In a message dated 01/09/2000 6:14:08 PM Eastern Standard Time,
[EMAIL PROTECTED] writes:
<< In this Sunday's L.A. Times, David Rieff reviews Jean-Claude Favez's
book on the Red Cross and the Holocaust. He takes the occasion to
ponder questions that still make the humanitarian response to genocide
deeply problematic. A small sample:
In the end, the problem may be that the tension between law
and morality, and between the imperatives of a mandate and the
imperatives of the truth, can never be fully reconciled. In
the case of the Holocaust, it seems clear that truth should have
prevailed, although the position of legal scholar Kenneth Anderson,
who has argued that for the ICRC to have gone public with what
it knew would not have saved a single Jewish life and would have
put the welfare of the POWs the ICRC looked after more at risk,
needs to be taken seriously. But there are times, as one of
Anderson's colleagues, international lawyer and expert on genocide
Diane Orentlicher has put it, when "the lawyers have to leave
the room." What she meant by this, of course, is that there are
times when the lawyer's response is not the moral one. Over and over
in the aftermath of the Cold War, we have seen decent people
taking refuge in the idea that they were trapped by their mandate.
If this is not quite the "I was just following orders defense," it
is a cousin to it. The Holocaust was one of those times. In my view,
Bosnia was another.
Andras Riedlmayer
========================================================================
Los Angeles Times Book Review
January 9, 2000
The Wound That Never Heals
What Did the Red Cross Know, and What Did They Do About It?
By DAVID RIEFF
In 1944, with the battle for Europe still raging and the Final
Solution at its height, the International Committee of the Red Cross
was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. It was the second of the three times
in the Geneva-based committee's history that it would receive the honor.
Unfortunately, on this occasion at least, the prize was misaddressed.
For all the good work the ICRC had done in trying to look after the
welfare of the prisoners of war who were its principal responsibility
under the Geneva Conventions as they then stood, the way in which the
organization had conducted itself with regard to Nazi Germany should have
brought it international opprobrium, not the highest honor the great and
the good of this world can bestow. For what the ICRC had in fact done,
quite deliberately and after both careful thought on the part of its
leadership and wide-ranging internal discussions within the organization,
was to refuse to go public with the information it had in its possession,
which included critical eyewitness information it had acquired from its
delegates in Nazi-occupied Europe--knowledge that, unspeakably, was
otherwise restricted to the Germans and their victims.
And as Jean-Claude Favez's authoritative account demonstrates
in heart-rending detail, despite the fact that World War II ushered in
the era of "Total War," at least between developed countries (in colonial
wars, it is well to recall, the imperial powers never thought it their
obligation to honor either the laws of war or common-sense morality),
the Germans accorded the ICRC a significant degree of access not just to
British and American POWs but even to concentration camps where political
internees were held. This meant that, almost throughout the entire war,
ICRC delegates were the only outsiders to visit the camps. Between the
spring of 1943 and the spring of 1944, for example, Dr. Roland Marti,
a seasoned ICRC delegate who had, at least in the ICRC's opinion,
distinguished himself on the organization's behalf during the Spanish
Civil War, visited the concentration camps of Ravensbruck, Oranienburg,
Dachau, Natzweiler and Buchenwald. During the same period, Marti's
colleagues visited Auschwitz. And, of course, circulating fairly freely
as they did in the territory of the General-Gouvernement (the official
name for Nazi-occupied Poland), ICRC delegates were entirely familiar
both with the situation in the Warsaw Ghetto and with the mass murder
being carried out by the Einsatzgruppen and German special police
battalions in the Polish countryside.
And yet for the most part, ICRC delegates in German-occupied Europe
tended if not quite to sympathize then at least not to think all that
badly of the German officials with whom they interacted. In fairness,
the Germans did everything they could to stage-manage things in the
concentration camps on the occasions when ICRC delegates came visiting.
When Dr. Maurice Rossel, a member of the ICRC's Berlin delegation went
to Theresienstadt on June 23, 1944, he found the camp full of flower beds.
According to Favez, there is some question about whether Rossel was
taken in by what he saw. But that in fact seems unlikely. As Caroline
Moorehead shows in her largely favorable account of the ICRC, "Dunant's
Dream," Rossel, who bowed to German requests to keep what he saw private,
had in fact been favorably impressed. "In the Ghetto [Theresienstadt],"
he noted in his report to his superiors in Geneva, "it is even possible
to get hold of things almost unfindable in Prague." As for the camp's
inmates, Rossel insisted that they were well-fed and housed in clean
surroundings.
