Which is why we searched the devastation in Oklahoma City to return the dead
The same is so for executions. Such an extreme exercise of the public will and the state's power demands a public witness.
For people of faith, witness and remembrance are essential stations in their pilgrimage. Passover and Crucifixion, Crusade and Holocaust--these flesh-and-blood events call upon the faithful to "see and believe," to "watch and not forget." They are not pleasant, but they are compelling. And while Christ chided Thomas for his famous doubt, two millennia later we are glad to have his unambiguous testimony: "My Lord!" he said, changed utterly by the moment, "My God!" We might reasonably wonder if those first Jewish Christians would have embraced the meaning of Christ's execution if Pilate had decided to do it behind closed doors, or if Thomas and his co-religionists had never seen the dead man raised to life.
Scripture and liturgy are the record and replay of what was seen and heard. Nowadays we watch for signs and wonders on TV.
When Timothy McVeigh is put to death, it will be the first federal execution in nearly 40 years. For most Americans, it will be the first time in our adult lives that one of our own kind--human kind--will be capitally punished by the government to which we pledge our allegiance and pay our taxes. And yet, except for a select few, none of us will be allowed to watch. The suggestion that this execution be televised is dismissed out of hand by the powers that be for reasons never clearly articulated. In doing so, they substantially undermine the rights and duties of citizens in a democracy to scrutinize the exercise of a government's lethal powers.
Excerpted with permission from The Christian Century.
"Bad taste," it is argued, as if "Temptation Island" or Jerry Springer were
"It might be turned into a spectacle" is another caution, as if the medium cannot distinguish between witness and entertainment, as if the terrorism McVeigh visited upon Oklahoma City was not "spectacular." Television does Senate hearings and Super Bowls, the World Wrestling Federation and "Book TV." It does not confuse the burial of princesses with "The Dating Game." It could, quite conceivably, get an execution "right." But getting it wrong is still better than not getting it at all.
Of course, the real concern is that a country that claims to be "for" the death penalty mightn't have the stomach to see exactly what it is "for." Is it possible that the idea of the thing is less disturbing than the thing itself, in the way that "a woman's right to choose" is a tidier concept than jars of dead fetuses that look like us? Is it likely that our bravery and braggadocio might wither a little by watching someone put down, more or less like a cocker spaniel or Cheshire cat--not because of what is done to McVeigh but because of what is done to us?
Smug and resolute and unrepentant, Timothy McVeigh is our most evil evildoer. Because he victimized the nation, it is the nation that judges and punishes him. Because his crime was broadcast in real time and in color, the images of the dead and damaged remain vivid in our memories. A child dying in a fireman's arms, the broken and bandaged, the frightened, heartbroken, wounded and lost, the bodies and parts of bodies, the terrible shell of the bombed building--we witnessed these things and we remember. It ought to be easy to watch him die. Still, something in us argues, maybe not. Maybe even a remedial dose of court-ordered, court-sanctioned homicide in response to massive evil kills a little something in ourselves. Maybe we cannot kill others of our kind without risking something of our own humanity.
But the die in McVeigh's case is already cast. And while he has no rights in the matter, we the people certainly do. Surely the value of the death penalty must be measured not only by the difference it makes to the criminal but by the difference it makes to a community of victims, in whose name the killer is killed. But whether it soothes or saddens, comforts or vexes, whether it moves us to march against it or to pray, whether we are silenced or sickened by it, is it not our duty to have a look? Would it not tell us something important about ourselves? Whether we are for or against capital punishment, oughtn't citizens of a participatory democracy participate when the will of the people is so profoundly, so irreversibly wrought?
For a generation, we've debated the justice and humanity of war, abortion, euthanasia, cloning--the things that have to do with being and ceasing to be. The national dialogue on the death penalty has been carried on by a nation of pundits, commentators, politicos, and preachers on either side. It is time a nation of opinionizers became a nation of witnesses. It would up the ante on this difficult conversation and bring us that much nearer to a clear view. We cannot declare closure or proclaim justice done. We can only hope to achieve them by confronting our most difficult realities. If we cannot watch, then we should reconsider. We did not look away from the crime. We ought not look away from its punishment.
If what we intend to do to Timothy McVeigh is justice, why wouldn't we watch it? To be a deterrent, shouldn't it be seen? If it is good riddance, sweet revenge, righteousness, or humanity--if it is any of these things--why shouldn't we look? If it is none of these things, why do we do it at all?