Editorial #53: On the 80th Anniversary of the Polish Supreme National Tribunal, Think about Transitional Justice in Syria

There is no shortage of examples in which concrete instances of Polish history travel across borders to inspire political events elsewhere and elsewhen. Boris Nemtsov, who was until his murder in 2015 Putin’s maybe fiercest opponent, named the Russian opposition movement he founded in 2008 “Solidarnost”, for example – reference to the trade union that in the 1980s decidedly contributed to the downfall of the Polish People’s Republic noncoincidental. Or consider the many lives of Polish revolutionary and intellectual Joachim Lelewel’s catchphrase “Za naszą i waszą wolność” [For our freedom and yours], used originally in the context of the 1830 November Uprising against imperial Russian rule, and since quoted, for instance, in protests against the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. Most recently, “for our freedom and yours” has been invoked at pro-Ukrainian protest marches to underline the European-wide importance of Ukraine’s resistance against the ongoing Russian invasion. (Interestingly, in Lelewel’s original formulation, the “yours” was – rather than at other Europeans – directed at Russians, whom he hoped to entice into standing up against their own ruling classes.)

For our Justice

Poland’s Supreme National Tribunal, by contrast, does not make the list. Though meant to shape historical narratives, the tribunal itself seems comparatively forgotten. Operational between 1946 and 1948, the tribunal (called Najwyższy Trybunał Narodowy in Polish) presided over seven cases that comprised a total of 49 defendants. Its didactic purpose, complementing the punitive objective of prosecuting German war criminals, was to alert the world public to the Second World War plight of the Polish nation(als) after the Polish delegation at the International Military Tribunal felt marginalised; sitting in judgment at Nuremberg were not “the Allies” but rather their “great power” members only, nota bene. From today’s perspective, this mission against marginalisation has been crowned by only limited success. The Polish Supreme National Tribunal was “peripheralized” itself in international historiography and scholarship, likely because of then-operating Cold War dynamics and still-persisting language barriers. Its judgements are available in Polish only, even today.

In contrast, the marginalisation is certainly not due to a lack of Polish contributions to international law, which very recent scholarship has collected and analysed effectively and in English. Nor can the marginalisation be traced to an absence of high-profile defendants or public interest: Defendants tried and sentenced by the Tribunal included such high-ranking Nazis as Rudolph Höß, commander of Auschwitz. The trials themselves were immensely popular among the local public, who came en masse to attend the proceedings in the public gallery. A total of 15,000 spectators moreover bore witness to the hanging of Arthur Greiser – Warthegau Gauleiter and another one of the 49 individual defendants tried and sentenced by the Tribunal – which constituted the last public execution on Polish territory.

The Supreme National Tribunal is an interesting and important fact of history; to study and remember it is valuable in itself. A part of this endeavour, however, must be the appreciation of the Tribunal’s complex legacy (on which more below), and not just for reasons of historical accuracy. For it is this very complexity that makes the Tribunal such a pertinent case study in transitional justice with insights for contemporary attempts of the same nature.

And Yours

Almost 80 years after the first trial of the Polish Supreme National Tribunal began in June 1946, the trial against Atef Najib – integral part of not only Bashar al-Assad’s former regime but also his family – opened in April 2026 in Damascus. The question of justice for the victims and survivors of the Assad regime’s, as well as other violent actors’ grave crimes committed in Syria in recent decades has been occupying a central place in Syrians’ minds from long before Assad’s fall in December 2024. This question is not now and was not then, not even before the fall of Assad, merely theoretical: In cooperation with international partners, Syrian civil society has worked relentlessly and successfully to bring perpetrators to justice. In Germany alone, multiple regime collaborators have been convicted for grave crimes and sentenced to (life-)long imprisonment (see also this interactive map that documents more than 350 Syria-related cases across the world). And these efforts are ongoing, the newest trial against a Syrian former local militia leader having opened at Berlin’s Kammergericht on 27 March only. Anyone interested can come sit in the public gallery, which is now considerably eased by the fact that the Kammergericht has started publishing a weekly schedule online, unlike in the past Moafak D. case. Language barriers, however, persist with translations of the German court proceedings into Arabic made available to parties participating in the proceedings only, excluding spectators. Nevertheless, these universal jurisdiction trials constitute important pieces of a wider puzzle, no doubt. Meanwhile another, arguably more integral part – Syrian justice for Syrians – is concretising rapidly.

