Priya Gopalan

Priya Gopalan is a Malaysian lawyer specialising in international criminal law, transitional justice, gender and intersectionality. In 2021, Priya was appointed by the UN Human Rights Council to the Working Group on Arbitrary Detention, as the member from the Asia-Pacific region. She has served as Chair-Rapporteur of the Working Group and is currently Vice-Chair on Follow-Up. She was also elected to the Coordination Committee of the United Nations Special Procedures (2023-2024). Priya’s expertise in transitional justice processes includes international criminal prosecutions, strategic/universal jurisdiction litigation, reparations and human rights investigations.

After obtaining a B.A. Jurisprudence (Hons) from the University of Oxford, where she was a UK Commonwealth Chevening Scholar from Malaysia, Priya started her legal career as a financial litigator at a law firm in London. Following an LL.M in Public International Law (Distinction) from the London School of Economics and Political Science, she joined the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia where she served as prosecutor and appeals counsel. During her time there, she played a leading role in cases that set progressive legal precedents for conflict-related sexual violence. Priya was the Legal Advisor for sexual and gender-based crimes at the UN International, Impartial and Independent Mechanism for Syria (the IIIM Syria), Gender Advisor for the UN Investigation on Sri Lanka and Senior Advisor to the Truth, Reconciliation and Reparations Commission of The Gambia. She has advised international and national bodies, UN agencies, states, and civil society organisations, on technical and policy issues on access to justice and best practices for working with survivors of conflict-related violations, in particular sexual violence.

Priya Gopalan was interviewed for ATLAS by Sareta Ashraph.

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What drew you to working in international law? And what were your first steps?

Growing up in rubber plantations in rural Malaysia led me to my career in human rights and accountability. As a child of the plantation manager and a teacher, I was acutely aware of my opportunities and privileges when compared to that of my classmates, many of whom were children of rubber tappers and labourers. I witnessed first-hand the racial, social, and economic divisions in the daily lives of many Malaysians. But even with my relatively privileged background, in the rural schools I attended, I still had to reckon with the disadvantages of belonging to the Indian ethnic minority in Malaysia, a country that has a formalised race-based hierarchy set out in its Constitution. Similarly, I witnessed those whose prospects were stunted by intergenerational poverty and rural neglect, despite belonging to the majority Malay ethnic group that is privileged in the Constitution. These inequalities revealed the injustices perpetrated by discrimination. Due to the way I had to navigate my childhood, the concepts of equality and non-discrimination chimed with me from early on.

As a child I also saw and experienced how those in authority sometimes abused their power and discriminated, knowing that they could act with impunity. When I was 16 years old, my history teacher would often start the class by shouting at and punishing us students for no apparent reason, including through corporal punishment. One day, I plucked up the courage to ask him why we were being punished. He was outraged that I had dared question his authority and started shouting at me, “do you think you are from a high caste? How dare you ask me these things!” He chased me out of the classroom into the quadrangle where the whole school could see me being verbally abused. Afterwards, there was a discussion about whether I would be caned during the school assembly for my ‘disobedience’. The principal wanted me to apologise, but I refused because I did not believe I had done anything wrong. My father was supportive and told me to do what I thought was right. In the end I wasn’t caned, but the experience stayed with me and apparently also with my classmates, as the incident was discussed at a class reunion some 30 years later.

The other driver for wanting to work in the human rights field was my father. My father had been involved in student politics and, in his professional life, in trade unions. There were lots of conversations in my house about the importance of fairness. As the son of indentured labourers who were rubber tappers, he worked his way up through the ranks to become a plantation manager. His parents were brought over from Kerala, India to Malaysia by British colonialists to work on the plantations. My grandparents were both illiterate. When my country achieved independence from the British in 1957, my parents were the first generation of Malaysians to go to university locally and were able to do so thanks to scholarships. 

In Malaysia, quotas for university places are race-based. I had good grades, but it was made clear to me, and to those of us in minority communities more generally, that we would have greater access to opportunities outside of Malaysia. I was fortunate to be awarded a scholarship for my pre-university studies, the International Baccalaureate, at the United World College of Hong Kong. Scholars are selected from different countries to attend this international boarding school, and I was one of two Malaysians selected to attend. I received an amazing education there and made lifelong friends. From there, I received a scholarship from the British Government to read law at the University of Oxford. None of that would have been possible for me without scholarships.

