“One of the most outstanding achievements of our tribunal and ICTY,” Ostrovsky said, “is that for the first time we got the punishing of the crime of genocide.¹² Also, these tribunals prepared the ground for the ICC. . . . It is really a pity that states like Russia, China, and the U.S. are not members of the ICC because then it looks as if the big countries of the world are above the law.” But he also warned that the ICC might face the same chronic administrative and political problems that have plagued ICTR.

Judge Møse was even more insistent than Ostrovsky that ICTR was enacting judicial procedures of a decent quality. “On process, this court’s work looks fair to me. Both sides contest this, but that’s not abnormal. Our weak point, however, is time. It’s difficult to explain to those who are not following us closely how complex, and therefore time-consuming, some of the proceedings are.”

When we talked, the wiry, intellectually passionate Møse was still vice-president of the court. The president at that point, South African Judge Navanethem Pillay, was soon to leave ICTR to become one of the first judges on the ICC. In late May Møse was elected by his fellow ICTR judges to succeed her. Before he came to ICTR in 1999, he worked as an appeals court judge in Oslo and a barrister at the groundbreaking European Court for Human Rights and taught human rights law in Norway and the UK.

Møse stressed that he did not see the number of witnesses being called in ICTR’s cases as excessive, “since they supplement and bolster each other. The problem here is that the prosecution and defense witnesses often tell two completely different stories. This is different from what you hear in disputes in national jurisdictions. So you need to hear a lot of them in order to reach a judgment.” He said he thought it should be possible to hear cases involving a single accused “in about 25 through 40 trial days,” whereas he saw trials involving multiple accused as very complex and time-consuming. But he also mentioned some of the factors that contribute to frequent interruptions: “The defense needs time after hearing the prosecution case to prepare its reponse; witnesses fall sick; witnesses are delayed or prevented from coming to Arusha; documents need to be translated; witnesses need to be brought from other countries and protected; the defense counsel needs to go home because the time they have scheduled to be here has expired . . .”

Resolution 955 instructed the ICTR to “contribute to the process of national reconciliation” inside Rwanda, and I asked Møse whether he thought the ICTR was carrying out that part of the mandate. He suggested that one need not adopt an “either/or” approach to the issue of judicial and nonjudicial mechanisms to accomplish this task and noted that the circumstances of each country are different. He cited Sierra Leone as an interesting case where the international community was trying to support the establishment of two parallel institutions—a criminal court and a truth-establishing commission. And inside Rwanda, the government was working with two different types of institutions in its approach to dealing with the scores of thousands of suspected génocidaires. The criminal-court system is used for persons suspected of being high-level organizers or ringleaders. A special new mechanism called the “gacaca [ga-cha-cha] court” system—a version of an indigenous truth-establishment mechanism called gacaca—has been modified to handle lower-level genocide suspects and brought under supervision of the country’s high court.¹³ In early October the government announced that the full-scale “trial phase” of the country’s 10,000 gacaca courts would start in February 2004.¹⁴

Møse described ICTR as a “third prong” in the policy of reconciliation, but he thought that it had limited effect because of its location outside Rwanda. He said that all the court’s judgments are videotaped and sent to Rwanda to be broadcast with a simultaneous translation into Kinyarwanda; but he noted, too, that lengthy intervals often pass between the judgments. “Our ability to contribute to reconciliation inside Rwanda would presuppose that what we say is received inside Rwanda,” he said. “A complicating factor has been that in periods the Rwandan government has had problems with the court.”

Møse stressed that he thought the fulfillment of the peace and reconciliation part of the Security Council’s mandate “mainly needs to be done by the society itself. An international tribunal can play a role, but only a subsidiary role. If the population can see that there is an institution that delivers fair justice within a reasonable time, then it can make a certain contribution. The final assessment will have to be done when the ICTR has finished its work.” Meanwhile, though, he felt that ICTR’s main achievement had been that it “maintains the [Rwandan] conflict on the map of the world conscience.”