Where blindness ended--ICRC delegates were not, after all, the
first foreign visitors to be taken in by the Potemkin villages erected
by totalitarian states, nor have they been the last--and knavery began is
hard to say. Favez inclines to the view that it was the ICRC's tradition
of strict neutrality and its limited mandate, which, from a strictly legal
point of view, probably did not include Jewish civilians either in Germany
or Nazi-occupied Europe, that determined its actions, although he both
documents at great length the internal debate on these questions within
the organization and speculates convincingly about the ways in which the
Swiss political and cultural context influenced the response of an ICRC
that, at the time, was largely an appendage of the Swiss establishment.
* * *
It is clear from Favez's book that though the ICRC sought to
influence governments, it was also influenced by them. And, as Favez
puts it rather primly, the organization "reacted variously to the
pressures exerted upon it." There is no doubt that the Swiss, terrified
of offending the Germans and thus provoking an invasion, bent over
backwards to avoid doing anything that would offend Berlin. In retrospect,
it seems clear that such fears were exaggerated. A neutral Switzerland
served Nazi Germany's interests, just as an ICRC that remained present
served those interests, as Favez's book demonstrates. Still, it would be
oversimplifying things to claim that either the strategic anxieties
of the Swiss state or the institutional preoccupations of the ICRC can
be dismissed out of hand. Doubtless, they were real enough, but even
in the early 1940s they were only part of the story.
In his preface to the English-language edition, which, though
well-translated by John and Beryl Fletcher, is unfortunately an
abridgement of the French original, Favez alludes to many of the recent
revelations about Switzerland's conduct during World War II. By this, of
course, he means more than just the country's low history of collaboration
with and money laundering for the Nazis, its policy of turning back Jewish
refugees (something the United States and Britain were also guilty of),
and recent revelations about Swiss banks' profiteering from the plight of
Jewish refugees. On its own, Favez's decision not to revise his book in
the light of these revelations is questionable, particularly in light of
the fact that one of the most important Swiss firms in Germany that was
proven by American investigators to have used slave labor was in fact
among the family holdings of Dr. Max Huber, the ICRC's chairman during
World War II and a man Favez treats with great respect throughout the
book.
More serious still is the fact that, for all its virtues, Favez's
book so sedulously eschews moral judgments. This is not to say that
"The Red Cross and the Holocaust" is a bad book. On the contrary, it is
an essential one--a brilliant work of scholarly synthesis and archival
research. For three decades after the end of World War II, the story of
the ICRC's collaboration with the Nazis festered in secret. Then, to the
institution's everlasting credit, the usually secretive ICRC (it refused
to cooperate with the Canadian scholar, J.F. Hutchinson in what it knew
would be a critical look at its early history) threw open its archives of
the period to Favez. Nonetheless, there is something deeply and worryingly
equivocal about Favez's book. His original title is revealing. In French,
it is called "An Impossible Mission?"
The question mark is revealing. For in the end, for all the ways in
which the ICRC as an institution feels profoundly guilty for its conduct
during the Holocaust and has admirably refused simply to attribute the
failure to the anti-Semitic views of some ICRC delegates and the
anti-Semitic ambience of the times, the official line at the ICRC--a line
supported by Favez's book--is that what the organization faced in
Nazi-occupied Europe was a tragedy in the Hegelian sense of the conflict
of two rights. Favez largely endorses this perspective. The ICRC mandate
dictated one course of action, higher morality another, and Favez is
reluctant to do more than underscore that paradox. Presumably, he endorses
the view expressed by John Fletcher in his translator's introduction
that "of all the forms of wisdom, hindsight is by general consent the
least merciful, the most unforgiving."
And yet surely the implication of that line, and of Favez's
conclusions generally, is wrong. Favez's book demonstrates that the ICRC
was in a better position than practically any other group of outsiders to
find out the truth, and, because Switzerland was neutral and the ICRC was
Swiss, its testimony would have counted for far more than the fragmentary
reports being circulated by Jewish groups in Britain, the United States
and what was then Mandatory Palestine. That alone conferred a special,
morally inescapable onus of responsibility upon the organization. And
no amount of extenuating circumstances, special pleading about mandates
and institutional imperatives or historical contextualizing can change
that. Indeed, the moral claims made by the ICRC for itself make comparing
its response to those of states, which are fundamentally amoral entities,
almost obscene. The ICRC had a moral duty and it betrayed it: That,
however much there is a need for understanding, is the bottom line.
