The TRIBUNAL (8 page)

    Kevin sat down. He could see it would be over quickly.

    Diane would be pleased, and Ellen would be disappointed.

    “All rise!
Veuillez vous lever!
” the usher bellowed, as an elderly judge entered the room. It was William Davidson of Great Britain. He was reputed to be the most cantankerous of the Tribunal’s judges.

    “Call the case,” he ordered.

    The clerk announced, “Prosecutor against Dragoljub Zaric, case number IT-96-30. Counsel, announce your appearances please.”

    Kevin rose with the other lawyers.

    “Charles Oswald and Bradford Stone for the Office of the Prosecutor,” Oswald said in a firm voice.

    “Vladimir Krasnic for Dragoljub Zaric, Your Honor.”

    It was Kevin’s turn. “Good morning, Your Honor,” he said, edging over to the podium where Krasnic was standing. “I am Kevin Anderson. I was asked by the Registrar to be temporary counsel for the accused.” He then sat down.

    Judge Davidson said nothing for a moment. Then he addressed Vladimir Krasnic. “Mr. Krasnic, has the accused retained you to be his counsel?”

    “No, Your Honor. He is requesting that I be his assigned counsel.”

    “Very well.” Turning to Draga, Judge Davidson asked, “Mr. Zaric, do you request that the court assign Mr. Krasnic to represent you?”

    Draga was looking down. He did not look up or say anything.

    “Mr. Zaric, can you hear me?” the judge asked, tapping on his microphone.

    Draga stood up slowly and looked directly at Judge Davidson. He spoke in a loud, defiant tone. “This court has no jurisdiction over me. You have kidnapped me from my sovereign country. I am a political prisoner. I refuse to participate in your show trial.”

    Draga sat down.

    Judge Davidson’s face reddened. “Mr. Zaric, do you request that Mr. Krasnic represent you or not?”

    Draga again was silent. He looked at the judge defiantly, crossed his arms, and said nothing.

    “Mr. Zaric, I ask you for the third and final time. Is it your request that Mr. Krasnic represent you?”

    After a second or two of silence, Vladimir Krasnic rose. “May I have a moment with my client?”

    “Yes. I believe that would be advisable.” Judge Davidson’s tone signaled a warning.

    Krasnic walked over and whispered to Draga. The two men spoke out of earshot, then Krasnic returned to the podium. “Your Honor, I believe that Mr. Zaric feels that by requesting counsel, he is somehow consenting to the legitimacy of these proceedings. He does not wish to do that. Perhaps the Court will accept my representation, as an officer of the Court, that Mr. Zaric desires the Court to assign me as his counsel.”

    Judge Davidson shook his head. “No, Mr. Krasnic. This man isn’t going to get any special treatment. The temporary counsel assigned by the Registrar will represent Mr. Zaric until he makes a request for a specific lawyer.”

    Judge Davidson looked at Kevin. “What did you say your name was, counsel?”

    “Kevin Anderson, Your Honor.”

    “Mr. Anderson, are you ready to proceed with the arraignment?”

    “Yes, Your Honor.” The words came out weakly. Kevin’s heart was racing at this turn of events.

    “Will the accused please rise?”

    Kevin turned and looked at Draga. He was still seated, staring coldly at the judge.

    “Will the accused please rise,” Judge Davidson repeated more forcefully.

    Draga made no effort to move.

    “I order the guards to bring Mr. Zaric to his feet.”

    The two guards flanking Draga attempted to pick him up out of the chair. They struggled to do so as Draga went limp. Soon, two more guards rushed over. The four of them lifted Draga out of his chair and propped him up in a standing position.

    Kevin caught Draga’s eye as the struggle ended. Draga glared at him.

    “Mr. Zaric, have you received a copy of the indictment?”

    No response.

    The judge looked at Kevin. “Counsel, have you provided a copy of the indictment to the accused?”

    “Yes, Your Honor.”

    The judge looked back at Draga. “What is your true name, sir?”

    Kevin was on his feet. “Your Honor, I respectfully direct my client not to answer that question.”