That assertion may or may not be correct. Since 1994 atrocity has been heaped upon atrocity in the consciousness of the world: Sierra Leone, the Democratic Republic of Congo, the Marsh Arabs in Iraq, Chechnya, Liberia, etc. It is hard to judge whether, amidst all this atrocity, the terrible happenings in Rwanda would have been forgotten had ICTR not existed. I suspect not. But what is clear is that the hope expressed in Resolution 955—that the ICTR’s establishment would have a broad deterrent effect, that it would “contribute to ensuring that such violations are halted and effectively redressed”—has not been fulfilled.¹⁵

Lost Dreams

  During the 1990s the successive creations of ICTY, ICTR, and the ICC captured the imagination of human rights activists worldwide. Finally, so many decades after the UN’s 1948 adoption of the Universal Declaration on Human Rights, and of the Genocide Convention, these new courts could hold accountable rights violators who until then had been able to hide behind the shield of national sovereignty or other forms of impunity. A number of attorneys, organizers, and activists who were filled with pro-international court idealism found their way into jobs in the new courts. Judge Møse was one of those. And two of the trial attorneys with whom I had the lengthiest conversations had also come to the court filled with idealistic motives. But their experience at ICTR had been sobering.

Diana Ellis is a British attorney who is a senior barrister in the criminal-courts division and also sometimes runs her own courtroom as a judicial magistrate—a kind of supplementary judge. In London she works in the same barristers’ “chambers” as Steven Kay, one of three lawyers appointed by an ICTY bench in The Hague to be amici curiae in Slobodan Milosevic’s lengthy trial there.¹⁶ “I had never done anything like this before,” she told me, referring to her experience at ICTR. “I was fascinated by the prospects of international justice, and by the magnitude of the crimes. Plus, I felt I could contribute to the development of the idea of international justice.”

Ellis came to Arusha to serve as co-counsel to Jean-Marie Biju-Duval, the French lawyer who was lead counsel for Ferdinand Nahimana, the former head of Radio Télévision Libre des Milles Collines, a broadcasting institution that did much to stir up anti-Tutsi feelings before and during the genocide. Nahimana was in a joint trial with two other leaders of the genocide-era media. When I went to observe the “Media” trial on April 9, I saw Ellis standing up a number of times to sharply voice objections to actions or lines of questioning being pursued by the lead prosecution lawyer, Simone Monasebian. Ellis later explained to me that lawyers in the French-style civil law tradition are much less familiar with the adversarial style of Anglo-American-type courtrooms, so Biju-Duval often relied on her to voice objections.

The Media trial had been running since October 2000. (I observed Days 228 and 229 of its proceedings.) In her time at ICTR Ellis said she had found “a great deal of incompetence. It is appalling! In a courtroom you have to have the maximum speed of proceedings that is consistent with fairness. The proceedings here should be much sharper and more precise! They should make it defendant-focused. People need to understand that one good witness is better than 20 poor witnesses.”

She said, “I find these tribunals are a way to no reconciliation. . . . The court was set up for Rwanda, and the Rwandan government controls it. It controls the evidence now. It controlled the evidence that was handed over to the FBI in 1994. Here, you only get their side.” She said that when the defense goes to Rwanda to conduct investigations that Rwanda is supposed to allow under Article 28 of the court’s founding statute, “We get no cooperation, no access.”

Ellis, like many other close observers of the court, judged that the Rwandan government received significant backing from the Bush administration in many of its policies toward the court. She recalled looking at some relevant documents with a U.S. State Department stamp on them. She could not introduce them as evidence without being able to prove provenance. “So last May, I went to DC to follow up, to try to get hold of official copies from there. They all denied having any information.”She said Allison Des Forges, a well-known U.S. expert on Rwanda who has served as an expert witness for the OTP in a number of cases, told her that chief prosecutor Carla Del Ponte had successfully pressed the United States for access to “28,000 pages” of microfiched information held by the government. “I then filed a motion with Judge Pillay protesting that we were not given equal access. Pillay called Pierre Prosper who promised to send it all to us. But he did not.” (Pierre-Richard Prosper, a Haitian-American who heads the State Department’s Office of War Crimes Issues, used to work for Del Ponte in the OTP. He was the lead attorney on the Akayesu case.)

Ellis said she had invoked Article 28 of the ICTR (“States shall cooperate with the International Tribunal for Rwanda in the investigation and prosecution of persons accused . . .”) in lodging requests for relevant information with Germany and a number of other governments, with complete satisfaction. “But I have gotten nothing from Rwanda under Article 28, while the prosecutor gets whatever she wants. . . . So it’s very one-sided. Everyone knows that if Rwanda withdraws its cooperation, the tribunal would collapse.”