To insist upon the point is not to deny the obvious danger in
focusing too obsessively on the ICRC. Like the question of why Churchill
and Roosevelt did not allow in more Jewish immigrants or, after the war
had begun, chose not to bomb the rail lines leading to Auschwitz, these
sins should not occlude the fact that the real murderers were the Germans
and their accomplices, just as in the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide
it is important not to mistake the blame that rests with U.N. and U.S.
officials--real though it is--with that of the genocidaires themselves.
Nonetheless, the story of what the ICRC did, and, still more important,
failed to do, is relevant both to the past and to the present.
Understandably, Favez is concerned only with understanding what
took place during World War II. But in reality the relevance of his book
derives almost as much from the fact that the problem he examines is
the one that faces the ICRC today in extremis as from the necessity of
coming to terms with what role the ICRC played in the Holocaust. Indeed,
to consign what the ICRC did to the realm of history is to assume that
not just the Nazi era but the ethical dilemmas of that time are something
we have put behind us. And the Rwandan genocide of 1994 should have
put paid to that consoling fiction.
* * *
To insist upon the point is not to detract from the unique horror
of the Shoah or, for that matter, on the particular historical and
ideological context in which the ICRC's response took place. But to
pin the blame on the times, let alone on individual delegates, is to
have learned nothing from what took place. In truth, the same dilemmas
that confronted the ICRC in the early 1940s confront it today, though
on a lesser scale. The fervor with which the ICRC hewed to its concept
of neutrality, and resisted anything that might be seen by the Nazis
as overstepping its mandate, finds its echo today in the organization's
extreme reluctance to publicly condemn any belligerent. Some things have
changed. Under the organization's current president, Cornelio Sommaruga,
the ICRC has taken what, for it, have been bold public stands. But they
are bold only in the context of the ICRC's own history. By any other
standard, such steps away from neutrality have been halting, timid
and morally unsatisfactory.
In the end, the problem may be that the tension between law and
morality, and between the imperatives of a mandate and the imperatives
of the truth, can never be fully reconciled. In the case of the Holocaust,
it seems clear that truth should have prevailed, although the position of
legal scholar Kenneth Anderson, who has argued that for the ICRC to have
gone public with what it knew would not have saved a single Jewish life
and would have put the welfare of the POWs the ICRC looked after more
at risk, needs to be taken seriously. But there are times, as one
of Anderson's colleagues, international lawyer and expert on genocide
Diane Orentlicher has put it, when "the lawyers have to leave the room."
What she meant by this, of course, is that there are times when the
lawyer's response is not the moral one. Over and over in the aftermath
of the Cold War, we have seen decent people taking refuge in the idea
that they were trapped by their mandate. If this is not quite the "I was
just following orders defense," it is a cousin to it. The Holocaust was
one of those times. In my view, Bosnia was another.
The problem, of course, is that there are many other times when
the intransigent hewing to mandates favored by the ICRC is exactly the
right and most humane thing to do. Realistically, knowing the difference
is difficult at best, for if there was even a case to be made for what the
ICRC did between 1939 and 1945, a case, as Favez suggests, for respecting
the "impossibility" of the ICRC's task, there is a far stronger case
in many of the myriad conflicts throughout the contemporary world where
the ICRC is active and where its presence saves lives. Perhaps all that
can be done is to treat the assumptions of all institutions, even one
as distinguished and well-intended as the ICRC, with skepticism and, hard
though it may be in this value-free, relativist age, not to be afraid of
making moral judgments--even when they are harsh; even when one does not
know what one would have done if the choice had been one's own to make;
and even when those one is criticizing have the best of intentions and
are, at most, unwilling accomplices to horror.
