THE HAGUE—There they were—not 20 feet away in the small hearing room—what for many people are the faces of evil itself: Blagoje Simic, Miroslav Tadic and Simo Zaric. These men are on trial for crimes against humanity in the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY). Along with others—most famously Slobodan Milosevic—these men were accused of engaging in a “widespread and systematic attack” against Bosnian Croats and Muslims over the last decade. Initially, ethnic minorities were forced to wear white armbands and white ribbons on their cars. Somehow, the world ignored this warning, and thousands of non-Serbs were violently harassed and ultimately forcibly deported from their homes or executed. The trials may not be flashy, but they are the best hope to deter politicians and others from committing crimes against humanity in the future.

Yet, from behind a glass wall that prevented me from seeing or hearing the protected, anonymous witness (his voice was electronically masked, and a simultaneous English translation was broadcast over headphones), these international proceedings seemed like just any other legal hearing. The accused—who turned to scrutinize the visitor’s gallery every now and then—were dressed respectably and resembled middle-aged businesspeople.

Most of the prosecution’s questions concerned meticulous fact-finding: pointing out towns on a map, pointing out the same towns on a different map or going through details of names and geography. There was none of the made-for-television courtroom excitement. Instead, there was an hour of technical questioning.

If convicted, these men could be imprisoned—but the longest sentence that has yet been imposed was 46 years for Bosnian Serb general Radislav Krstic for genocide. Most of the accused currently reside in jail in a beach resort area of the Hague, just two doors down from where I’m staying. Among the services at the prisoners’ disposal are satellite televisions carrying Yugoslav stations and free massages for back problems.

Despite the low profile of the non-Milosevic trials in the international media, it is reassuring that something is being done; victims’ stories are coming to light, and the slow cogs of justice are turning.

That should be what matters. Having stories told in a legitimate courtroom and watching an authoritative judgment be delivered is a necessary step for healing.

Nevertheless, justice is painful. It’s slow; it takes place far from the alleged atrocities and involves mostly lawyers and judges from outside Yugoslavia; it’s not particularly publicized. These international tribunals single out a few culprits from the leadership; soldiers who actually have the blood of victims on their hands and are responsible for raping and torturing ethnic minorities may never sit in a courtroom.

For the victims, testimony requires them to relive atrocities which they may be eager to put in their past. Milosevic has chosen to act as his own attorney, although he claims neither to recognize nor respect the Tribunal’s authority. Based on videotapes of the trial I’ve seen, he’s a shrewd and aggressive cross-examiner of those on the stand against him. His questioning of those who were hurt by his policies is especially painful for victims.

However, justice is necessary for peace, and the courts in war-torn countries are often inadequate—corrupt, under-funded, understaffed—to handle cases of this magnitude. International criminal law—which enables accused war criminals to be tried in other countries for “crimes against humanity”—is a relatively new field, and the most notable recent advancement is the establishment of a permanent International Criminal Court (ICC). Yet much work remains to make international justice work. International law needs to be further developed before it is clear what acts come under the court’s jurisdiction. The hope is that a strong international court will not only provide case-by-case justice, but will also serve a preventative purpose, warning political leaders that their actions do have consequences for themselves.

It’s also ironic that both Israel and the United States have declined to ratify the ICC given the Nuremburg trials of Nazis after World War II laid the framework for providing international tribunals to try war criminals. How can we prevent such horrific actions from recurring when we refuse to provide adequate international enforcement and a strong international message?

A few states, notably the United States, refuse to join the ICC out of an unfounded fear that a rogue prosecutor will try its soldiers capriciously. In reality, the U.S. has nothing to worry about thanks to the ICC’s statute providing a series of three checks and balances, the ability of the U.N. Security Council to overrule a prosecutor’s decision and individual states’ sovereign maintenance of jurisdiction should they prefer to try an individual themselves. Yet the U.S. has almost threatened an all-out invasion of the Netherlands if an American is ever brought before the ICC.

Meanwhile, the ICTY’s hearings continue; within the next few years it is required to wrap up its mission. But don’t expect the hearings to become a TV courtroom drama any time soon: this is an unusual and confusing brand of justice—but for the sake of peace, it must be made to work.

J. Hale Russell ’05, a Crimson editor, is a history concentrator in Adams House. He’s currently in Den Haag studying the distinction between conflict resolution, conflict management and conflict mitigation—a far cry from his current talents in conflict creation—and taking weekend jaunts to Prague.