As obstreperously opposed to the death penalty as I remain, it is nevertheless difficult to feel uncomplicated emotions regarding the execution of John Allen Muhammad.
I –and any individual living in or around the D.C. area– was in the line of fire, so to speak, during this disturbed man’s killing spree in the fall of 2002. I was one of the people looking over my shoulder while I pumped my gas. I was the guy debating whether or not that Home Depot run should be postponed. I was the guy who thought: as if getting killed on my morning commute was not absurd enough, I have to worry about this? I was, finally, the guy who decided that, not unlike it feels when you step onto that plane, if your number is up, your number is up. It was not defiance, and it was not any kind of bravery; it was simply a refusal to stop living my way because I was afraid of dying.
Crimes of passion are easier to analyze. Momentary lapse of reason; a boiling point reached due to betrayal or provocation. Manslaughter is a similar case (ever notice how manslaughter is also man’s laughter?). These things, however tragic or repugnant, have some sort of cause and effect, you can see where point A picked up a gun or a knife or a drunk-driving key in the ignition, and made its indelible way to point B.
But a serial killer? (And let’s not sugarcoat it. Sniper? That depiction sterilizes things too much by half. Imagine if someone you loved was the random victim of this depraved sociopath, would it not be more than a little insulting to say they were killed by a sniper? Unless you are killed in action in a war –itself a complicated and appalling scenario– it’s simply inappropriate to use the term “sniper” to describe a citizen deciding that it is, on any level, tolerable to put innocent civilians in the crosshairs).
And then there are the sociological implications. Did this killer have a terrible, tortured life? Perhaps. Is there ever a circumstance where it’s acceptable to take out random, unknowing human beings to…what? Prove a point? Strike a blow against an uncaring world? Inscribe one’s name in the permanent record? Find perverse meaning in an otherwise meaningless universe? To paradoxically feel alive by taking another person’s life? All of the above? Some? None? The answer to this question, of course, is that it is an affront to any reasonable code of conduct to declare oneself the arbiter of life and death. End of story.
And so, is it the place of society to determine, once the evidence has been counted and corroborated, that this human insect –this remorseless, yet undeniably disturbed– shell of a man deserves to die? Is it justice? Is it an Old Testament type of quid pro quo? Is it a plain matter of ensuring that he would never hit the streets and take another life? All of the above? None?
Was there any benefit, on any level, of ensuring that this man remained alive? Did he have a book to write, entreaties to make of the families he destroyed, wisdom to impart from the dark depths of his fractured heart? Had he descended to a spiritual place that obviated the possibility of redemption? More to the point, did he care? Who gains from his eradication from this planet? And more to the point, who cares? Do we require answers, or insight, when it comes to a human being who –for whatever myriad reasons– determined that his pain, or confusion, or nihilistic impulse, compelled him to kill other human beings?
Are we going to shed a tear for this psycho?
Of course not. At least not until our eyes are dry from the ceaseless drops they should shed for the friends, relatives and families of the folks killed by his hand.
Will it provide closure for any of these people? Obviously not. Just because the murderer is dead does not mean the people he murdered will return to life. And perhaps it is because his death will not restore their lives that the concept of capital punishment seems so absurd, so barbaric. But is there a refined or compassionate way to deal with a person who forfeits his claim on those conditions?
The best answer I can come up with is that there is no answer.
No answer for how to deal with an unapologetic murderer. No answer for the innocent lives he stole. No answer for where that hatred emanated from. No answer for how to handle such a monster in a lawful society. No answer for how I would feel if someone I loved had been cut down for no reason. No answer for the human condition that goes back as far as Cain slaying Abel. No answer for how we got here. No answer for where we are going. No answer other than we all must, in some fashion, hold one another accountable for what we do. No question about right and wrong.
The only remaining question is, what else can we do?