- - -
David Rieff Is the Author of Several Books, Including "Slaughterhouse:
Bosnia and the Failure of the West," and Is Co-editor of "Crimes of War:
What the Public Should Know" >>
-----Original Message-----
From: International Justice Watch Discussion List
[mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]]
On Behalf Of Andras Riedlmayer
Sent: 2000. sije�anj 09 22:10
To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Subject: times when the lawyers have to leave the room
(cross-posting of comments only permitted)
In this Sunday's L.A. Times, David Rieff reviews Jean-Claude Favez's
book on the Red Cross and the Holocaust. He takes the occasion to
ponder questions that still make the humanitarian response to genocide
deeply problematic. A small sample:
In the end, the problem may be that the tension between law
and morality, and between the imperatives of a mandate and the
imperatives of the truth, can never be fully reconciled. In
the case of the Holocaust, it seems clear that truth should have
prevailed, although the position of legal scholar Kenneth Anderson,
who has argued that for the ICRC to have gone public with what
it knew would not have saved a single Jewish life and would have
put the welfare of the POWs the ICRC looked after more at risk,
needs to be taken seriously. But there are times, as one of
Anderson's colleagues, international lawyer and expert on genocide
Diane Orentlicher has put it, when "the lawyers have to leave
the room." What she meant by this, of course, is that there are
times when the lawyer's response is not the moral one. Over and over
in the aftermath of the Cold War, we have seen decent people
taking refuge in the idea that they were trapped by their mandate.
If this is not quite the "I was just following orders defense," it
is a cousin to it. The Holocaust was one of those times. In my view,
Bosnia was another.
Andras Riedlmayer
========================================================================
Los Angeles Times Book Review
January 9, 2000
The Wound That Never Heals
What Did the Red Cross Know, and What Did They Do About It?
By DAVID RIEFF
In 1944, with the battle for Europe still raging and the Final
Solution at its height, the International Committee of the Red Cross
was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. It was the second of the three times
in the Geneva-based committee's history that it would receive the honor.
Unfortunately, on this occasion at least, the prize was misaddressed.
For all the good work the ICRC had done in trying to look after the
welfare of the prisoners of war who were its principal responsibility
under the Geneva Conventions as they then stood, the way in which the
organization had conducted itself with regard to Nazi Germany should have
brought it international opprobrium, not the highest honor the great and
the good of this world can bestow. For what the ICRC had in fact done,
quite deliberately and after both careful thought on the part of its
leadership and wide-ranging internal discussions within the organization,
was to refuse to go public with the information it had in its possession,
which included critical eyewitness information it had acquired from its
delegates in Nazi-occupied Europe--knowledge that, unspeakably, was
otherwise restricted to the Germans and their victims.
And as Jean-Claude Favez's authoritative account demonstrates
in heart-rending detail, despite the fact that World War II ushered in
the era of "Total War," at least between developed countries (in colonial
wars, it is well to recall, the imperial powers never thought it their
obligation to honor either the laws of war or common-sense morality),
the Germans accorded the ICRC a significant degree of access not just to
British and American POWs but even to concentration camps where political
internees were held. This meant that, almost throughout the entire war,
ICRC delegates were the only outsiders to visit the camps. Between the
spring of 1943 and the spring of 1944, for example, Dr. Roland Marti,
a seasoned ICRC delegate who had, at least in the ICRC's opinion,
distinguished himself on the organization's behalf during the Spanish
Civil War, visited the concentration camps of Ravensbruck, Oranienburg,
Dachau, Natzweiler and Buchenwald. During the same period, Marti's
colleagues visited Auschwitz. And, of course, circulating fairly freely
as they did in the territory of the General-Gouvernement (the official
name for Nazi-occupied Poland), ICRC delegates were entirely familiar
both with the situation in the Warsaw Ghetto and with the mass murder
being carried out by the Einsatzgruppen and German special police
battalions in the Polish countryside.
And yet for the most part, ICRC delegates in German-occupied Europe
tended if not quite to sympathize then at least not to think all that
badly of the German officials with whom they interacted. In fairness,
the Germans did everything they could to stage-manage things in the
concentration camps on the occasions when ICRC delegates came visiting.
When Dr. Maurice Rossel, a member of the ICRC's Berlin delegation went
to Theresienstadt on June 23, 1944, he found the camp full of flower beds.
