As Saddam Hussein stood before a mocking crowd at Camp Justice, upon the same gallows where his orders of execution had been carried out for decades, and as the crowd chanted the name of one of his enemies (“Muqtada, Muqtada!”) in the moments before his death, he asked, “Do you consider this bravery?”
A poignant question, though the lack of self-awareness displayed by the former murderous dictator is astounding (Saddam gained power by conspiratorially executing all of his rivals and was found by American troops cowering at the bottom of a hole).
The bloodthirsty jeers of those witnessing Saddam Hussein’s final moments unfortunately afforded the dictator an opportunity to connect with sympathizers, to further sectarian divides between Sunni and Shiite Muslims and to even slip in a memorable quote for the history books. Quickly, the anachronistic brutality of the hanging became the latest Internet sensation and Saddam’s last humiliation was memorialized in cyberspace, available to stoke the flames of hatred so long as there is YouTube.
There is a lesson to be learned from this ugly story: revenge, even when practiced in the name of justice, can reflect poorly on all involved.
I was mindful of this on Monday when I read that Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, accused of masterminding the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, has asked to plead guilty and is ready to accept the death penalty to achieve “martyrdom.” For the record, I oppose the death penalty in all cases, including this one.
Of course, this is a highly sensitive issue, reopening a wound delivered more than seven years ago in a hateful act of violence. Among my most vivid memories from that time was the look in my high school principal’s eyes (normally a stern stare) as I passed her in the hallway and she told me what happened. Sympathizing and confused, that look told me that for a moment she and I were on the same level: united in shock, feeling the beginning of a slow, burning sense of loss. I remember the fear of friends whose parents or relatives were in Manhattan that day. Thankfully, nobody close to me was among the victims. I know that this cannot be said for many people in Binghamton.
In the aftermath of the attacks, over the course of more than a week of constant news that almost all Americans watched in disbelief and anger, the question was asked constantly, “Who is responsible?” Well, now we know. He has been in prison in Cuba since 2003, and now he is ready to accept blame and punishment.
But Khalid Sheikh Mohammed has already been defanged and rendered impotent. He will be in the custody of the United States for the rest of his life, far away from the terrorist networks who would celebrate his death as a triumph of their ideology. The question is, what would we gain by killing him?
Besides the transitory relief of revenge, which may be satisfying in the short term but will not change history, there is no good reason to employ capital punishment in this case. The notion that this may deter individuals from future attacks belies the radical ideology that can justify suicide attacks to begin with. The thought that an execution might provide closure forgets that every wound of this magnitude is permanent.
Because we live in a democratic society under a relatively consistent rule of law, it is unlikely that Mohammed will be executed without a mandatory appeals process that could take years. This is a great credit to America. Here, ideally, even the most dastardly of our enemies is treated with fairness and equanimity. Here, ideally, the heat of our anger does not cloud the judgment that is enshrined in our institutions.
To the extent that these institutions have been undermined over the last eight years, often as a direct result of anger in response to the Sept. 11 attacks (and certain politicians’ willingness to exploit that anger), it is up to us to rebuild them so that the United States can reclaim its mantle as the leading proponent of freedom and justice in the world.
As a death penalty opponent, I believe a good first step in this process would be to make sure that Khalid Sheikh Mohammed lives to spend the rest of his life where he belongs — in prison.