A Month of Revenge
It has been a month of revenge. First there was the assassination (oops, I meant “execution”) of Saddam Hussain on the day of ‘Id and then there was the
The need for revenge is never a good motivation for any kind of action. And no one should expect that any action based on revenge will deliver justice. Far from it. It is, in fact, a miscarriage of justice.
In the case of Saddam Hussain, this miscarriage of justice began long before the trapdoor disappeared from under his feet and the rope tightened to snap his neck; it began when he was captured and paraded on TV screens around the world, treated like an animal, having his teeth checked like a cow at an auction. And it continued with a sham trial, the most public and most broadcast kangaroo trial ever. What else does one call a court where two judges get fired because they were “too lenient” with the defendant’s outbursts? Or where two defence lawyers are inexplicably murdered? Or where the judge who sentences the accused to death has personal grievances against that accused?
And can anyone doubt that revenge had a lot to do with the execution when the court, the government and the military occupiers who control that government decide that the execution will take place on the day of ‘Id-al-Adha? Or when the executioners scream out slogans and taunt the prisoner as he stands on the trapdoor that will end his life? Or when these same people refuse to allow the prisoner’s body to be returned to his family, leaving it lying in a truck for hours?
This is not to say, of course, that Saddam was some kind of hero; he wasn’t. He was a thug, a sadist and an oppressive dictator. Granted, he was not more of a thug than George Bush, but a thug nevertheless. One who – at some point in time – took instructions from the thugs of the ilk of Bush.
But the judicial process that Saddam was subjected to did little to even pretend that it intended to deliver justice or truth. Truth, indeed, would have much better been served had Saddam been allowed to live and if he was, slowly and painfully, made to reveal the story of his dictatorial rule. Many of those who rejoice now in the vengeful execution will wonder later whether it had been a good idea, when they realise that despite Saddam having died, they were no closer to knowing what had happened to their families and friends that had faced the wrath of the Butcher of Baghdad.
But while some Iraqis – with the help of their American cohorts – exacted revenge on one man (and two of his cronies two weeks later), the Americans (always wanting to do things on a grander scale than anyone else) exacted their revenge on an entire nation, killing – by most accounts – more than 100 people in the process and assisting to make another 100,000 into refugees.
The American attack on
And then, when the time was right, it created the opportunity to do so. Did the
When I was much younger, I learnt a story in my Muslim Youth Movement halqa which I have not forgotten. It is the kind of story that is useful to recollect every so often, in order for each of us to check ourselves. It is a story about the abhorrence of vengeance. Once Ali, the son-in-law of the Prophet (s), was fighting on the battlefield with one of the most powerful champions of the enemy. He finally managed to strike the warrior’s sword from his hand and the man was lying on the ground. As Ali raised his sword to take the man’s life, he spat in Ali’s face. Ali stopped and sheathed his sword. His enemy said, “I don’t understand. You were about to kill me, and after I spit at you, you spare my life?”
Ali replied: “I was going to take your life in battling for Allah’s sake, but when you spat at me, it angered me. Had I killed you then, I would have been a murderer, for I would have struck in anger. I will fight for Allah, but I will not murder for my ego.”

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