What do you consider to be the most impactful moments or the most personally meaningful of your career, and why?

The moments that have touched me most are those where I experienced a strong sense of human connection – where working together brought about positive changes at difficult moments of survivors’ lives. Their extraordinary resilience and hope are what motivates me in my work.

From my initial involvement as the Gender Advisor for the UN Investigation on Sri Lanka in 2014, I have continued to work on crimes relating to the Sri Lankan conflict. My longstanding work in this field means I have established personal connections with survivors who were seeking asylum in Europe or were at very challenging junctures in their lives. These individuals who were severely traumatised by the horrific crimes they suffered in conflict now lead happier, more secure lives, thanks to practical support and therapy, even starting families of their own. This is the beauty of transitional justice work: it’s not only about the power of legal verdicts (which are immense) - it is also about other processes that can change survivors’ everyday lives for the better.  One of my most meaningful moments was receiving the photos of one of these survivors being reunited with his wife and children in Heathrow Airport, after his successful asylum claim. He had not seen his family in 10 years, having fled Sri Lanka after the conflict, leaving behind his newborn son.

As a specialist in conflict-related sexual violence, a career highlight for me is the progressive legal precedents set on these international crimes in Šainović et al. and Đorđević at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. These were cases that I prosecuted as a trial attorney and on appeal. Interviewing and leading the testimony of survivors of sexual violence, the stellar commitment of my wonderful team members, and the vindication of the brave testimony of survivors were memorable moments.  Significantly, the Appeals Chamber in Đorđević emphasised that crimes of sexual violence “must not be treated differently from other violent acts simply because of their sexual component”- a clear statement against the historical marginalisation of crimes of sexual violence and consequent lack of justice for survivors.

Despite the significance of these findings, I also knew that the daily lives of many survivors remained a struggle, and more could be done for them. This is why in 2017 I jumped at the opportunity to work with the Government of Kosovo and UN Women to establish a reparations programme for survivors of sexual violence of the Kosovo conflict – the Government Commission on the Recognition and Verification of the Status of Sexual Violence Victims. I have continued to support this process, working with the dedicated Commissioners, whose work in granting monthly pensions to survivors of sexual violence has been life-changing.

The opportunity to have a direct impact was also one of the pull factors of the UN Working Group on Arbitrary Detention(WGAD). I am the WGAD’s member for the Asia Pacific region, partly thanks to ATLAS, as I saw this position advertised on the ATLAS network - an example of the power of a network of supportive women in the field. Amongst the remedies the WGAD asks for is the release of a person determined arbitrarily detained – an extremely significant aspect of our work. Even if this is not achieved immediately, having a formal opinion from the WGAD determining arbitrary detention can itself be a source of hope and vindication for the detainee and their family - that they have not been forgotten - which matters to the human spirit.

Another moving aspect of my work with the WGAD is interviewing detainees and understanding the circumstances that led to their detention - most recently during the WGAD’s country visit to Canada. These interactions have highlighted how systemic and sustained discrimination exposes historically marginalised groups to a greater risk of arbitrary detention and poorer treatment in the criminal justice system – a global phenomenon to which the WGAD has been paying increasing attention.

What are some of the challenges that you faced coming up in your career?

One of the challenges of working in this field is navigating colleagues’ diverse perspectives on human rights issues – especially on matters relating to groups experiencing structural inequalities. There is a sense that systemic issues have been “fixed” or are being overstated. Working on gender-related issues, my team and I have encountered pushback, even hostility, from some colleagues. 

Similarly, on matters relating to systemic racism, defensive or minimising responses to this reality have been the starting point at times. In one instance, when I raised my concerns about the lack of geographical diversity in a panel on a human rights issue with global reach, the colleague organising the panel explained that they do not see colour. This false sense of objectivity and equality is damaging because it is uninformed by historical structural exclusions and injustices faced by sections of society, who remain marginalised as result. As these are undoubtedly contextual, complex and nuanced issues, patient communication and painstaking engagement with colleagues has helped build forward pathways for survivors.

