Wednesday, January 26, 2005
The prison sentence for fraud in the US is longer than the prison sentence for genocide in Europe
Problem No. 1: The United Nations rejects the death penalty. Former Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic has had little to fear in his trial on 66 charges, including crimes against humanity. He has used it as a stage to publicly ridicule adversaries and the court — secure in the knowledge that the worst that can happen to him is that he'll get a life sentence, without parole, if the court is in a hanging mood, along with good medical care and protection from the thousands of Bosnian Muslims who lost loved ones during the carnage and would like to kill him.
Problem No. 2: "The court feels like it has to allocate the punishments based on the degree of responsibility," explained Beth Van Schaack, who teaches international law at Santa Clara University School of Law. "So individuals high on the chain of command, who are giving the orders, the highest sentences are being reserved for them." That means: If the worst Slobo can get is life without parole, his generals will get a lesser sentence, and their lieutenants should face even shorter sentences. In the United States, all the top guns would get the top sentence. But thanks to our Betters in Europe and their rigid demand for proportion, a top aide who orders the murder of thousands can expect to serve less than life without parole, because you weren't king. The Hague's longest sentence to date — for genocide — was reduced from 46 years, and an appellate court reduced it to 35 years. As a result, prosecutors won't ask for a sentence exceeding 35 years for any killer of lower rank, even a colonel. How exquisitely fair.
And supremely foolish.
Van Schaack said this system guaranteed "higher sentences for the true architects."
If so, it also assures henchmen that they can butcher families and serve as little as three years.
Nina Bang-Jensen, of the Coalition for International Justice in Washington, believes the court does good work in bringing to light the atrocities so that they will not be forgotten. She noted, "Keep in mind that before these trials, or before Nuremberg, you were much more likely to find yourself in jail if you murdered one person than if you killed 10,000." Good point. (To the extent that the tribunal punishes strongmen and tells the story that muted voices cannot, it does good work.)
But when the tribunal trivializes the murder of thousands, it sends the wrong message. The Hague's emphasis on genocide transforms the very personal act of murder into an impersonal act of politics. It changes the focus from the faces of the victims to the frame of mind of the perpetrators. Indeed, the court rulings care more about what the defendants thought than what they did.
Problem No. 2: "The court feels like it has to allocate the punishments based on the degree of responsibility," explained Beth Van Schaack, who teaches international law at Santa Clara University School of Law. "So individuals high on the chain of command, who are giving the orders, the highest sentences are being reserved for them." That means: If the worst Slobo can get is life without parole, his generals will get a lesser sentence, and their lieutenants should face even shorter sentences. In the United States, all the top guns would get the top sentence. But thanks to our Betters in Europe and their rigid demand for proportion, a top aide who orders the murder of thousands can expect to serve less than life without parole, because you weren't king. The Hague's longest sentence to date — for genocide — was reduced from 46 years, and an appellate court reduced it to 35 years. As a result, prosecutors won't ask for a sentence exceeding 35 years for any killer of lower rank, even a colonel. How exquisitely fair.
And supremely foolish.
Van Schaack said this system guaranteed "higher sentences for the true architects."
If so, it also assures henchmen that they can butcher families and serve as little as three years.
Nina Bang-Jensen, of the Coalition for International Justice in Washington, believes the court does good work in bringing to light the atrocities so that they will not be forgotten. She noted, "Keep in mind that before these trials, or before Nuremberg, you were much more likely to find yourself in jail if you murdered one person than if you killed 10,000." Good point. (To the extent that the tribunal punishes strongmen and tells the story that muted voices cannot, it does good work.)
But when the tribunal trivializes the murder of thousands, it sends the wrong message. The Hague's emphasis on genocide transforms the very personal act of murder into an impersonal act of politics. It changes the focus from the faces of the victims to the frame of mind of the perpetrators. Indeed, the court rulings care more about what the defendants thought than what they did.