She also voiced blistering criticisms of some of the judges, though she did not name them. “They are often totally unqualified, because they are named by national governments. A judge needs to know what he or she is doing, and to control the courtroom.”

In Ellis’s view, the ICTR is delivering only “victors’ justice,” and that makes it incapable of contributing to reconciliation inside Rwanda. “Undoubtedly there were massacres committed by both sides,” she said. She accused both the U.S. government and her own of having supported and covered up for Rwanda’s now-ruling party, the Rwandan Popular Front (RPF). She argued that “What happened in Germany [under the Nazis] was different from what happened in Rwanda because in Germany there was a clear aggression against innocent populations but in Rwanda what happened really was a war.”

She said her experience in Arusha had made her “very pessimistic” about the prospects for the ICC. “Now we have the same incompetents who have been working here going to the ICC,” she said.

*  *  *

That a defense attorney in a court system where the prosecutor sometimes seems to play a larger-than-life role might have some qualms about the system’s fairness is perhaps not surprising. What surprised me more was to find a prosecutor from the OTP who raised doubts about the court’s overall value and effectiveness. I had seen Simone Monasebian strutting her trial lawyer’s stuff as the lead prosecutor in the Media trial. A tall, no-nonsense woman, Monasebian would impatiently brush a wisp of hair off her cheek as she presented some complex, lengthy proposition to defense witness Valérie Bemeriki and then swoop in with a challenge of “What say you, Mme. Bemeriki?”

When she came to meet me in an ill-furnished interview room in the OTP quarters, Monasebian looked tired. “I had always been a defense attorney, back home in the U.S.,” she said. “I certainly didn’t want to be a prosecutor there with the death penalty and the terrible conditions in the jails. I hoped the protections here, for the defendants, would be sufficient to allow me to be a prosecutor in this system. . . . The main problem here is the length of time people are detained before they get into court.”

She explained the OTP’s strategy of selectively prosecuting leaders from different sectors of society and justified this generally didactic approach as a way of fostering peace and reconciliation. “In our case, Nahimana and [codefendant Jean-Bosco] Barayagwiza both had official roles in the Rwandan media establishment of the time. . . . They were indicted by virtue of their civilian roles as inciters. We think that—unlike Julius Streicher, who was the main Nazi propagandist tried at Nuremberg—we generally chose our media indictees pretty well.” Later, she said, “establishing the historical record is very important. It’s important not just for the Rwandese, but for all humanity.”

She reported that in the Media case the OTP had called 47 witnesses, and the defense a similar number. (When I was in Arusha, the Media case had nearly been completed. It only lasted for another ten or eleven trial days. But such was the difficulty of scheduling them that it only concluded at the end of August.)

In Monasebian’s view, the inefficiencies of ICTR and ICTY “are a reason to have a permanent ICC, not a reason not to have one. Setting up an ad hoc tribunal like this one is definitely not the way to go.” Still, she did not seem wedded to the idea that Western-style criminal prosecutions are always the best route in such circumstances. When I asked if she would seek to work at the ICC once she finished at ICTR she said she doubted it. “I am rather thinking of going to Rwanda to see if I can work with their gacaca system, which seems very interesting to me.”

Rwandans Judging the Court

  Who, at the end of the day, should judge the work of ICTR and its sister court for former Yugoslavia, and what criteria should be used? The ICTR’s annual reports to the UN focus on procedural issues rather than any more substantive achievements. For example, in the 17-page report she submitted on July 2, 2002, ICTR’s then-president Navanethem Pillay wrote, “The proceedings may be perceived to be slow, but the judges have to be thorough and scrupulous. . . . The jurisprudence established by the Tribunal has received significant endorsement from academics, representatives of member States and organs of civil society, and constitutes a reliable body of precedents for the International Criminal Court.”¹⁷ That report does not refer to any other extrinsic achievements such as: the court’s success (or otherwise) in deterring the commission of atrocious crimes worldwide; the contribution it may have made to curbing the ability of the génocidaires to regroup; or its effect on fostering reconciliation inside Rwanda. The idea that then-president Pillay was claiming endorsements from unidentified “academics” before anyone else suggests something about her intended audience. The report notably did not seem to be written with the aim of assessing the effect of the court’s work on people living in Rwanda or other societies afflicted with atrocious violence.