In these situations, I have found scholar Marilyn Frye’s birdcage analogy (adapted by author Robin D’Angelo in her book, “White Fragility”) to be illuminating: if standing too close to the cage while not having a full view of it, a person might believe that taken individually, the bars do not actually impede the bird. But stepping back, they can see that the bird cannot escape the cage. This highlights the importance of seeing the system as a whole, to understand how systemic discrimination impacts lives on a societal level, beyond the individual. Although starting with one’s own world view as the initial vantage point is inherently human, this analogy has made me more aware of my own positionality and biases.  

Another challenge I’ve confronted throughout my life is navigating biases grounded in gender stereotypes. For example,assumptions around what paths should be available to me. A teacher in secondary school telling me it was not necessary to ask too many questions in class as my future was to be a hairdresser down the road, or when, seeking advice on which area of law to specialise in, a mentor advising me to choose tax law instead of litigation, as the working hours would be more amenable to motherhood.

There is also an intersectional aspect to this - the double bind of gender and racial stereotypes associated with my being aSouth Asian woman. Recently, I was invited to speak on two panels on issues relating to international law that were held in European countries. On both occasions the same thing happened. As I walked into the room and began to make my way towards the front of the auditorium, heading towards the podium, a person sidled up to inform me that the chairs in the front were reserved for speakers and that there was seating at the back for the audience. This experience (although not unique to me) indicates to me that my appearance is inconsistent with the perception of what an international lawyer looks like.

Intersecting racial and gender stereotypes also manifest in expectations around how I should behave - for example, doing the work diligently but quietly. Oftentimes, I am the only Asian female in a team, and I have found that my unwillingness to agree was sometimes viewed more critically. Even when there was no obvious hierarchy, the expectation was that my role was not to lead or speak as a peer, but “supplement”. In response to these implicit impositions of hierarchy, I have initiated discussions with colleagues to understand their reasons and have also asked for an equal voice. While this is uncomfortable, what has been encouraging is that other female colleagues who have had similar experiences have expressed support or gratitude as this is something women tend to face more often. The author, Mary Ann Sieghart describes this as the “Authority Gap” – “the ways in which women are (still) taken less seriously than men, despite proven competence and expertise.”

My other challenge is my Southeast Asian upbringing, which values self-effacement and modesty. There is a tension between those values and charting my path in the international legal profession, which requires clarity about what one brings to the table. Growing up in Malaysia, humility was given much importance. There is a Malay proverb that loosely translates, “Be like the paddy stalk - the fuller it is, the more it bows” (ikut resmi padi, semakin tunduk semakin berisi), meaning the more knowledgeable you are, the humbler and more understated you should be. Against this backdrop, I have had to learn to be comfortable with stating what I have to offer. I continue to work on speaking up because my voice matters, and it is important to represent as best I can those who can’t be in the room.

Do you have any advice for people, particularly women, hoping to work in international law/ domestic human rights law in the future?

Strive for excellence: Although there is now a lot of emphasis on promoting what you are doing and building your profile, doing your best in your substantive work is the first and most important step. The fundamental aspect of being a lawyer is to entrench yourself in the law – what it is, how it is evolving and how it can be strategically leveraged to bring about change and deliver justice to survivors. Everything else follows from this.

Play the long game: You might not land your dream job immediately, but each job gives you the chance to build your skills. My dream was to train as a barrister, but I was not able to pursue this due to visa status and financial reasons. Yet, my time in the law firm was an invaluable professional experience that laid the foundation for my work prosecuting war crimes and a career in international law.

Be your best ally: I have consistently seen excellent women who don’t apply for jobs because they feel they don’t fulfil 100% of the criteria. It’s not necessary to tick every box to apply. Speak to friends and mentors and get their views about the role. Even if you aren’t successful, it can be good to put yourself on the radar of the entity to which you are applying.  I remind my daughters, aged 9 and 11 (and myself for that matter!) that it is better to try and fail than to not try at all. I recommend this TED talk “Teach girls bravery, not perfection” by Reshma Saujani.