    “I beg your pardon,” Judge Davidson said, surprised.

    “The burden is on the prosecution to establish that the person in this courtroom is the same person accused in the indictment. I request an identity hearing be held for that purpose.”

    Kevin had seen good defense lawyers do this in federal court.

    Judge Davidson looked annoyed. “Counsel, I understand that you are new here. It is standard procedure in this Court for the accused to state his true name for the record at the initial appearance.”

    Looking at Draga, Judge Davidson continued, “What is your true name, sir?”

    Kevin hesitated for an instant, and then was on his feet. He was determined to protect his client’s rights. “With all due respect, Your Honor, my client should not be compelled to give evidence against himself. It is the prosecution’s burden to prove that he is the person accused in the indictment. I request that the Court require them to do so at a hearing.”

    Judge Davidson was exasperated. “Sit down, counsel.” He turned to the prosecution table. “What is the prosecutor’s position on this?”

    Bradford Stone rose and smiled at the judge. “Clearly Mr. Anderson is inexperienced with our procedures. Why, Mr. Krasnic has already told the court that the person here is Mr. Zaric.”

    “Perhaps the prosecutor wishes to call Mr. Krasnic as a witness,” Kevin retorted, “at a hearing which is required for that purpose.”

    Kevin saw Krasnic glare at him.

    Judge Davidson ignored Kevin. He looked at Draga. “Mr. Zaric, if you do not now declare your true name, I shall hold you in contempt.”

    Draga said nothing.

    Kevin rose again. “Your Honor, my client cannot be held in contempt. He is simply following the advice of counsel in this matter.”

    “Then I will hold you in contempt,” the judge growled.

    “Your Honor,” Kevin pleaded, “will you at least ask the prosecution what law they rely on for the proposition that an accused may be compelled to state his true name when the issue of identity is contested?”

    Judge Davidson turned to the prosecution. “What does the case law hold on this point, Mr. Stone?”

    Bradford Stone looked surprised. “Well, Your Honor,” he sputtered, “I don’t recall a case on this point. But we have always proceeded this way. I don’t know that it has been challenged before.”

    “All the more reason to proceed cautiously, Your Honor,” Kevin chimed in.

    The judge glared at Kevin. “Court will be in recess. I will see counsel in my chambers.” The judge rose from his chair, throwing his glasses on the bench.

    “Your Honor,” Kevin called out.

    The judge stopped. He glowered at Kevin.

    “I regret to say that I cannot go into chambers with the Court. My client does not trust me as it is. I request that all proceedings in this case take place in his presence in open court.”

    Judge Davidson turned and stormed off the bench.

    Kevin sat down as the guards led Draga from the room.

    Vladimir Krasnic chuckled. “You’re going to need your own lawyer if you keep this up,” he said as he walked away.

    Kevin looked out in the gallery. People were filing out, some shaking their heads.

    Judge Davidson returned to the bench thirty minutes later. “Mr. Anderson, you will be given ten days to file a memorandum in support of your position. The prosecution shall respond ten days thereafter. The Court will then rule on the matter. This arraignment is continued until 4 September at 1400 hours.”

    Stone was on his feet. “Your Honor, surely the Court is not seriously considering counsel’s position.”

    “I am bending over backwards to give counsel more time to research and consider his position. He is new and unfamiliar with our procedures. I don’t want him to do something he will later regret.”

    The judge looked at Kevin sternly.

    Kevin was on his feet. “I appreciate the Court’s consideration, Your Honor, but I request that an identity hearing be held forthwith.”

    “Request denied.”

    “Then I request that my client be released from custody, Your Honor. He is entitled to such a hearing without delay. September is over a month away.”

    “Sit down, Mr. Anderson, or you’ll be joining him in custody,” the judge barked. “Court is adjourned.”

    Everyone stood up as Judge Davidson strode from the bench.

    When Kevin turned around, Krasnic was already at Draga’s side, whispering to him. When the guards led Draga away, Krasnic turned to Kevin.

    “Don’t waste your time on the research, counselor. I’ll be preparing a written request for counsel that Mr. Zaric will sign tonight.”

