Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Olivera Simic, Associate Professor in Law, Griffith University
Pinochet and Rauff? They were alike. Each had two faces. One gentle, the other hard. They were joined.
And they both got away with it … Sort of.
Philippe Sands loves to tell stories. A master of historical non-fiction, he has become known for his unique blend of deeply personal, legal and historical narratives, which weave together incredible coincidences with moving stories of human courage in the face of mass atrocities and horror.
Sands is a leading practitioner of international law, a professor at University College London, an author, a playwright, and the recipient of numerous literary awards. He is also someone whose family was murdered in the vortex of the Holocaust in Ukraine.
With his previous two books, East West Street: On the Origins of Genocide and Crimes Against Humanity (2016) and The Ratline: Love, Lies and Justice on the Trail of a Nazi Fugitive (2020), he demonstrated his unique skill in presenting complex legal cases to avid readers.
His latest book, 38 Londres Street: On Impunity, Pinochet in England and a Nazi in Patagonia, rounds out the trilogy.
If it weren’t based on facts, one might think it was a brilliantly crafted thriller.
Review: 38 Londres Street: On Impunity, Pinochet in England and a Nazi in Patagonia – Philippe Sands (Weidenfeld & Nicolson)
38 Londres Street weaves together several narratives, but at its heart is the story of the legal attempts to end impunity for two accused criminals. One is Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet. The other is Walther Rauff, a former SS officer who fled to South America and allegedly worked with Pinochet’s Secret Intelligence Service.
Sands brings these two men into a single narrative to highlight the legal struggle against impunity for mass atrocities, though he never loses sight of the victims and their human stories of suffering, courage and persistence.
These were people whose lives were abruptly and violently taken. Sands includes many of their names and tragic fates in his book. He informs his readers that the Cementerio Sara Braun in Punta Arenas, Chile, has a memorial bearing the names of Pinochet’s many victims. He clearly wants these individuals never to be forgotten.
Universal jurisdiction and the Pinochet precedent
The building at 38 Londres Street in Santiago was once a site of pain. At this secret interrogation centre, one of many across Santiago and the rest of Chile, Pinochet’s agents imprisoned, tortured, executed and disappeared tens of thousands of people deemed leftists, socialists, communists or “other undesirables”.
Pinochet came to power on September 11, 1973, overthrowing the democratically elected socialist government of President Salvador Allende in a military coup. He would rule Chile with an iron fist until 1990.
Chile’s youth became the targets of his murderous regime. Sands notes that most victims were between 21 and 30 years old. The majority of them were workers; the rest mainly comprised academics, professionals and students. The atrocities were committed with impunity.
Like all dictators, Pinochet believed himself untouchable. But in October 1998, while visiting the UK, he was arrested in London. Spanish judge Baltasar Garzón was seeking Pinochet’s extradition to Spain in order to try him for human rights abuses.
Garzón was acting under the then-controversial legal principle of universal jurisdiction, which allows courts in one country to prosecute grave human rights violations committed outside its borders, regardless of the nationality of the accused.
Never before had a former head of state of one country been arrested by, and in another, for committing international crimes.
Sands would become involved in one of the most famous cases in international law since the Nuremberg trials more than 50 years earlier. Pinochet’s lawyers offered him an opportunity to participate in the case, arguing for the former dictator’s immunity as a former head of state. His wife threatened to divorce him if he accepted.
He declined the offer. Instead, Sands represented Human Rights Watch when the Pinochet case was considered by the Law Lords.
Pinochet had been indicted for crimes against humanity and genocide. At issue was the question of whether Pinochet, as a former head of state, had immunity before the English courts for acts committed in another country while he was in office. Should there be a legal protection for former dictators?
The proceedings in London were novel and remarkable, writes Sands, because this was an open legal question when Pinochet was arrested. His arrest raised an unprecedented issue: was there an exception to the rule of immunity for a former head of state when a crime in international law was involved? And did the exception apply before a national court, rather than an international one?
Many believed Pinochet’s immunity should be lifted and extradition proceedings should go ahead, so that he could answer for the deaths of Spanish nationals and others. If that did not happen, it was argued, the travesty of justice would signal that any dictator could get away with genocide. As Sands writes, immunity and impunity often go hand in hand.
In this landmark case, Pinochet was stripped of the immunity from prosecution he had enjoyed as a former president. He was ordered to stand trial on charges of human rights abuses.
For the next 16 months, he remained in the UK, awaiting extradition to Spain. But it never happened. The initial judgement on immunity was quashed, due to concerns about possible bias of one of the judges. The case returned to square one. New hearings took place.
In January 2000, the UK eventually decided not to proceed with extradition, claiming that Pinochet was too ill to stand trial and that “it would not be fair”. He was allowed to return to Chile as a free man, thanks to medical doctors rather than lawyers.
Political leaders in Europe generally welcomed the ruling. Margaret Thatcher, former British prime minister and Pinochet’s longstanding ally, was adamant that the lengthy legal wrangle had been a waste of public money. Seemingly agitated, she said in front of the cameras:
Senator Pinochet was a staunch friend of Britain throughout the Falklands War. His reward from this government was to be held prisoner for 16 months. In the meantime, his health has been broken, his reputation tarnished, and vast funds of public money have been squandered on a political vendetta.
