About the author(s):
Yousuf Syed Khan is Manager, Law and Policy at Legal Action Worldwide in Geneva. He is also a Nonresident Senior Fellow with the Strategic Litigation Project at the Atlantic Council, and an Associate Fellow at the International Centre for Counter-Terrorism – The Hague. His work focuses on the use of siege warfare, attacks against objects indispensable to the survival of a civilian population, and forced displacement as a warring strategy.
Yousuf has over 15 years of legal experience dealing with complex conflict situations, with specific expertise on the contributions and practice of UN atrocity inquiries. He has served on four commissions/investigative accountability bodies established by the UN Human Rights Council, regarding situations in Syria, South Sudan, Belarus, and Ethiopia. In these capacities, he conceptualised and led the drafting of over a dozen public UN reports, including the first-ever report by a UN-mandated mechanism on starvation as a method of warfare.
He also worked in Ukraine supporting the Government to prosecute starvation crimes; on human rights with the UN in Afghanistan; led a team monitoring the post-ISIS administration of justice countrywide with the UN in Iraq; and served with the Trial Chambers of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) in The Hague.
This post forms part of the Wagner Symposium hosted by the Armed Groups and International Law blog. The introductory post can be found here. The symposium seeks to foster deeper discussion on how best to address the Wagner Group and its affiliated entities.
Introduction
Though ascribed by an array of names, the “Wagner Group” has been steadily implicated in grave human rights violations or abuses (p. 4) and atrocity crimes in several conflict zones, including Syria, Ukraine, the Central African Republic (CAR), Burkina Faso, Mali, Libya, and Sudan. Allegations span extrajudicial killings, torture, abductions and disappearances, rape and other forms of sexual violence, and looting or pillaging. Though its organisational definition remains opaque, Wagner broadly embodies the privatisation of violence and the rise of transnational, State-linked military proxies operating in legal grey zones. Given the scope and scale of its operations – and the severity of violations attributed to it – a pivotal question arises: Can the United Nations (UN) Human Rights Council (HRC) establish a Commission of Inquiry (COI) on the Wagner Group?
Legal and institutional basis
Under UN General Assembly (UNGA) Resolution 60/251, the HRC has the authority to address “gross and systematic” human rights violations and to make recommendations. Indeed, since its creation by the UNGA in 2006, the HRC has convened some 40 mandated mechanisms comprising commissions, fact-finding missions, and other ad hoc investigations to cover sudden events or protracted situations deemed sufficiently grave to warrant the Council’s attention. The mandate holders themselves determine the geographic scope (ratione loci), temporal mandate (ratione temporis), subject-matter mandate (ratione materiae), and the actors investigated (ratione personae) (p. 37).
The HRC typically establishes these investigative mechanisms in response to the political will of Member States that desire public reporting on serious violations of international human rights law (IHRL), including acts that may amount to crimes against humanity committed in peacetime. In contexts of armed conflict, however, HRC mandates routinely incorporate explicit references to violations of international humanitarian law (IHL) and, in many cases, to the commission of war crimes. Even where investigative mechanisms are established prior to the outbreak of hostilities, mandate holders have frequently determined the existence of the armed conflict, identified violations of IHL or war crimes, and treated such determinations as squarely within the scope of their mandates. This practice confirms the authority of COIs not only to investigate violations, but also to determine the applicable legal framework(s).
Defining the Wagner Group
One reason why the Wagner Group remains unaccountable, including before the HRC, is perhaps definitional: is it a mercenary group, a private military security company (PMSC), or something else entirely? While Moscow had consistently denied any affiliation with PMSCs, including the Wagner Group, its posture changed in June 2023 when it revealed Russian State funding and support to Wagner. Despite this recognition, Wagner’s structure is neither fixed nor easily dissolvable, and it operates in the blurred space between mercenarism and PMSCs. As Candace Rondeaux aptly describes, the Wagner Group represents a virus-like organisational model, designed to metastasise, mutate, and regenerate in response to scrutiny or sanctions, with deliberate ambiguity by design enabling plausible deniability.
Notably, IHL provides only narrow definitions of “mercenary” activity (eg, AP I, Art. 47), focusing on individual combatant status, not accountability. The 1989 International Convention Against the Recruitment, Use, Financing and Training of Mercenaries criminalises mercenary activity but, with a mere 37 States Parties, is under-ratified and difficult to operationalise. Similarly, the 1977 Organisation of African Unity (OAU) Convention on Mercenarism in Africa covers only parts of Wagner’s operations and permits political discretion by States through both definitions and flexibility in enforcement. Meanwhile, PMSCs fall under voluntary soft law instruments like the 2008 Montreux Document and the 2021 International Code of Conduct for Private Security Providers, which lack binding enforcement or scope over offensive combat operations. It is precisely because Wagner often functions outside the limits of both paradigms that this definitional ambiguity means accountability cannot be pursued through conventional legal channels alone.
