broke the tacit agreement among nations that the Nuremberg principles were to be applied solely as “victors’ justice”—against the crimes committed by the losing side in a military struggle. Bringing such cases against sitting governments and their former officials was not only a diplomatic nightmare, it raised the specter of tit-for-tat retaliation against a country’s own officials—a danger that has colored the United States’ opposition to almost all such international prosecutions. For Latin America, where sitting military governments had negotiated transitions to democracy on the condition that they would not be held accountable for past crimes, the prosecution of Pinochet was perceived as an earthquake destabilizing the delicate balance of power with the military establishment. Chile at the moment of Pinochet’s arrest was governed by the same coalition of leftist and centrist parties (including Allende’s Socialist Party) that had fought so hard against Pinochet. Yet the arrest of their old enemy brought consternation, not smiles. Chile’s ambassador in London rushed to Pinochet’s side, and within hours President Eduardo Frei Ruiz-Tagle protested the arrest, saying initially that Pinochet’s “diplomatic immunity” had been violated. That claim was swiftly swept aside by Britain (which pointed out that such immunity was a privilege reserved for accredited diplomats and members of government on official visits—not to anyone who happened to hold a diplomatic passport). Chile then centered its opposition on the very nationalist argument Nuremberg was designed to defeat: claiming that since the alleged crimes were committed in Chile, only Chile as a sovereign country had the right to try Pinochet. Chile’s credibility was onion-skin thin on its pledge to bring Pinochet to justice in Chile, considering that Pinochet in recent years had twice used the threat of a new coup to force the government to back off its mild efforts to bring even his subordinates to trial. Chile’s position, its leaders said, was that Spain had no right to try Pinochet, and that he should be returned to Chile to allow the Chilean legal system to take its course. The United States exhibited deep ambivalence, but not outright opposition,to the events in London. The Democratic Clinton administration carried with it the political legacy of the human rights policies of President Jimmy Carter, which had done much to sever the Cold War alliance behind which the Latin American dictatorships had masked their atrocities during the Condor Years. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright mapped a position that avoided criticism of the actions in London and Spain while basically coming down on the side of Chile. The United States is committed to principles of accountability and justice, as shown by our strong support for the International War Crimes Tribunal in former Yugoslavia and Rwanda; and the record of the United States in working to see those responsible for those kind of crimes brought to justice is second to none. . . . At the same time, the United States is also obviously firmly committed to democracy and the rule of law in Chile. I think we believe that in Chile, the citizens of a democratic state are wrestling with a very difficult problem of how to balance the need for justice with the requirements of reconciliation. I think significant respect should be given to their conclusions. The U.S. position was hashed out in late November in a marathon meeting in Albright’s ballroom-size office on the seventh floor of the State Department. Present were twenty-five high officials representing all parts of the State Department. The first legal hurdles in London had made clear that there would be no quick resolution and that Pinochet could stay in custody indefinitely. There was no sympathy for Pinochet expressed in the room, but the proposition that the United States should say something in support of the Spanish extradition request