07 / DECISION
October 11
Most of us know very little about human decapitation. Not in real life anyway. I mean there was John the Baptist, and St. Paul, probably. But I never saw any pictures. The only images I have kind of seen, and even then, not really - were from journalists covering stories and got abducted by terrorists, or Islamists, whatever we’re supposed to call them, or not. I could not watch. It felt wrong to do so. But even more than that, even with my rubbernecking lizard brain that thinks it wants to turn and see the disaster on the side of the road or in in the screen in the palm of my hand, I was not man enough to look.
Daniel Pearl and James Foley are two names I remember for how they died in our time from the decision of capitation. So sad. But journalists are like warriors when they go into danger zones to find the truth and share the story, right? They must know that they might not come back. Still, it’s hard for me to imagine that Daniel or James thought their lives would be cut short this way, at least not until the moments before they actually were. Thinking about the decision that was coming to them must have been dreadful, but my sense of decapitation is that one would not suffer the act for long. Chop! It’s over! And your head falls to the ground, cut away forever from your body and heart. I wonder if they could still see for a moment.
In the last few days I realized I was wrong about many things, and just one of them was decapitation. I had always thought it was done with a sword or a guillotine blade. So sharp and so quick, so dramatic and decisive, literally. (Yeah, remember what decision really means.) One truth never considered as possible was that decapitation could be slow. It can take a very long time. Especially if you do it with a simple garden hoe, the one you found in the side yard before you broke into the house. If the Jew on the kitchen floor is still moving a little after some bullet holes and several boot kicks to the head, it can take even longer.
I may never know how long it takes because, I confess, I was not man enough to keep my eyes on the movie in the palm of my hand. I was not man enough to watch one more slow press of the dull dirty blade into the neck of the Jew on the floor of his kitchen. Nor was I man enough to listen to the laughter of the…. What to do you call him?... You know, the holder of the phone with the camera that took the movie and uploaded it to the cyberweb, with pride. The movie was received with laughter and glee in the hands of more than anyone can count. Students at Harvard held a rally. I did not watch that either. I went to the kitchen sink and wept like a stupid baby while my grown son, home for the night, slept upstairs.