A Wagner-specific COI
To that end, the establishment of a COI on the Wagner Group would serve four essential purposes:
- Collection, consolidation, and preservation of evidence across jurisdictions
The documentation by COIs can provide a foundational evidentiary record to identify patterns, actors, and legal classifications of violations, and set the stage for future credible accountability processes. Without independent documentation, there is little reliable basis for prosecutions, sanctions, reparations, or truth-telling.
Notably, documenting Wagner has proven exceptionally difficult and indeed perilous. Existing documentation on Wagner is fragmented and conducted under extreme security risk, and not regularly carried out pursuant to international standards or rigorous methodology (eg, investigative journalism versus forensic documentation). A COI could centralise juridically relevant evidence in accordance with international standards, serve as a secure repository for future prosecutions, and protect the integrity of that material, eg, through document hashing to safeguard against tampering.
A COI can further illuminate the Wagner Group’s vast network of front companies and shell structures, which Rondeaux notes are integral to its ability to shield perpetrators from accountability. Mapping these networks is essential to unravel the legal architecture of “plausible deniability”, and – when the COI’s underlying information and evidence are shared with domestic authorities – may help facilitate cases pursuant to the principle of universal jurisdiction.
Moreover, as part of their operational methods, COIs increasingly use remote investigations, including OSINT, remote witness, survivor, and defector testimony, and satellite imagery analysis to overcome these limitations, all of which can be marshalled to examine Wagner-linked operations in restricted theatres such as Sudan, Syria, or Russian-occupied Ukraine, the latter – which this author notes from field experience – is a blackhole for human rights investigators. Today, the HRC investigative mandates for Iran and Belarus, to name only a few, lack access to the concerned States, and instead rely solely on remote investigations to document alleged violations.
- Clarifying chain of command and State linkages
It has become clear that Wagner’s hybrid identity has allowed its perpetrators to evade accountability. A COI could comprehensively map the Wagner Group’s structure and clarify its ties to State organs, including intelligence and military services. This clarification function is a core strength of COIs, and the names – subject to appropriate consent and the principle of “do no harm” – could be shared confidentially with domestic authorities pursuing universal jurisdiction cases.
- Filling institutional gaps
The ICC has jurisdiction over Ukraine (Rome Statute Art. 12(3)), CAR, Burkina Faso, and Mali (Rome Statute members), Libya (now Rome Statute Art. 12(3)), and Sudan (Darfur) (via UNSC referral). It, however, lacks jurisdiction over other Wagner operating theatres (eg, non-States Party to the Rome Statute like Syria). Even where jurisdiction exists (eg, CAR or Libya), prosecution has been hampered by security constraints and limited political appetite. In these cases, COIs serve as a credible and complementary bridge mechanism by offering legal findings, victim engagement, and political visibility where judicial processes are absent or slow.
- Normative and policy development
At their best, COIs report on IHRL and IHL violations and atrocity crimes that may have otherwise been overlooked or insufficiently documented, and, in doing so, they have in certain cases shaped the discourse surrounding those violations and crimes. In this way, by investigating Wagner, a COI could also address systemic gaps in international law concerning PMSCs and mercenaries. The HRC’s Intergovernmental Working Group on PMSCs (established 2010) has struggled for over a decade to achieve consensus on regulation to generate binding norms. A COI could provide evidence and inject urgency into these stalled debates, particularly on accountability for hybrid actors who fall outside current legal categories.
Precedents for investigating non-State or transnational actors
Eric Tistounet aptly describes the HRC’s operational architecture as fragmentary yet pragmatic, which allows for flexibility in response to rapidly evolving, politically charged crises. This pragmatism has further allowed the Council to innovate beyond country-specific mandates, deploying mechanisms that evolve in scope, format, and terminology as needed.
No existing mechanism covers Wagner’s transnational scope, as most current COIs are geographically limited (eg, Ukraine) and lack a mandate to map Wagner’s cross-border operations comprehensively. While some observers might assume that the HRC can only investigate State actors, in practice the Council has repeatedly included non-State armed groups in its mandates. The COIs on Syria, Libya, and Burundi have investigated foreign fighters and militias. In Syria, the COI examined abuses by local “Shabiha” militias and terrorist groups, while the Independent Fact-Finding Mission on Libya documented violations by mercenaries (para. 45).
Wagner’s operations span jurisdictions and legal regimes, however, requiring a mandate capable of mapping patterns of violations across conflict zones and likely even legal contexts. No existing mechanism currently offers this breadth of scope. The COI on Ukraine has mentioned Wagner by name and documented its activities within Ukraine’s borders, albeit only in passing (paras. 49, 358). In April 2015, the HRC held its 23rd Special Session to address “atrocities committed by the terrorist group Boko Haram and its effects on human rights in the affected States.” The session culminated in the unanimous adoption of Resolution S-23/1, which unequivocally condemned Boko Haram’s gross human rights abuses and acknowledged the cross-border nature of its violence. Crucially, the resolution referred explicitly to the “affected States” of the Lake Chad Basin (Nigeria and its neighbours), framing Boko Haram’s attacks as a regional threat rather than a domestic crisis confined to one State.
