It's Alright Now

It is a strange sight - people cheering for the death of a man.
Hugging each other.
Waving to the camera.
Laughing.
Flags and posterboard signs - "Death. Death to Saddam" written in bubble letters with red magicmarkerblood dripping down the long curved slope of the D.

In a week of remembrances - PBS specials on the life of Harold Ford, the Apollo remembers James Brown. Flags draped older coffins and the shoulders of statues, flowers gathered at the feet -

this, the Death of Saddam, should seem normal...run of the mill.

But there is something different.
A greater sense of spectacle perhaps.
The fervor is a celebration - watercooler conversation for tomorrow's slow morning at the office.
"Did you hear? The killed him!" Said with an upward intonation at the end - like "Did you hear? Dolphins beat the Patriots - 35-14. Can you believe it?"
A familiar tone, resounding with the same excitement spoken once before:
"Did you hear? The caught him!! Hiding in a hole somewhere....like a fucking animal. Can you believe it?"

Because, to us, Saddam is not a man. He is a symbol. He is a villainous caricature who we are quite sure he deserves to die, despite our ignorance about what exactly it was that he did.
For his death is not seen as the loss of a life, but rather the victory of good over evil.
We won. Game over. Cut to post game special.

There will be much said about the symbolism. About how the violence is nowhere close to over. About how Bush will tout this as an american victory and serve it up as proof of the righteousness of the war effort in order to assist the public in forgetting that this December has been the bloodiest month of the war yet.

So I will leave those speeches for the protesters, for the poets, for Anderson Cooper, for your moveon.com email newsletter.

What I want to bring attention to is
our thirst.

Our obsession with SEEING death.
Searching YOUTUBE to see if the footage of the hanging is up yet?

The dramatic montage CNN has already put together: The footage of Saddam's statue toppling, fading into Saddam captured - filthy and dishevled - doctors prodding in his mouth like an animal (we love this one), cut to Saddam's indignant outbursts at the trial - his fist waving in the air, cut to Anderson interviewing elated expatriates.

"When are the videos going to be up?"

We need to see it.
And when I say "we" I do not mean the Iraqi citizen or expatriate. I do not mean the man who has had his wife and children killed by Saddam's regime. I mean the everyday American who most likely cannot point to Iraq on a map. I mean the "we" who did not know the name of the man nor the country before 1990.
The we who anxiously awaited the live pay-per-view screening of Timothy Mcveigh's death.

For "We" are obsessed with seeing it for very different reasons.
Not for revenge. But for entertainment.
For affirmation.

We want to be there, standing in back of the room, watching his heavy feet ascend the gallow steps.
"Saddam, sweetie, Give us one long Look into the camera before the bag is placed over your face."
We will stay, waiting to see the twitching subside.
The silence and the creaking of the wood against the rope's weight.

We will record it on Tivo.
Keep it ONDEMAND
Sit around the dinner table with our children and see the replay on our local news station.
And breath a sigh of relief

Because there is no greater american passtime than watching the spectacle of death
After all, Hangings - whether of innocent black boys or monstrous dictators - have always reminded us of how human we are - how very alive we are.
They Have always assured of the inevitable triumph of the righteous.
Helped us and our children sleep better at night.

Its alright. The monster is dead.
I saw it with my own eyes.
We are all safer now.