#WeRiseByLiftingEachOther: I like this hashtag that I came across recently. One can be an ally in many different ways. Invest in each other, want each other to succeed, recognize the work of others. If they are not in the room, say their name; say their name when they are in the room, and you have the floor! I’ve greatly benefitted from this through my cohort of women in international law – my sister, Preetha Gopalan, Daniela Kravetz, Alexandra Lily Kather, Patricia Viseur Sellers,Siobhán Mullally,  Shamiso Mbizvo, and Azwa Petra to name a few. These relationships have been wellsprings of support and inspiration. In her memoir, “The Truths We Hold: An American Journey” Kamala Harris writes that her mother, Shyamala Gopalan said, “you may be the first to do many things, but make sure you are not the last”. This resonates with me. You are someone’s mentor. Pay it forward.  When we mentor, we are also passing the baton to others who can continue the work. 

Be an ally in the workplace: As in any workplace, bullying, poor and even unlawful behaviour is seen in international organisations. It is important to be aware of your own boundaries and stand up for others in whichever ways are appropriate and meaningful. If you see someone behaving improperly and you are in a position to say something, do. If you are not in a position to deal with the issue directly, support the affected colleague as best you can. That could mean simply validating their experience and saying that what happened was not acceptable. It could also mean supporting them through a reporting process, if that’s what they want to do.

Recognise the power imbalances inherent in the field: I was attending an online briefing recently, and one panellist had to leave early to catch a bus before a checkpoint closed. Another colleague was not able to participate in a seminar abroad as she is stateless, and her travel documents were not considered sufficient. It reminded me of my huge privilege in being able to work in the conditions I do – from a place of relative safety. Working in this field is a choice for me. And it has given me the extraordinary privilege of meeting those for whom defending human rights is a question of extraordinary courage - for whom human rights violations are daily lived experiences. Survivors, families, activists and many others often undertake this work at great personal risk - even to their lives – but they keep going. Being cognisant of power imbalances, intersectional perspectives, and personal biases while listening, educating oneself, and being respectful is key to working ethically and with integrity.

Look after yourself: Of late, I have seen a shift in the field in terms of emphasis on well-being and self-care, with less of the stigma associated with this - this is good to see. My advice is to build in consistent habits that keep you healthy. Don’t wait until you are burning out to start googling ‘sabbaticals’ and ‘yoga retreats.’ Those are good things, but there’s no substitute for prioritizing getting enough sleep, eating properly, and getting some exercise. I meditate daily and believe this has helped me cope with my secondary trauma from working with traumatized individuals and emotionally intense material for many years. Find what works for you. As I love my work, I have had to be strict with myself in navigating the line between being very committed and living an unhealthily work-focused life. Making time for friends and having fun has helped with this. My priority is to keep doing this work the best I can, for as long as I can, so resilience is a must, and I remind myself of this daily.

Your choice of partner can make or break your career: This isn’t often overtly discussed as part of career advice, but in my view, your choice of partner can make or break your career. This is especially so if children come into the picture. In my experience, even in heterosexual relationships that started off as fairly equal, you’ll find that more of the work of childcare is routinely directed towards women. If your child becomes unwell at school, the school is more likely to call the mother. There is also a huge mental and practical load that tends to fall on mothers, including organizing all the “small” things that keep family life going (play dates, doctors’ appointments, school supplies).  Having a partner who’s committed to doing their fair share is critical for your career and well-being.

Keep the faith: Finally, an enormous challenge these days is processing and responding to what seems like the crumbling of the edifice of international law. Foundational principles such as the rule of law are under severe attack. The selective application of and compliance with international law, due to realpolitik is nothing new, but what is deeply concerning is the scale of non-compliance, the levels of impunity, as well as the seemingly intractable political divisions that fuel this.  Keeping at this work requires taking a long-term view. Can I have a meaningful impact? Sometimes it does feel futile, but I ask myself “is what I am doing better than my doing nothing?” It is a question that many in our field are grappling with. When I was working at the IIIM Syria, never did I imagine the recent dramatic turn of events in Syria and the jubilant return home of exiled Syrian colleagues (despite the many questions that remain). So, I hold on to this quote from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, “We must accept finite disappointment but never lose infinite hope”. So, we keep at it, the best we can - that is the cornerstone of this work.