A comparison with the intention and effects of the Nuremberg Trial is again instructive. The U.S. War Department—the main body that designed and supervised Nuremberg—was always intent (as noted above) that the court should have a didactic effect on the Germans, and the U.S. occupying forces undertook sustained campaigns of public “outreach” in pursuit of that goal. Many historians working in Germany today have judged that that educative effort had little immediate effect on popular attitudes. In 1945–46, they say, Germans were still living in a physically, economically, and politically shattered society. Most Germans were not in a mood to learn a salutary moral “lesson” from their foreign occupiers. Only much later, with the “German miracle” at the economic level and a recovery of a sense of security and self-confidence, were most Germans able or motivated to learn from their country’s Nazi past. But once they started to do so, the whole huge record of the Nuremberg trial and its successors provided a centrally important database on which they could draw. Thus it came about that, as historian Konrad Jarausch said in a 2002 interview, “public memory in Germany now is the memory of the victims, rather than the memory of the perpetrators. That is breathtaking. I know of no other international example where that has happened. . . . If you ask the young people now who they associate with, it is people in the camps. It is people who are survivors. It is not their grandparents or their great-grandparents who did these things.”¹⁸ Jarausch stressed, however, that this process of what he termed a “transformation of memories” did not happen overnight in Germany. It took 40 or 50 years.

We probably should not expect any speedy “transformation of memories” in other cases as atrocious and complex as that of the Holocaust, including in Rwanda. Nevertheless, Jarausch’s focus on the effects of the post-atrocity court’s work on the community from which the perpetrators (and condoners) sprang is helpful. In a parallel Rwandan context, we might be asking if ICTR has laid an effective basis for helping present or future generations of Rwandan Hutus repudiate the actions of the génocidaires and empathize with their victims.

We should, certainly, be prepared to wait many years before we can hope to answer this question. And the answer will inevitably be affected by a number of other, quite independent factors, including the ability of the great mass of Rwandan Hutus (and Tutsis) to rebuild a stable and thriving society. But the answer will also be affected by the degree to which Rwandan Hutus judge the ICTR: has its work been balanced, judicious, and fair? Here the issue of the “special” counter-RPF investigations can play a crucial role. Numerous reputable observers, including human rights monitors, have reported that RPF officers committed excesses that clearly seemed to be either crimes against humanity or war crimes. If ICTR fails to bring indictments against any of those suspects and test the allegations in open court, then its fairness will inevitably be open to question. The accusation of “victors’ justice” would be hard to lay to rest. (Yes, Nuremberg was also victor’s justice. But it was unabashedly so, since it had in fact been established by the victors in World War II. ICTR was set up by the UN and aspires to a more universal perspective, so it is more likely to be judged by that criterion.)

How do Rwanda’s Hutus and Tutsis view the work of ICTR? Most of the Rwandans I have interviewed until now—inside and outside their country—have probably been Tutsis. But while I was in Arusha I talked a while with D.T., who works on one of the defense teams and is probably a Hutu. (He talked a little about the difficulty of getting defense witnesses to come to Arusha, but said that a small number had done so.) D.T. noted that his client had been in detention for eight years, and the OTP still had 70 witnesses to call in his case, which was one of the larger group trials. “Here, they never give bail,” he noted. He said his client has not seen his wife and children for 10 years.

D.T. seemed careful not to criticize the process at ICTR too sharply; but he noted that “there’s a lot of pressure put on the judges here by the Rwandan government.”

Asked about the impact of the tribunal on intergroup relations inside Rwanda, he said, “It’s very small. People there don’t know much at all about the tribunal and its achievements.” In his view, the gacaca process held much more hope than ICTR of healing the country’s intergroup rifts. “In principle, I support gacaca,” he said. “But even that seems limited to looking at crimes committed by one side only. If they built it fairly, to judge both sides, that would really help reconciliation.”

Martin Ngoga is a Rwandan diplomat who maintains an office near the court’s headquarters in Arusha. Ngoga told me that his government still had some problems with the court (this was last April); but he said relations seemed to be getting better. He was hopeful that U.S. Office of War Crimes chief, Ambassador Prosper, could help iron out the remaining difficulties.

The issue that Ngoga identified as most troubling for his government was the way that, in his view, ICTR continued to mistreat prosecution witnesses. “They promise them security. But what is ‘security’? The woman who’s been a victim of rape needs much more than physical security. She especially needs HIV treatment, and counseling. Witnesses have been dying from lack of HIV treatment! . . . We have cases that will last another five years, and the witnesses are actually dying. . . . We also have cases of witnesses being threatened and killed after testifying.” (I asked for more details, but he provided none and seemed to backtrack a little.)

