Carla del Ponte’s talks in Belgrade with President Vojislav Kostunica of Yugoslavia ended abruptly and acrimoniously on January 23. After an hour with Kostunica, an angry-looking Miss Del Ponte, the chief prosecutor of The Hague war-crimes tribunal, rushed past assembled journalists and refused to give a scheduled statement. Her “list of demands”—topped by the extradition of the former president, Slobodan Milosevic—did not sit well with Kostunica. He raised objections to secret indictments and the politicized work of the tribunal, condemning its “selective justice.” He also pointed out that most indictments have been against Serbs, which “could be seen as the collective guilt of an entire people, despite the fact the tribunal formally insists on personalizing responsibility.” Kostunica also asked Del Ponte what she intended to do about NATO’s use of weapons laced with depleted uranium and invited her comments on new evidence that the alleged massacre of Albanian civilians in the village of Racak was, in fact, an elaborate setup.

This must have been tough on a woman who has grown accustomed to banging her fists and lecturing her Balkan interlocutors on what they should do to oblige her, how soon, and how enthusiastically. Kostunica’s p.r. blitz continued the following day with a hard-hitting interview in the International Herald Tribune, in which he said that if Milosevic is to be tried on war-crimes charges, the trial should take place in a Yugoslav court. “If one wants to destabilize the situation in this country, one might behave the way Carla Del Ponte behaves,” he said, adding that cooperation with her court would not be justified “by the Magna Carta or the U.S. Constitution.”

Del Ponte’s court is a political institution conceived in mischief by the Clinton administration, devoid of either legality or legitimacy. Its origins, its mission, and its modus operandi constitute a naked assault on the very concept of the rule of law. The Yugoslav war-crimes tribunal is a misnomer: It has proved to be neither a “tribunal”—a forum of impartial justice—nor is it concerned with “war crimes”—understood as gross violations of certain norms of war, regardless of the identity of culprits and victims.

It requires courage not to comply with The Hague—but politically, Kostunica is on far firmer ground than most observers realize. The tribunal “exists” only because it is politically and financially supported by the major Western powers, primarily the United States. The new administration in Washington is markedly unenthusiastic about it, and for good reason: It is difficult to support a transnational judicial body at The Hague, while at the same time arguing against the proposed International Criminal Court.

The Europeans, on the other hand, remember that the tribunal was not their invention, but a concession to Washington for European refusal to bomb the Bosnian Serbs eight years ago. For the time being, they still tell their diplomats to press the matter in Belgrade, and the diplomats do a good job of sounding serious and committed to promoting this quasi-court. But without pressure from Washington, Europe is unlikely to put much wind in Del Ponte’s sails.

Kostunica has rightly sensed that the political consequences of saying “no” to Del Ponte are easier to bear than the loss of sovereignty and dignity that “full cooperation” would entail. In the short term, he will face a certain amount of unpleasantness, mixed with attempts to bribe Yugoslavia with money that has not even been promised. His nerves will be tested. The long-term result of saying “no” will be pure profit, as there are no solid European interests at stake.

Del Ponte is aware of this, and she is in a hurry to exact concessions, but Kostunica is a moral man, and therefore loath to make compromises on an issue of principle. He knows that his credibility is being tested and that he can retain it only by sticking to his guns and rejecting The Hague’s jurisdiction; it is also a matter of respecting the democratic will of his electorate. He could tell foreign diplomats: You wanted democracy in Serbia: now you have it. Our people don’t want your court.”

Many Europeans and Americans would be content to see Del Ponte’s outfit disbanded, but they dare not say so aloud—not yet, anyway. There would be no prospect of this happening if Belgrade caved in. Kostunica appears to be aware of this. As he stated in a message to The Rockford Institute’s conference on U.S.-Yugoslav relations last November, The Hague Tribunal seeks to pave the way for a world tribunal to which all members of the United Nations would surrender their jurisdiction and their sovereignty.

This fact remains his strongest card with the Bush administration. If justice in the Balkans is important to Washington, then there can be no substantive objection to trials in Belgrade. Serbian courts are still being cleansed of the old guard, but even now they are paragons of legality compared to the procedure and administration of indictments at The Hague. The rules of evidence remain unclear to this day. The accused has no right to confront his accuser, making him guilty until proved innocent. The tribunal investigates, indicts, prosecutes, and renders sentence as a single body. It demands that arbitrarily named war criminals be physically delivered to The Hague. The model for The Hague Tribunal is not Nuremberg 1946, but Moscow 1938.

By refusing to succumb to this monstrosity, Kostvmica will do more than save his country; he will also gain respect for the new Yugoslavia in the West. There are people on both sides of the Atlantic who understand that this is their fight, too.