According to Favez, there is some question about whether Rossel was
taken in by what he saw. But that in fact seems unlikely. As Caroline
Moorehead shows in her largely favorable account of the ICRC, "Dunant's
Dream," Rossel, who bowed to German requests to keep what he saw private,
had in fact been favorably impressed. "In the Ghetto [Theresienstadt],"
he noted in his report to his superiors in Geneva, "it is even possible
to get hold of things almost unfindable in Prague." As for the camp's
inmates, Rossel insisted that they were well-fed and housed in clean
surroundings.
Where blindness ended--ICRC delegates were not, after all, the
first foreign visitors to be taken in by the Potemkin villages erected
by totalitarian states, nor have they been the last--and knavery began is
hard to say. Favez inclines to the view that it was the ICRC's tradition
of strict neutrality and its limited mandate, which, from a strictly legal
point of view, probably did not include Jewish civilians either in Germany
or Nazi-occupied Europe, that determined its actions, although he both
documents at great length the internal debate on these questions within
the organization and speculates convincingly about the ways in which the
Swiss political and cultural context influenced the response of an ICRC
that, at the time, was largely an appendage of the Swiss establishment.
* * *
It is clear from Favez's book that though the ICRC sought to
influence governments, it was also influenced by them. And, as Favez
puts it rather primly, the organization "reacted variously to the
pressures exerted upon it." There is no doubt that the Swiss, terrified
of offending the Germans and thus provoking an invasion, bent over
backwards to avoid doing anything that would offend Berlin. In retrospect,
it seems clear that such fears were exaggerated. A neutral Switzerland
served Nazi Germany's interests, just as an ICRC that remained present
served those interests, as Favez's book demonstrates. Still, it would be
oversimplifying things to claim that either the strategic anxieties
of the Swiss state or the institutional preoccupations of the ICRC can
be dismissed out of hand. Doubtless, they were real enough, but even
in the early 1940s they were only part of the story.
In his preface to the English-language edition, which, though
well-translated by John and Beryl Fletcher, is unfortunately an
abridgement of the French original, Favez alludes to many of the recent
revelations about Switzerland's conduct during World War II. By this, of
course, he means more than just the country's low history of collaboration
with and money laundering for the Nazis, its policy of turning back Jewish
refugees (something the United States and Britain were also guilty of),
and recent revelations about Swiss banks' profiteering from the plight of
Jewish refugees. On its own, Favez's decision not to revise his book in
the light of these revelations is questionable, particularly in light of
the fact that one of the most important Swiss firms in Germany that was
proven by American investigators to have used slave labor was in fact
among the family holdings of Dr. Max Huber, the ICRC's chairman during
World War II and a man Favez treats with great respect throughout the
book.
More serious still is the fact that, for all its virtues, Favez's
book so sedulously eschews moral judgments. This is not to say that
"The Red Cross and the Holocaust" is a bad book. On the contrary, it is
an essential one--a brilliant work of scholarly synthesis and archival
research. For three decades after the end of World War II, the story of
the ICRC's collaboration with the Nazis festered in secret. Then, to the
institution's everlasting credit, the usually secretive ICRC (it refused
to cooperate with the Canadian scholar, J.F. Hutchinson in what it knew
would be a critical look at its early history) threw open its archives of
the period to Favez. Nonetheless, there is something deeply and worryingly
equivocal about Favez's book. His original title is revealing. In French,
it is called "An Impossible Mission?"
The question mark is revealing. For in the end, for all the ways in
which the ICRC as an institution feels profoundly guilty for its conduct
during the Holocaust and has admirably refused simply to attribute the
failure to the anti-Semitic views of some ICRC delegates and the
anti-Semitic ambience of the times, the official line at the ICRC--a line
supported by Favez's book--is that what the organization faced in
Nazi-occupied Europe was a tragedy in the Hegelian sense of the conflict
of two rights. Favez largely endorses this perspective. The ICRC mandate
dictated one course of action, higher morality another, and Favez is
reluctant to do more than underscore that paradox. Presumably, he endorses
the view expressed by John Fletcher in his translator's introduction
that "of all the forms of wisdom, hindsight is by general consent the
least merciful, the most unforgiving."
