Commentary/Ashwin Mahesh

We cannot say a man should be killed without exposing to ourselves some hint of barbarism we wish did not exist in us

A couple of years ago, when teenager Michael Fay was caned in Singapore for his juvenile crime -- he used somebody's car as a graffiti board -- the whole world shouted itself hoarse taking sides. A torrent of debates on a wide range of topics -- Asian values, state-sanctioned abuse, benevolent dictatorship and sovereignty, to name a few -- ensued both in the print and electronic media.

When American President Bill Clinton joined the fray with his call for clemency, the issue snowballed even further. To Clinton's embarrassment and the quiet gratification of the Singaporean government, hundreds of ordinary Americans wrote the Singaporean embassy and urged the government to ignore him and get on with the caning.

From trashy British tabloids to revolutionary South African veterans of the struggle against apartheid, everyone had an opinion about it.

In America itself, this debate slowly took on a particular shape. Almost everyone agreed there appeared to be nothing redeeming about Fay, and his personal suffering in this matter was quite insignificant and at least mildly deserved. The implications for the rest of society seemed larger than any bruises that Fay might have to show. "This is inhuman, not the American way" contrasted with "serves him right, we ought to learn from the Singapore government and whip some of our own teen gangs into shape". In the end, even Clinton's appeal served only to knock off a couple of strokes of the cane, enough remained to tar the erring butt for a few weeks.

Many Americans found State-sanctioned physical abuse abhorrent, to say the least. They agreed the juvenile justice system in America treated young offenders very mildly, despite the fact that several of the crimes committed by this group are barbaric and not the least bit juvenile. But to hurt someone enough to tear his skin off -- what kind of response was that? Even those who urged the government of Lee Kwan Yew to go ahead with the canings agreed that this was harsh. But, they averred, there's plenty of evidence that counseling and revoking privileges are simply not adequate to change the behaviour of juveniles. Making a severe example of Fay would deter others, and reduce juvenile crime in Singapore far more rapidly than anything else can, they felt. The boy's father himself told the protesters to shut up.

This week, Timothy McVeigh will walk into a courtroom that will decide if he should live or die for bombing the Federal Building in Oklahoma City. The women and men on the jury that will decide his fate are in an unenviable position, being asked to play God. They can take some consolation from the fact that the state of Oklahoma is pursuing its own case against McVeigh independent of the federal charges, and will seek the death penalty on its own even if it is not applied in this ruling. I wouldn't be very surprised if, a few years down the line, amid much candlelight prayers by protesters, and flag-waving cheers in support of the capital punishment, McVeigh isn't quietly put to death.

Caning is a far cry from the lethal injection or the hangman's noose. But they all have one thing in common. They unequivocally fall into the same category -- violent punishment applied by the State in response to a crime. In a nation where chaining groups of prisoners together and putting them to work cleaning up the streets is seen as inhuman and demeaning, how can eliminating a man's very life seem less so? Perhaps the memories of an enslaved group are rudely reawakened by the sight of mostly black chained prisoners in a way that the death penalty -- usually applied in the deep interiors of some penitentiary -- does not.

To me, the most riveting aspect of capital punishment has been the language used both in support of it and to oppose it. Never in all the coverage of this trial and the man at its centre, have I heard anyone say that McVeigh should be 'killed'. It is always 'put to death', or 'seek the death penalty' or 'get capital punishment' or some such euphemism. Only those who are vehemently opposed to the idea seem to speak in plain words. It is easy to say that McVeigh should not be killed by the state, it tarnishes very little of our humanity; indeed it may even uphold it. But it is a whole lot tougher to say that this man should be killed; we cannot do so without exposing to ourselves some hint of barbarism that we wish did not exist in us.

And therein lies the dilemma -- is punishment to be no more than we ourselves can bear to see? Or should it be removed from this constraint and applied methodically and remorselessly?

On a nationwide news programme this week, survivors of the blast in Oklahoma City were asked if they would like to see McVeigh get the death penalty. Of the four people in that group, not one said no. Two of them found some passage in scripture to justify their opinion, another simply said if McVeigh lived he would be a danger to someone else, and that alone was enough reason to end his life. These three people had perfectly good reasons for what they said, and I will not denigrate their suffering by taking issue with them.

The fourth person, however, said something that bears exploring. Ordinarily, this person said, he would not support the death penalty, but he was convinced in this case, it applied quite readily. McVeigh had committed an atrocity so gruesome that it had crossed even the boundaries of his own reluctance to seek his death. If the anchor had more time (or perhaps at another time) she might have asked him how this case was different. Perhaps McVeigh had violated his sanctified notion of life too grossly, but could it not be said in a thousand other instances, there will be others who, like this poor man, have had their lives shattered by the despicable actions of some other monster? Why would he not "ordinarily" support the death penalty in those cases?

The television programme was not so much about the death penalty as about the suffering of the people in Oklahoma City, and that's probably why capital punishment was not discussed. At the same time, I am starting to get a creepy feeling. In an effort to bring the news into our living rooms, the media is turning the conviction and sentencing of this criminal into a hideous war-dance that has all the markings of a frenzied and tortured kill. It is terrible enough to kill a man. To make a public spectacle of it chills the blood.

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