Saddam Hussein has been executed. Hanged by the neck for his crimes against humanity. Our nation celebrates, the media outlets triumph the news, we dance around the irony.

It’s strange to think of, marching a man to his death. Can we even imagine it? What if he was us? Oh, but he isn’t us. We aren’t him. But we are. He’s human, demented on power and blood, but still human. I try to imagine his horror, being led, powerless, up those stairs, and forced to die by the hands of his fellow humans.

But what about everyone he killed? Don’t they matter? Of course they do. Don’t be ridiculous. But what right do we have, especially after that mockery of a trial Hussein received, to take another’s life? Did he forfeit his right to life because he took so many others’? I won’t pretend to know.

But it is barbaric for the government to put its criminals to death.

Imagine the men coming for you. Late at night, all dressed in black. Before you know what’s happening, you’re in a cold room. A bare bulb swings from the ceiling making shadows dance across the stone walls. The walls are sweating and you hear water dripping and a man’s voice murmuring. Maybe you’re still dreaming. Hopefully, you’re still dreaming. And you see it. The stairs. The rope. The noose. You have thirteen steps and then no more. This isn’t a dream. You’re not coming back down. And what right do they have to do this? To take your life? The will of the people? Give me a break.

A civilization cannot stand when killing its killers. Their blood is drowning us.