Subsequent attempts to prosecute Pinochet in Chile were unsuccessful. He died in 2006 at the age of 91, without ever being tried for the human rights abuses that occurred while he was in power. Retributive justice, in the end, was not served. But Pinochet’s case opened the gates for efforts to bring other former and serving heads of state to justice.
Today, the 38 Londres Street serves as a place of national memory where visitors can walk through its halls and learn about its dark past.
The Nazi who invented the gas chambers
Running parallel with Pinochet’s story is that of Nazi fugitive Walther Rauff.
Rauff invented the mobile gas chambers that were precursors to the gas chambers in Nazi concentration camps. At the end of the second world war, he escaped to South America, settling in Chile. Germany made numerous attempts to have Rauff extradited to face charges, but the Chilean government refused these demands. He spent his days in the backwaters of Patagonia, running a king-crab cannery business.
Sands travels to Patagonia and meets people who remember Rauff, whose identity seems to have been common knowledge among his neighbours and co-workers: “everyone knew rumours and stories of his past”; they knew about “the gas vans” and that he “once killed many people”. But no one seemed to be bothered. They describe Rauff as “cultivated and kind”. To many of Sands’ interlocutors, the stories about Rauff “were long ago and far away”.
While dealing with the failed attempts for his extradition, Rauff put his energies into “harvesting crabs, making sure the tins were packed tight, [and] managing the workers”. He continued to do so, enjoying the company of his dog Bobby, when Pinochet became Chile’s new leader.
Pinochet was an old friend. Sands records that the two men met in the 1950s in Quito, Ecuador, where Rauff was staying, having fled an Italian prison camp at the end of the war. The men shared a contempt for communism and an affinity for German culture. Pinochet encouraged Rauff to move to Chile.
Rauff delighted in Pinochet’s murderous regime. Sands tell us that Pinochet used Rauff’s “expertise” to help with the murder and disappearance of thousands of people. But the controversy over whether Rauff worked for the Chilean military, becoming “chief advisor” to its intelligence services, or perhaps even its “head”, remains unresolved. Definitive and provable evidence about the assistance Rauff may have given to Pinochet was never obtained.
Holding dictators to account
One of the many coincidences Sands stumbles upon is that Rauff lived in Punta Arenas in southern Chile on a street called “Jugoslavija”, named after the country where I was born, which disintegrated in the 1990s in a brutal civil war marked by mass atrocities and genocide.
Former Yugoslavian and Serbian president Slobodan Milošević would become the first-ever serving head of state to be charged with international crimes and extradited to an international court.
Milošević was extradited to The Hague in 2001 after he was indicted for war crimes committed in Kosovo and Croatia, and for genocide in Bosnia and Herzegovina following an order from the Serbian government. His trial is widely hailed as a landmark moment in the development of international criminal law, though he died in his cell before his trial ended, dying “innocent” like his counterparts Pinochet and Rauff.
Robert Goddyn, via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY
In 38 Londres Street, Sands brings to light the behind-the-scenes struggles to hold Pinochet and Rauff accountable. The book explores the intricacies and politics of international law. Despite its bitter ending, Pinochet’s case remains one of the most far reaching and important in the field of human rights. It caused other countries to reflect on their own legal immunities.
As a researcher and academic, I found the book significant because it also offers insight into what it takes to conduct such expansive archival and qualitative research. Over several years, “in between work and life”, Sands travels to different corners of the globe and speaks to informants from all walks of life, including descendants of the perpetrators. He visits the sites of the events he recounts, most of them places marked by pain. He seeks to see and feel a past that still lingers.
His method requires stamina, passion and unwavering diligence. His strong commitment to neutrality, decency and impartiality makes him stand out not only as a highly skilled writer, but a survivor who continues to unpack and share the legacy of the Holocaust. There is much to respect and learn from in Sands’ account, not least about the intricacies of writing a compelling story.
Holding dictators to account is hard. Pinochet and Rauff deprived victims of the retributive justice they needed and deserved. Yet justice and reparations have many different meanings. They can be symbolic too, and still profoundly meaningful to victims. As one of the survivors of Pinochet’s regime replied to Sands when asked whether he believed his case was one of total impunity: “Not quite total […] Dawson [an island detention camp] has been recognised as a site of national memory, a protected monument, and that means something.”
Pinochet and Rauff were never convicted, but they were not free. Pinochet spent years under house arrest, bitter and devastated, unable to walk the streets. Rauff lived in constant fear of being arrested and extradited. They were both haunted. This, after all, may have brought some satisfaction to the victims.
Sands was once asked: “Do you believe in justice?” He replied: “Sort of.” Sands comes to understand that justice is “uneven in its delivery”. He has learned “to tamper expectations”. Maybe we all need to learn that skill from him too. Ultimately, justice remains a work-in-progress, just like the process of learning from a dark past.
Olivera Simic does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
– ref. Getting away with it … sort of. How a dictator and a fugitive Nazi advanced international human rights law – https://theconversation.com/getting-away-with-it-sort-of-how-a-dictator-and-a-fugitive-nazi-advanced-international-human-rights-law-257241
