France Barbie's Mockery of Justice

By Michael S. Serrill

By any measure, it was an extraordinary moment. Accused War Criminal Klaus Barbie, known as the "Butcher of Lyons," was calmly answering as presiding Judge Andre Cerdini probed his career with the Nazi SS, his work for U.S. Army Intelligence after the war, his flight to South America in 1951 and, finally, his 1983 expulsion from Bolivia to stand trial in France. Unexpectedly, Barbie asked Cerdini for permission to read a statement. "I am being held here illegally," said the defendant without emotion, referring to his oft-repeated contention that he was unlawfully expelled from Bolivia. "I am the victim of a kidnaping . . . I'm not a prisoner, but a hostage." Then he stunned onlookers by refusing to submit further to the judicial proceedings. Said Barbie: "I have no intention of appearing again before this court. I ask you to return me to St. Joseph Prison."

Cries and shouts erupted in the courtroom. The judge called for order, but spectators and lawyers for the civil plaintiffs loudly protested the move by Barbie, who is accused of committing atrocities against French Jews and Resistance fighters while he was head of the Gestapo in Lyons between 1942 and 1944. "You should remain and look into the eyes of the people you tortured!" cried a victim from the gallery. "But you refuse. You are a coward." Shouted a lawyer representing some plaintiffs: "Klaus Barbie is making a mockery of justice!" Said another: "I represent 6 million victims who cannot represent themselves."

Frail-looking but alert, Barbie, 73, was led out of the bulletproof, glass- screened dock at Lyons' Palace of Justice. As rooftop sharpshooters stood at the ready, he was driven in a heavily guarded motorcade back to his quarters at St. Joseph Prison, a short distance from the site of his former Gestapo offices. In recent days Barbie had reportedly been weighing whether to exert his right under French law to stay away from the trial, which he denigrated as a "lynching campaign led by the French media." The tactic is not unprecedented. Last February, Lebanese Terrorist Georges Ibrahim Abdallah, accused of complicity in two assassinations in Paris, caused a commotion by walking out of his trial. In Barbie's case the judge ruled that the defendant need not return but reserved the right to order him to do so later.

Before his surprise exit on the third day of the trial, Barbie spent most of his time in court listening without expression to a recitation of his % alleged crimes. His flamboyant lawyer, Jacques Verges, heatedly argued that his client was a victim of double jeopardy because in 1952 and 1954 he had already been convicted in absentia of war crimes and sentenced to death. Judge Cerdini will rule later on the claim. Barbie, now charged with "crimes against humanity," including the deportation of 44 Jewish children from a village near Lyons to Auschwitz, told the court his prosecution was "like a revival of the Nuremberg trial. I had the impression that I ran around Lyons with a rifle in my hand and chased Jews."

The unrepentant former Nazi was later asked to explain his philosophy but declined, saying, "I cannot explain in two words what National Socialism was." He denied harboring any hatred for groups the Nazis identified as "inferior races." Declared Barbie: "I have no hatred for these minorities . . . I did my work under the direction of my superiors."

His departure drained away the atmosphere of high drama generated by the trial. The gallery, including nearly 800 reporters from 27 countries, had been eagerly awaiting the spectacle of the Gestapo captain confronting his victims. Moreover, Verges had promised to put France itself on trial by encouraging Barbie to name Frenchmen who collaborated with the Nazis. The victims will still have their chance to testify, but with Barbie gone, the trial amounts to little more than a "debate among lawyers," as one bitter observer put it.

With reporting by William Dowell and Adam Zagorin/Lyons