemony. In this regard, international law appears as an unfinished promise: a project of emancipation and recognition that began with the first wave of decolonization in the 1820s, and one that still remains incomplete.
Which are three texts that you would wish all academics working on international law would read?
In general, I believe academics working on international law would benefit enormously from reading more broadly across the humanities. I understand time is limited, but developing a more humanistic approach to international law helps remind us that legal frameworks – or their absence – have impacts on human lives.
First, I would recommend The Broken Spears (La visión de los vencidos), a collection of Nahua (Aztec) accounts of the Spanish conquest. It’s a powerful record of what it meant to be “conquered” and a vivid depiction of the violence that conquest unleashed – not only in material but also cultural and spiritual terms. It helps us question categories like “discovery,” “civilization,” or “the new world”, and reflect on how sovereignty was constructed through the victors and Eurocentric lens. For international law, it is a reminder of the erased voices that still haunt the discipline’s foundations.
Second, I would suggest The Sentimental Life of International Law by Gerry Simpson. This book shows how we can think and write about international law differently, bringing in literature, aesthetic form, and emotion. It’s an invitation to engage international law not just as a rigid framework but as a cultural and imaginative practice.
Third, Fantomas contra los vampiros multinacionales (Fantomas Versus the Multinational Vampires: An Attainable Utopia) by Julio Cortázar. Cortázar, an Argentinian novelist and central figure of the Latin American literary boom, was also part of the Second Russell Tribunal, which investigated human rights violations in Latin America under dictatorship, like Chile, Brazil, Colombia. Disappointed that the tribunal’s findings were largely ignored by the media, Cortázar had the idea of inserting the tribunal’s narrative into an already published Fantomas comic, the plot of which revolves around a conspiracy by multinational corporations to burn books around the world. He rewrote the story, layering it with meta-narratives and framing himself as a character within the text, alongside real-life intellectuals like Susan Sontag and Alberto Moravia. At the end, Cortázar included the full judgment (where multinationals were also found guilty) of the Second Russell Tribunal as an epilogue. The result is an unconventional work that demonstrates how the language of international law can be appropriated and reimagined by novelists and artists, as well as how they can creatively reach broader publics.
Each of these works, in different ways, show how international law intersects with memory, narrative, emotions and the struggle over meaning. They are reminders that international law does not exist in a vacuum – it is always entangled with culture, history, and power.
What is your favourite place to read and write? What is always near you when you read and write?
It’s always great to read and write with a nice perspective, it could be a glimpse to a park, a tree, or simply the sky. Near me, are always my notebook, pencils and color markers to write notes and underline the interesting or relevant parts.
What is an energy and inspiration booster, at times when you have none?
Lately, I’ve been listening to the podcast Fly on the Wall hosted by former Saturday Night Live cast members Dana Carvey and Dave Spade. They speak very openly about their experiences on the iconic live comedy show, the competitive effort, the struggles, missteps, and what it really meant to be part of that world.
Sometimes, I feel that academia is a lot like Saturday Night Live: it’s highly competitive to get in, hard to stay, and it’s often bound up with insecurity, anxiety, and uncertainty, but also with the deep satisfaction of achieving something meaningful and creative.
What I find most inspiring is how legendary presenters and comedians like Jerry Seinfeld or Conan O’Brien speak so humbly about their failures, or how much luck played a role in their success. Academia would be a much healthier environment if we could talk just as openly about trying, failing, and eventually succeeding.
I’m also struck by how much effort goes into something that appears effortless, how much these comedians rehearse, refine, and analyze in order to make a single joke land. They think about timing, structure, the rhythm of a punchline, and how to hold an audience’s attention. In a way, it’s not that different from what academics do when preparing lectures, writing papers, or presenting ideas: we work hard to make something complex understandable and engaging.
It’s surprising – and oddly comforting – to realize that even laughter takes a lot of work.
Also, for any woman struggling with academic life or a legal career far from home, I find the story of Margarete Berent especially inspiring. She was a Jewish German jurist who fled Nazi Germany and rebuilt her life in the US. Despite incredible obstacles, she never gave up—and at the age of 63 (!!!) she was finally admitted to the US bar to practice law. She then worked in the legal department of the New York City administration until she was 78. This also puts to the front the theme of age in legal Academia… should it be a burden to be older?
Have you ever drawn influence from any form of art in your work? Is there anything artistic about teaching or writing academic texts?
Yes, especially in legal history, I’ve found art to be an incredibly valuable resource. Art can trigger curiosity, but also convey knowledge in ways that legal texts alone often can’t. It offers an extra layer – a kind of living layer – of insight into what the law means or meant in the past, or how it was experienced. By looking closely at an image or through literature, we can access the emotional and historical context in which certain legal ideas emerged. An artwork can serve as a living testimony – whether of an event, an impression, or the artist’s intention. I believe international lawyers could benefit greatly from this broader, more interdisciplinary lens.