HRC institutional flexibility
The HRC has also previously adapted its mandates that address contemporary threats. For example, the Eritrea COI addressed the use of conscripts as forced labour in a wide range of economic activities, including private enterprises (para. 35). The Independent International Commission of Inquiry on the Occupied Palestinian Territory (OPT) has a broad mandate to investigate violations in the occupied territories, including “all underlying root causes” (para. 1). The COI OPT’s scope implicitly allows examination of third-party enablers, such as States or entities, supplying arms that contribute to violations (para. 7). The COI on Syria likely exceeded its territorial mandate by reporting on Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) transboundary conduct in Iraq. Moreover, in the immediate aftermath of the height of the “Black Lives Matter” protests, the HRC established the Expert Mechanism to Advance Racial Justice and Equality in Law Enforcement, demonstrating the Council’s ability to move from geographic limits (ie, the United States) to thematic mandates.
A Wagner COI can also serve as a rule of law complement, ensuring that justice is not outsourced to opaque executive measures, deterring future violations, and legitimising the normative boundary around private transnational violence. It could also serve to keep Wagner-linked conduct on the international agenda and shape State policy or sanctions.
Diplomatic navigation, political geometry, and mandate design
Together, these precedents show that the HRC can address transnational, actor-based, or thematic concerns, provided the mandate is carefully framed and politically viable. Establishing a COI on the Wagner Group and affiliated entities would require overcoming political resistance, particularly from Moscow and its allies. Russia, a former HRC member (suspended in 2022), and allies like China, consistently block mechanisms targeting their interests (eg, China vetoing Syria referrals at UNSC). A Wagner COI would face similar opposition.
Such a COI would benefit from semantic flexibility – instead of naming Wagner explicitly, the mandate could reference “foreign armed entities,” “mercenary actors,” or “transnational private military networks,” or “transnational armed entities.” The HRC has shown that mandate naming can be a political instrument. When COI creation is blocked, the Council has opted for euphemisms like “high-level missions” or “Group of Human Rights Experts” to neutralise opposition while retaining core investigative functions. A Wagner-specific mechanism could benefit from this naming fluidity, avoiding an explicit label while ensuring a robust actor-based inquiry. By framing the mandate broadly and mirroring successful strategies like the mandate of the Independent International Fact-Finding Mission on the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, which avoided naming specific actors, chances for successful passing would be heightened.
Similarly, with respect to thematic anchoring, the COI could be framed as part of a broader initiative to address regulatory gaps around PMSCs, offering a less politically charged entry point. On co-sponsorship and timing, there can be little doubt that African states (eg, CAR and Mali) and Eastern European states (eg, Ukraine) have incentives to support, given Wagner’s impact on their respective territories. Strategic co-sponsorship by African, Eastern European, and Latin American states (where Wagner operates or has impacted) would serve to generate positive momentum, especially following PACE Resolution 2556 (2024), which directly invites HRC action on Wagner (para. 14.12).
The way forward
As the various contributions to this symposium clearly demonstrate, the Wagner Group represents a dangerous template for future military outsourcing and plausible deniability as it eludes traditional typologies. It is neither a conventional mercenary group nor a private security firm, but rather a strategic surrogate. This conceptual liminality is precisely why existing legal frameworks fail, and why a COI must investigate Wagner as a novel actor in global warfare. The discretion and flexibility afforded to COIs to determine who falls within the investigative scope would be essential for mapping Wagner’s layered structure and authoritatively exposing its architecture, including corporate fronts, military liaisons, and affiliated militias.
Moreover, the failure to act sends a signal that strategic atrocity outsourcing is cost-free. If left unaddressed, the Wagner model may be replicated by other States seeking to evade scrutiny, fuelling a transnational market for coercion that thrives on impunity. A COI would not only establish facts; it would reaffirm the normative boundary between state power and outsourced violence.
COIs are often used to bridge accountability gaps, producing legal findings that can feed into future criminal prosecutions, and reparations. Given the ICC’s limited jurisdiction in some of Wagner’s operational theatres, this bridging function is indispensable. Such a COI would not only respond to a serious accountability vacuum but also model how HRC investigative mandates can continuously adapt to 21st century warfare. Indeed, the establishment of a COI on the Wagner Group is a necessary mechanism for a contemporary threat, and transnational atrocities warrant transnational mandates. The UN HRC is in a unique position to lead – it is legally empowered, procedurally capable, and strategically positioned to take this vital step.