And yet surely the implication of that line, and of Favez's
conclusions generally, is wrong. Favez's book demonstrates that the ICRC
was in a better position than practically any other group of outsiders to
find out the truth, and, because Switzerland was neutral and the ICRC was
Swiss, its testimony would have counted for far more than the fragmentary
reports being circulated by Jewish groups in Britain, the United States
and what was then Mandatory Palestine. That alone conferred a special,
morally inescapable onus of responsibility upon the organization. And
no amount of extenuating circumstances, special pleading about mandates
and institutional imperatives or historical contextualizing can change
that. Indeed, the moral claims made by the ICRC for itself make comparing
its response to those of states, which are fundamentally amoral entities,
almost obscene. The ICRC had a moral duty and it betrayed it: That,
however much there is a need for understanding, is the bottom line.
To insist upon the point is not to deny the obvious danger in
focusing too obsessively on the ICRC. Like the question of why Churchill
and Roosevelt did not allow in more Jewish immigrants or, after the war
had begun, chose not to bomb the rail lines leading to Auschwitz, these
sins should not occlude the fact that the real murderers were the Germans
and their accomplices, just as in the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide
it is important not to mistake the blame that rests with U.N. and U.S.
officials--real though it is--with that of the genocidaires themselves.
Nonetheless, the story of what the ICRC did, and, still more important,
failed to do, is relevant both to the past and to the present.
Understandably, Favez is concerned only with understanding what
took place during World War II. But in reality the relevance of his book
derives almost as much from the fact that the problem he examines is
the one that faces the ICRC today in extremis as from the necessity of
coming to terms with what role the ICRC played in the Holocaust. Indeed,
to consign what the ICRC did to the realm of history is to assume that
not just the Nazi era but the ethical dilemmas of that time are something
we have put behind us. And the Rwandan genocide of 1994 should have
put paid to that consoling fiction.
* * *
To insist upon the point is not to detract from the unique horror
of the Shoah or, for that matter, on the particular historical and
ideological context in which the ICRC's response took place. But to
pin the blame on the times, let alone on individual delegates, is to
have learned nothing from what took place. In truth, the same dilemmas
that confronted the ICRC in the early 1940s confront it today, though
on a lesser scale. The fervor with which the ICRC hewed to its concept
of neutrality, and resisted anything that might be seen by the Nazis
as overstepping its mandate, finds its echo today in the organization's
extreme reluctance to publicly condemn any belligerent. Some things have
changed. Under the organization's current president, Cornelio Sommaruga,
the ICRC has taken what, for it, have been bold public stands. But they
are bold only in the context of the ICRC's own history. By any other
standard, such steps away from neutrality have been halting, timid
and morally unsatisfactory.
In the end, the problem may be that the tension between law and
morality, and between the imperatives of a mandate and the imperatives
of the truth, can never be fully reconciled. In the case of the Holocaust,
it seems clear that truth should have prevailed, although the position of
legal scholar Kenneth Anderson, who has argued that for the ICRC to have
gone public with what it knew would not have saved a single Jewish life
and would have put the welfare of the POWs the ICRC looked after more
at risk, needs to be taken seriously. But there are times, as one
of Anderson's colleagues, international lawyer and expert on genocide
Diane Orentlicher has put it, when "the lawyers have to leave the room."
What she meant by this, of course, is that there are times when the
lawyer's response is not the moral one. Over and over in the aftermath
of the Cold War, we have seen decent people taking refuge in the idea
that they were trapped by their mandate. If this is not quite the "I was
just following orders defense," it is a cousin to it. The Holocaust was
one of those times. In my view, Bosnia was another.
The problem, of course, is that there are many other times when
the intransigent hewing to mandates favored by the ICRC is exactly the
right and most humane thing to do. Realistically, knowing the difference
is difficult at best, for if there was even a case to be made for what the
ICRC did between 1939 and 1945, a case, as Favez suggests, for respecting
the "impossibility" of the ICRC's task, there is a far stronger case
in many of the myriad conflicts throughout the contemporary world where
the ICRC is active and where its presence saves lives. Perhaps all that
can be done is to treat the assumptions of all institutions, even one
as distinguished and well-intended as the ICRC, with skepticism and, hard
though it may be in this value-free, relativist age, not to be afraid of
making moral judgments--even when they are harsh; even when one does not
know what one would have done if the choice had been one's own to make;
and even when those one is criticizing have the best of intentions and
are, at most, unwilling accomplices to horror.
- - -
David Rieff Is the Author of Several Books, Including "Slaughterhouse:
Bosnia and the Failure of the West," and Is Co-editor of "Crimes of War:
What the Public Should Know"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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