Which of your publications is your favourite one? And which of them is your least favourite?
Oh, that’s a hard one, because I am still building on my scholarship. I think my favourite is the piece I wrote on Édouard Manet’s series The Execution of Maximilian, which was published in a wonderful volume edited by Prof. Giovanni Rossi and Pietro Schiró entitled Law and art in the 19th Century.
The paintings of Manet are not only visually striking, but they also open a fascinating window into the history of the laws of war, republicanism, and the struggle for sovereignty and non-intervention in mid-19th century Latin America — all conveyed through the lens of a French artist. They offer an unexpected and powerful perspective on how international legal and political ideas were interpreted and represented beyond legal texts.
If you could, which advice would you give to yourself at the earlier stages of your career?
Do not underestimate your own ideas.
If you could, which unspoken rule of academia would you instantly erase?
I would say the rigid hierarchies that still shape academic culture. These unspoken rules often create unequal opportunities — especially for those coming from different academic systems or cultural backgrounds, where the norms around hierarchy and protocol may be entirely unfamiliar or unclear.
Formalities vary widely across countries and disciplines. What is considered respectful in one context might seem distant or confusing in another — and this becomes even more difficult when you’re navigating it all in a foreign language. The fear of making a cultural or linguistic misstep can be paralyzing.
I believe academia would benefit from softening these structures and focusing more on collegiality, openness, and kindness. I’m convinced that scholarship and scientific exchange would benefit from a environment where people feel safe and welcomed, not anxious about unintentionally breaking protocol.
In addition, if we are serious about achieving gender equality in academia, we need to speak more openly about motherhood, caregiving, and academic careers. Succeeding in academia often requires not only institutional support, but also a great deal of understanding and flexibility from one’s partner — and patience from one’s children. Perhaps someone should publish a book titled The Sentimental Life of Moms (or Moms to be) in Legal Academia, where junior and senior scholars alike could share their experiences and advice. (I’m joking about the title, but not about the idea.)
There’s a wonderful anthology: The Long Devotion. Poets Writing Motherhood, which is about poets and writers and the challenges of writing in the midst of parenting, single parenting or seeking to become a parent. Maybe such an anthology could serve as inspiration.
I could only second how interesting this would be … We have briefly read about other interviewees’ experiences of writing legendary articles or starting their habilitation while pregnant, but an extensive anthology on navigating legal academia as a (potential) mother is certainly still missing from existing literature! Perhaps next year’s ‘Women in International Law’ symposium of our blog could be a first step to that end! We can talk about this further in due course!
My next question would be, have you experienced or witnessed discrimination in academic circles? How have you reacted to these instances?
Overall, my experience in academic circles has been very positive and welcoming. I’ve had the chance and privilege to meet a lot of inspiring and amazing people from all over the world, and I consider myself lucky to have always felt welcome.
A great example is the enthusiastic support I’ve received from the Arbeitskreis junger Völkerrechtler*innen (AjV) in organizing this year’s bi-annual conference, along a genuinely plural and diverse organizing committee — and the University of Zurich, especially Prof. Elisabetta Fiocchi and Prof. Oliver Diggelmann, has been incredibly supportive of the initiative.
Regardless my positive experience in academia, I’m very aware of how important it is to create inclusive academic spaces. Maybe it’s because I have experienced discrimination in everyday life that I understand how powerful — and necessary — it is to build environments where everyone truly feels that they belong.
Ideally, whom would you want to find waiting for a meeting with you outside your office next Monday?
It would be pretty cool to meet the German writer Juli Zeh for lunch. She is also a lawyer, so it would be fascinating to exchange views, and I’d love to know more about her inspirations to write.
If Juli Zeh doesn’t show up, I’d be thrilled to find historian Greg Grandin instead. From an interview he gave to Daniel Steinmetz-Jenkins, I learned about his new book America, América, where he argues that 19th-century Latin America shaped international law in surprising ways. That sounds wild and exciting — I’d really want to hear more about it.
What are you working on currently? What may we anticipate in the near future?
Together with Professor Elisabetta Fiocchi Malaspina, I’m co-editing a symposium for the Review of the International Red Cross, which brings together contributions that expand the history(/ies) of international humanitarian law. The goal is not only to uncover overlooked or forgotten narratives, but also to engage with unconventional methodologies and perspectives. We hope it will be published later this year – so stay tuned!
And of course, there’s the upcoming AjV conference at the University of Zurich, themed Post Hegemonic International Law? It’s a very timely and pressing topic, and the Call for Papers is currently open. We’re looking forward to receiving a wide range of exciting abstracts.
Thank you very much, Dr. Ixchel Atilano, for participating in our symposium and for having taken the time to respond to our questions!
