Dancing in the streets after Saddam’s death, but why?

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A few weeks ago, the world was a dangerous place.

Saddam Hussein had been stripped of his power and dignity and was being kept in a cage like an old, sick tiger at the zoo, but he was still alive. What if he escaped and took to the streets? What if he somehow rose to power again? What if he broke into a top-secret U.S. military base and stole a weapon of mass destruction?

Well, at least America would have finally had a good excuse to go to war with him.

Fortunately, the new Iraqi government saw to it that this serious chain of events would not occur. Saddam Hussein is dead now. We can all come out from hiding under our beds. The world is safe.

OK, that’s hyperbole.

Not even our sometimes overly excitable president is claiming that the world is safe or that the war is over. Given past experiences, it wouldn’t have been entirely unexpected for him to make a triumphant speech from an aircraft carrier, but, if nothing else, at least this war seems to have taught him to be a bit more prudent with proclamations of victory.

If only it would teach him to be a bit more prudent with troop deployment.

So, if the world is not safe and the war is not over and there really was no chance of Saddam running rampant with WMDs in tow, just what exactly did his execution accomplish?

Nothing less than the cardinal virtue of justice, supposedly. And perhaps it did. I can’t argue that Saddam didn’t deserve a miserable death, considering that he himself was responsible for the miserable deaths of so many others. He earned his punishment.

But does this sound virtuous? He was led to the gallows. He refused a mask and declared himself a martyr, delusional until the end. The people in attendance cheered as his neck broke.

So justice was served. Is that why people were dancing in the street? Or were they dancing because of something less, shall we say, virtuous? Or does their motivation even matter?

The British poet A.E. Housman didn’t think so. He wrote in a letter to his publisher, “Revenge is a valuable passion, and the only sure pillar upon which justice rests.” But revenge has more to do with anger than with justice. And anger is no virtue. In fact, it’s one of the seven deadly sins.

The motto of many a punk band, The Clash included, has been that anger can be power, if one knows how to use it. The qualification at the end is important. The anger must be tempered. If one uses anger properly, it can lead to great things, like “London Calling” or the American Revolution or justice for all.

If one doesn’t know how to use anger, it will lead to not so great things, like “Cut the Crap” (The Clash’s ill-fated, post-Mick Jones swansong) or violent riots or injustice for all.

The problem is, people are notoriously lousy at tempering their anger. There have been far more riots than revolutions. Still, if people can take a step back and examine the situation, they just might be able to, as Housman suggested, turn their anger into justice. And, in this case, it appears to have happened.

Saddam got what he deserved. So, case closed, right?

Well, not quite. Yes, Saddam got what he deserved, but since when do people have to get what they deserve? Justice may be a cardinal virtue, but charity is a heavenly grace.

These days when people think of charity, they think of dropping change into red buckets at Christmas time. But being charitable means more than occasionally sparing a dime. Charity is giving something, anything, up for the benefit of another. Mercy is a charitable act. And mercy doesn’t have anything to do with deservedness.

Clearly pleased with Saddam’s execution, an Iraqi Muslim called it a “gift from God.” Well, a gift from the government at least.

The Quran makes clear that God will understand if a person, ergo a government, seeks vengeance for a wrongdoing, providing that person, or government, does not exceed the bounds of justice. And, as I’ve said, Saddam’s execution was probably just.

But the Quran also makes clear that God would much prefer that a person, or government, display mercy toward his, or its, enemies. Saddam was afforded very little of that.

This is not to say that he could have been afforded too much mercy. Clearly, Hussein couldn’t be released from imprisonment. That would be irresponsible. This world is not ideal and a government does have the practical responsibility of protecting its citizens.

It should show as much mercy as is reasonable, however. As such, Hussein did not have to be and should not have been executed. Nobody should be executed.

And an execution should not be cause for celebration. Nobody should be happy about the death of another human being. Then again, this isn’t something folks like to think about, the humanity of a monster.

If the Quran is not your cup of scriptural tea, perhaps a passage from the Bible will do. You know the part. Peter asked, “How many times shall I forgive my brother? Is seven times enough?”

“Well, no,” said Christ. “Not just seven times, but seventy times seven times.”

Jesus was being kind of snarky here. If Peter had persisted and asked if he should only forgive his brother 490 times, Christ probably would have said, “Closer. Try 4,900 times 490 times.” And so on, ad infinitum.

Suddam Hussein, as unfortunate as this may be, is our brother. Or was our brother, anyway. Now he’s a corpse. Ah, well. At least justice was served.

Justin Fowler is a student at University College of Bangor. He may be reached via justin.fowler@verizon.net. Voices is a weekly commentary by Maine people who explore issues affecting spirituality and religious life.