Japan expresses regret over U.S. sanctions on ICC chief Akane

On Wednesday morning in Tokyo, Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi stood before reporters with an unusual problem: the United States had just sanctioned a Japanese citizen leading one of the world's most important international institutions. That citizen was Tomoko Akane, president of the International Criminal Court. The sanctions, Takaichi said carefully, were "deeply regrettable."

The Trump administration had moved against the ICC a day earlier, targeting not just Akane but nine of the court's eighteen judges, both deputy prosecutors, a former prosecutor, and one staff member. The stated reason was Washington's fury over the court's investigations into alleged war crimes involving American troops and its issuance of an arrest warrant for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. The administration had already vowed to use "all the tools" available to "dismantle the ICC." Now it was following through.

For Japan, this created an acute diplomatic bind. The country is the ICC's largest financial contributor and has long positioned itself as a champion of international law and the rule of law itself. The Foreign Ministry issued a statement reaffirming this commitment, noting that Japan "has consistently supported the ICC" in its efforts to prosecute serious crimes and uphold legal order. Yet the sanctions came from Tokyo's sole formal military ally, the United States. A senior Foreign Ministry official captured the dissonance bluntly: "The United States likely wants to weaken the ICC at any cost." Another government source was more pointed: "Trump may be afraid he will also face prosecution."

The move caught the Japanese government off guard. Officials scrambled to calibrate their response—firm enough to defend Akane and the institution she leads, but not so forceful as to rupture the alliance with Washington. The Foreign Ministry settled on a promise to "respond while continuing to communicate closely with the United States and other countries involved." It was diplomatic language for a difficult position. One mid-ranking member of Japan's ruling Liberal Democratic Party warned against escalation, noting that "the Japan-U.S. alliance cannot be described as rock-solid." A Foreign Ministry source acknowledged the reality: "It's unrealistic to try to change the Trump administration's position. All we can do is support Akane as much as we can."

But voices across Japan's political spectrum were less willing to accept restraint. Former Defense Minister Gen Nakatani, co-leader of a suprapartisan group focused on human rights diplomacy, demanded publicly that Washington withdraw the sanctions, calling them "a serious violation of the rule of law." An LDP veteran said the U.S. had "crossed the line" and that the move "cannot be overlooked." Yuichiro Tamaki, head of the Democratic Party for the People, posted on X that the sanctions were "outrageous," and pointed out the contradiction in Japan's position: the government calls for opposing changes to the status quo by force while appearing to downplay the rule of law in the face of American pressure.

The ICC itself responded with unusual directness. In a statement issued Wednesday, the court called the sanctions "a flagrant attack against the independence of an impartial judicial institution." The message was stark: "When judicial actors are threatened for applying the law, it is the international legal order itself that is placed at risk." The court vowed to continue its work regardless. The Netherlands, where the ICC is based, also pushed back. Foreign Minister Tom Berendsen said on X that "international courts and tribunals must be able to freely carry out their mandates" and announced that the Netherlands had invited Akane to discuss continued support.

Japan now faces a test of its stated values. The government's careful language about communication and support suggests it will try to navigate between two commitments that have suddenly become difficult to hold simultaneously. But the pressure from within Japan—from lawmakers, former officials, and opposition parties—suggests that patience for diplomatic caution may be wearing thin.