Falcone was a fascinating and courageous man, an examining magistrate from Sicily who had waged war against organized crime and the culture of impunity that was sapping the vitality of his country. In the early 1980s, shortly after I was appointed examining magistrate in Lugano, Switzerland, I was asked to deal with one of Falcone’s requests for assistance. This brought me into contact with arguably the most influential individual in my life. Over the years, I was to work with him on some of the most significant mafia cases. Watching him interrogate witnesses and suspects and pursue leads even when the road ahead seemed empty, I learned how to conduct dangerous and complex cases and to persevere in the face of criticism and threats. Falcone’s murder reinforced my determination to pursue justice.

This pursuit took on new meaning in 1999 when I was appointed chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Tribunals for the Former Yugoslavia and Rwanda. I was stunned by the horrific crimes that confronted me: I had never seen death and destruction on such a scale. Thousands of victims had been killed, raped, maimed and displaced. Most of these crimes had been organized at the highest political levels—by presidents, prime ministers, cabinet members and top military brass—and committed by local politicians, party bosses, regular armed forces, paramilitaries and ordinary citizens. Entire societies had been destroyed. For the first time in my life, in addition to my professional responsibility I felt a deep moral obligation to do what I could for the hundreds of thousands of victims of these heinous crimes. I felt that I was their only official representative in these proceedings.

In the eight years that I have worked as an international prosecutor, we have won many victories against impunity, bringing to trial a sitting head of state (Slobodan Milosevic), military and police chiefs, numerous local warlords, political leaders and practically an entire government. We tried the organizers, and we tried some of the executioners. We secured the first genocide convictions since World War II. For the first time in history, we proved that rape is a war crime. Most important, we obtained some measure of justice for the victims. I say “some” because the job is still not done. It is not done in Rwanda, where investigations of possible crimes committed by the ruling Rwandan Patriotic Front have been blocked by political pressure. The job is also not done in the former Yugoslavia, where Serbia—the first state ever to be found in violation of the genocide convention—openly protects indicted war criminals, yet is being embraced by the European Union.

At the global level, meanwhile, the fight for justice has barely begun. We continue to live in a world where double standards are the rule, not the exception. Some crimes are being prosecuted by international tribunals, but many are not. Some states are being held accountable for their violations of human rights, but others are not. Major powers continue to protect their clients and allies regardless of their criminal records. Values like the rule of law are loudly proclaimed, but quietly disregarded when they clash with political or business interests.

I believe that we as citizens must raise our voices when our leaders make hypocritical compromises with dictators, criminals or states protecting génocidaires. In the United States, Europe and parts of Asia, civil society has the power to hold governments accountable. What an extraordinary privilege this is. It is one still lacking in too many nations. Those of us that have it, therefore, have a moral duty to use it. I, for one, plan to continue doing so.