    Kevin was tired. “That’s fine. I think I’m finished for today.”

    “With that performance you have finished your work here – forever.”

    

    

    After court, Kevin hid out in the defense counsel room, hoping to avoid the news media that had gathered. As he waited, he wondered how things had gone so badly. At home, Diane was beside herself and Ellen was on edge about staying for school. Here at the Tribunal, he had managed to offend the judge, alienate the prosecutors, and annoy a fellow defense counsel. Plus, his client hated him. All this from doing what he thought he was supposed to do: serve as a responsible advocate for his client until being replaced.

    As a prosecutor, he had felt invincible; almost as if he could do no wrong.

    As a defense lawyer, he had so far done nothing right.

    Just after 5 p.m., he ventured down to the lobby. He had almost made it to the front door when a tall man with dark hair and a hawk-like face approached him.

    “I am Toma Lanko of the Bosnia News Service,” he said in an Eastern European accent. “Mr. Anderson, we have all seen pictures of Draga in his Black Dragon uniform and at his wedding. The man in court is clearly the same man. What is the point of your actions in court today?”

    It was a fair question.

    “Like any defendant, my client has the right to make the prosecution prove every point. Every issue must be challenged right from the beginning without any presumption of guilt. The only way that international courts will ever be accepted as a means for doing justice is for the accused to be given a vigorous defense and a fair trial.”

    Kevin firmly believed what he had said, and he would have defended those principals even as a prosecutor. They were Criminal Law 101 at law school.

    “But Draga seems to want no defense at all,” said the newsman.

    “Well, as his lawyer, I’m obligated to give him the best representation that I know how. If he doesn’t like it, he is certainly free to replace me with someone else.”

    Kevin had not wanted to be trapped; they had kept moving, and were now outside the courthouse. It was cold and gray outside, and Kevin pulled up the collar on his coat.

    “Why would you want to defend a cold-blooded killer like Draga?”

    “The prosecution has to prove that. The law says he’s presumed innocent.”

    Kevin began to wonder about the reporter’s objectivity.

    “My role in the system is to defend the individual against the power of the state,” Kevin went on. “When the police bring a murder suspect who they have just wounded into the emergency room at the hospital, the surgeon doesn’t pass judgment on the man. He just rolls up his sleeves and works as hard as he can to save the man’s life. That’s what I’m going to do.”

    Kevin excused himself.

    At least the Tribunal would be closed for the next month, he thought as he mounted his bicycle. After two days as Draga’s lawyer, Kevin felt like he needed a vacation already.

    When he reached home, he found Ellen in the kitchen having a snack.

    “Hi, Daddy. Do you still have a job?”

    Kevin smiled. “For the time being, although I’m not sure that’s good or bad.”

    “Are we staying?” Ellen asked, “My school starts in two weeks.”

    He sighed. “For now.”

    Diane came down from upstairs. She tried to offer a smile. Kevin couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t ask him how his day in court went, as she almost always did.

    “Ellen and I were talking about maybe going into Amsterdam this weekend for some sightseeing,” Diane said.

    “Sounds good,” he said. Maybe that would cheer him up.

    “Can we go to Anne Frank’s house?” Ellen asked excitedly. Her fifth-grade class back home had studied the Holocaust, and Ellen had done a book report on
The Diary of Anne Frank
. Kevin had told her at the time that they would be able to visit Anne Frank’s house in Holland. The kid didn’t forget a thing.

    “That would be very good for all of us to see,” Diane said pointedly.

    
Yeah
, Kevin thought,
that ought to cheer me right up
.

    The next day, the Andersons took the train to Amsterdam. When they got off at their destination, they found themselves among a mob of people heading to and from the trains at the huge Central Station. The Andersons struggled to reach the street, where they found throngs of people walking, bicycling, and getting on and off trams.

    “This place is too crowded,” Ellen complained. “I thought Holland would be a peaceful place with people walking around tulip gardens in wooden shoes.”

    Kevin led his family down the first side street that he saw. He, too, wanted to escape the mass of humanity. He spotted a sign in English that said “Coffee Shop.”