Syria commences its transitional justice journey at a time when the land and its people are still scarred by the devastating war, while the struggle for political power and stability is not yet fully settled. Bashar al-Assad remains sequestered in Moscow’s notorious Rublyovka district, maybe feeding his Candy Crush addiction and reportedly refreshing on ophthalmology. Al-Scharaa is nurturing his image as serious statesman. Despite his changed name and attire, many Syrians remain cautious about the relative stability under their new leader, meant to be but looking less and less “interim”. And for good reason, re the coastal governorates Latakia and Tartous as well as Sweida, a governate in Syria’s south, in which violent clashes last spring and summer led to hundreds of civilians being murdered and many more displaced, accountability outstanding. Other concerns also related to recent transitional justice efforts are rising, too, after the publication of the taped confession of Amjad Youssef, who is alleged to have played a crucial role in the Tadamon massacre in which 288 civilians are believed to have been shot dead. The extrajudicial format of Youssef’s confession raises due process concerns. The narrative of individual responsibility – glossing over this and similar atrocities’ systematic nature – that Youssef presents in the video moreover provokes the question of cui bono. Are the current powerholders setting themselves up for being let off the hook? Impossible to ignore, it’s this question that comes to mind when watching Syria’s current minister of interior – himself until recently targeted by sanctions against ISIL and al-Qaida members – ask Youssef whether he doesn’t have a heart on YouTube.

Think now with Poland 1946 about Syria 2026. The conditions, though the context is different, granted, were in another sense strikingly similar: Poland’s 1946 transitional justice efforts, too, commenced amidst unspeakable destruction of land and people and a political power struggle in full swing. Here, the history of the Polish Supreme National Tribunal gives reason for hope: Even under these difficult conditions, the Tribunal succeeded in meting out justice that, though not perfect, is regarded as fair.

At the same time, Poland’s experience can also be held up as a cautionary tale – containing lessons to be learnt not so much for Syrians but for international observers and supporters of transitional justice. Without fulfilling its mandate, and in the midst of further investigations, the Tribunal ceased operations in 1948. Following this, the repressive Polish state turned against some of the court’s key figures, notably Greiser attorney Antoni Chmurski, who was forced to give up practicing law, and prosecutor Mieczysław Siewierski, who fared worse and was sentenced to five years in prison.

Late historian Alexander Prusin convincingly argues that the Supreme National Tribunal’s ability to operate surprisingly freely and fairly until its disbandment was due to the new Polish government’s fraught political position in 1946. Seeking legitimacy, the government cared greatly about its international reputation; a successful performance of the Tribunal was calculated to reflect well on the new regime. And an international audience ready to be impressed obliged: An American delegation including Brigadier General Telford Taylor – lead prosecutor in the twelve subsequent trials following the main Nuremberg trial of the International Military Tribunal – sat in the Polish Tribunal’s proceedings against, among others, Ludwig Fischer, governor of the Warsaw district under Hans Frank. As the new government’s power consolidated, however, and its appetite for prosecuting Polish oppositionists grew bigger than its desire to bring German war criminals to justice, calculations changed. The Tribunal was disbanded.

What can international observers of transitional justice in Syria learn from this history? For one, the importance of looking at what the government is doing should not be underestimated – not only now that things are beginning to take shape but throughout the entire duration of the transitional justice process. Beyond mere observation, and/or in the event that there surfaces reason to suspect that things may be starting to go awry, international partners can support Syrian actors pushing for fair and comprehensive justice. Conveniently, these have just published a list of thoughtful recommendations addressing multiple actors, including international ones. It is also important, in this context, to remember that justice after the Second World War was a collective effort. While it is true that many Syrians committed crimes against their fellow nationals, perpetrators of grave crimes in Syria hold all kinds of nationalities. Some European alleged perpetrators and/or their family members have until recently been stuck in al-Hol camp in northeastern Syria – their governments unwilling to take them in, let alone investigate. After, at the beginning of this year, Syrian government forces seized the camp from the control of the Syrian Democratic Forces, a Kurdish-led militia, the camp was evacuated in February. Foreign individuals with ties to the Islamic State dispersed to locations unknown. It would have been easier to take responsibility for their nationals when these individuals’ whereabouts were known, of course, but the increased difficulty that comes with first having to locate their citizens does not absolve European governments from stepping up.

And Syrians? Many civil society organisations have been preparing for this moment for decades. They are ready, committed, organised, and professional. They know. The question, however, is whether they will be heard by the people in power currently orchestrating the transitional justice process. The latter would be well-advised to listen. Thinking back to Poland 1946, there is one point in particular – that Syrian civil society has already and anyways made – that underscores a cautionary lesson with potential pertinence to the Syrian case: The justice meted out by the Polish Supreme National Tribunal was selective. Its mandate was limited to prosecuting German war criminals, bracketing, notably, Russian perpetrators and Polish Nazi collaborators. In theory, the Tribunal could have prosecuted those responsible for the “fascistization of the country,” though this did not happen in practice. Especially the guilt of implicated Poles remains a topic of unclosed and difficult conversation, eighty years on. Not all history should be repeated.