A simple hanging, the killing off of a brutish life in the wee hours of an Iraqi morning. Many attached their attention to Internet images and videos as soon as they were made available. I refrained from engaging in the act of viewing these images and videos. With the mounting daily death toll of soldiers and civilians, I had already forgotten about Saddam Hussein. I understand many will never forget him.
But my thoughts are on his being put to death. I find myself imagining what must have been scurrying through his mind as he reportedly sparred with onlookers, cursed traitors and American spies, as the hangmen adorned him for the deed. Saddam apparently refused the mask. This is also interesting to me. I never saw humanity in his visage. He seemed already to be wearing a mask. A mask we saw in billboards, busts, paintings and statues. The toppling of his statue in Baghdad was a moment of exaltation and hope. The tyrant was vanquished. A facsimile which provided the satisfaction completely missing from the news of the death of the actual being.
His body dropped, his neck snapped and he was dead. I can almost hear the sounds. Whatever thoughts were in his tyrannical mind at that moment, we'll never know.
How difficult was it for Saddam in those last minutes to go to his death? The law of gravity and the weight of his own body, and how swiftly his life was gone, yes, and what is the true nature of fear and horror? None of us fear our own demise so much as we fear having to live in constant pain. Suffering is for the living.
And what of our own, we ask.
But my thoughts are on his being put to death. I find myself imagining what must have been scurrying through his mind as he reportedly sparred with onlookers, cursed traitors and American spies, as the hangmen adorned him for the deed. Saddam apparently refused the mask. This is also interesting to me. I never saw humanity in his visage. He seemed already to be wearing a mask. A mask we saw in billboards, busts, paintings and statues. The toppling of his statue in Baghdad was a moment of exaltation and hope. The tyrant was vanquished. A facsimile which provided the satisfaction completely missing from the news of the death of the actual being.
His body dropped, his neck snapped and he was dead. I can almost hear the sounds. Whatever thoughts were in his tyrannical mind at that moment, we'll never know.
How difficult was it for Saddam in those last minutes to go to his death? The law of gravity and the weight of his own body, and how swiftly his life was gone, yes, and what is the true nature of fear and horror? None of us fear our own demise so much as we fear having to live in constant pain. Suffering is for the living.
And what of our own, we ask.
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