Ngoga accused the court of showing “great insensitivity” in its choice of defense witnesses and investigators for the defense attorneys. “There is still a problem of genocide suspects being on the payroll of the court. . . . In the past, two former employees were arrested by ICTR itself, two by the Tanzanian government, and three others were sacked and put under investigation. . . . The registrar will tell you that these people were not employees. But ICTR pays the budget for all defense teams. Rwandans find the process ridiculous.” Ngoga also—like several of the Rwandan officials and genocide survivors I interviewed inside Rwanda in 2002—derided ICTR as being mainly “a job creation program for foreigners.” He noted that recently the OTP had announced it would call 100 witnesses for one of its cases. “That doesn’t make it a better case than if you had five or 15 witnesses,” he said. “I certainly don’t rule out the motive of financial gain in this whole business of time delay—especially for the defense attorneys, since they get paid by the hour. . . . The judges need to learn, and to have rules to limit the number of witnesses.”

I asked Ngoga, too, how he assessed the court’s contribution to fostering reconciliation inside his country. “We had originally requested the tribunal, but we were the only ones on the Security Council who voted against it,” he recalled. “Why? Because we didn’t get what we thought was needed in the statute. We needed an international court, in order to get hold of the exiled perpetrators. But we needed it to be established inside Rwanda, so it could contribute to peace and reconciliation. The concerns we expressed then have now been vindicated.”

Elsewhere in Arusha I met a thoughtful and apparently well-connected Rwandan business executive, B.V., whose business takes him throughout East and Central Africa. He told me that his father—along with many other relatives—had been killed in his home village toward the end of the genocide. “I had been to the village just three months before the genocide, for a wedding,” B.V. told me. “We were very hospitably received by our Hutu neighbors there. They were good people. Also, when I went back to the village, after the genocide, the same thing. But in the meantime they had participated in the genocide—in the looting that was connected with it, at least. When I went there afterwards, I saw some of my family’s goods in their houses, and when I mentioned that, the Hutus gave them back to me!”

B.V., whose father had been a Protestant missionary, has given much thought to what it was that had caused his “good” Hutu neighbors to participate in the genocide. He believed the frenzy of violence was the result of two factors, manipulative politicians and mass psychology, with the former making use of the latter. In his view, the street-level perpetrators were also in some sense “victims.”

B.V. saw ICTR as “far removed from the real, concrete needs of the people in Rwanda. We have women survivors of the genocide who come here and they’re still bleeding,” he said. “But no one gives them anything.”

“Whose interest is it that ICTR serves?” he asked. “If they just took one year’s worth of the budget from there and put it into social programs inside Rwanda—even if they freed all the detainees from here!—it would still be much more helpful than what they’re doing here.” He told me he saw gacaca as filling the needs of Rwanda’s people much more than ICTR. But he said that even the gacaca process would not alone be enough. “We also need to have a big process of continuing education and reeducation, in order to build peace and reconciliation.”

There was, however, one moment in all the years of ICTR’s work that gave B.V. and his friends some real satisfaction. This came in 1998 when Omar Serushago, who had pleaded guilty to one count of genocide and three of crimes against humanity, made a confession in open court.¹⁹ B.V. had seen Serushago’s statement on television, and he remembered it clearly even five years after the event: “Serushago cried. He pleaded for forgiveness. He showed remorse,” he said. (In Arusha, the court was also moved by Serushago’s statement, and despite the severity of the crimes he had confessed to it gave him a sentence of “only” 15 years.)

“Rwandese liked to see the way Serushago acted,” B.V. told me. He contrasted Serushago’s behavior—and the popular reaction to it—with that of the most prominent suspect to plead guilty at ICTR, Jean Kambanda, who was Rwanda’s genocide-era prime minister. Kambanda pleaded guilty to counts of genocide and crimes against humanity. But in his pre-sentencing hearing—also in 1998—he notably failed to express any remorse.²⁰ “Kambanda just admitted he had committed the crimes, and thought that was enough,” B.V. said. “And he didn’t even understand why, after he had done that, he got a life sentence.”

Remorse: this is a sentiment that is taken into little account in the proceedings of modern, Western-style courts whose proceedings are directed far more at examining “the facts” of the cases before them than at the complex web of emotions around those facts. But after any occurrence of large-scale atrocious violence like that which struck Rwanda in 1994, the credible expression of remorse by former perpetrators—and perhaps, beyond that, its enactment in the form of reparative actions—can play an essential educative role and help to build a strong basis for long-term reconciliation. (In South Africa, psychologist Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela has reported on her extensive conversations with survivors of apartheid-era violence. She quotes one Black South African woman whose husband was killed by apartheid’s security police as saying, “Victims are looking for signs . . . and when they see those signs, they are ready to forgive.” From her discussions with this woman and many other survivors of apartheid violence, Gobodo-Madikizela concludes that “the most crucial sign is an expression of remorse.”²¹)

So, after ICTR’s investment of more than half a billion dollars and the creation of hundreds of thousands of pages of court records, we were left in the view of one thoughtful Rwandan observer with this significant achievement: a single, credible expression of remorse from a significant, self-confessed génocidaire. One cannot help wondering if more such expressions of remorse could have been obtained for far less money using different means. And that is, indeed, one of the results the Rwandans themselves have been starting to achieve—at a per-capita cost that is exponentially smaller than those of the ICTR—through their continued pursuit of gacaca. <

Helena Cobban is global affairs columnist for the Christian Science Monitor and Al-Hayat (London) and a member of the Middle East advisory committee of Human Rights Watch.

Notes

¹ For more information on the circumstances around the creation of the court see Helena Cobban, “The Legacies of Collective Violence: The Rwandan Genocide and the Limits of Law,” Boston Review, April/May 2002 . For more on U.S. decision-making during the genocide see Samantha Power, “A Problem from Hell” : America and the Age of Genocide (Perennial, 2003).

² UN Security Council Resolution 955, 8 November 1994, UN document S/RES/955 .

³ “Interview with Carla Del Ponte: ‘If I had the choice I would have remained Prosecutor of the ICTR, ’” Hirondelle Press Agency, Arusha, 15 September 2003.

⁴ Rebecca West, “Greenhouse with Cyclamens I,” in A Train of Powder: Six Reports on the Problem of Guilt and Punishment in our Time (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1955), 3. Fifteen days after Sir Geoffrey Lawrence closed that court’s last session on October 1, 1946, ten of the original 22 indictees had been hanged as per sentence passed, seven had been sent to their places of incarceration, and three had been released after being found not guilty. Hermann Göring cheated the hangman by killing himself the night before the executions.

⁵ All these figures except the last are from www. ictr.org/ENGLISH/factsheets/detainee.htm, accessed September 29, 2003. The last figure is from details Carla Del Ponte had given about the OTP’s plans for future arrests and indictments.

⁶ Such wholesale lodging of unexamined documents into the court record was a serious infringement of the defendants’ due-process rights and is not allowed in the present generation of courts. Note, too, that a significant third type of crime in addition to war crimes and the then newly-minted category of “crimes against humanity” was also tried at Nuremberg but is not on the docket of the present courts: “crimes against the peace.” The Rome Statute for the ICC has a provision for trying “crimes of aggression,” which would presumably be similar to “crimes against the peace”—but the ICC cannot try these types of crime until after this category of crimes has been defined. This has not yet happened.

⁷ The court decided to try Kajelijeli individually rather than as part of the “government” case because there were fewer charges against him than against the others, so the judges thought his trial could be conducted more quickly than the group trial.

⁸ David Chappell, who runs the support services unit for prosecution witnesses, told me that this is not the case at ICTY in The Hague. ICTY, he said, runs a single witness support unit for witnesses of all three of the relevant ethnic groups. But in Rwanda the polarities, sensitivities, and fears are, it seems, that much more intense.

⁹ A number of these witnesses are women who were infected with HIV/AIDS during genocide-related rapes. ICTR does not offer them anti-retroviral treatment, though it reportedly does offer this to the suspects in its Detention Unit.

¹⁰ UN Office of Internal Oversight Services, “Report of the Office of Internal Oversight Services on the Investigation into Possible Fee-splitting Arrangements . . . at ICTR and ICTY,” 1 February 2001 (UN document A/55/759): 2, 3. Of course, one person’s “frivolous motion” may be another’s “essential due-process protection.”