I remember many years ago in primary school seeing 'a big lad' beat up a timid yet older and bolder boy. It was deserved many of us thought. He was a little...... who could not be trusted, a thief who had a big mouth, big brothers, was a bully and 'a big lad' himself when surrounded by 'bigger' lads.
However, today he was on his own. No big brothers and no big mouth. In fact he was unable to speak as nervousness brought anxiety and saliva to his quivering, frightened mouth. Swollen from the relentless kicking to his delicate body and face prevented the verbal bravado to exist also. This 12 year old bully became a 5 year old kitten. Terrified, knowing he was about to be humiliated in front of all his peers walking back to school at lunch time.
I can't remember the kicks, punches and taunting by the growing crowd. Their physical reality I can see but their impact emotionally remain non- existent. What haunts me though is the look in the boys face. I knew him personally and didn't like him. I always felt that if I was to see this day it would not cost me a thought- just deserts, you get what you deserve and all that. What struck me also that day was the look in the stronger boys face. The wronged boy for what ever reason who was beating the bully senselessly was not enjoying it. It appeared that the boy like me knew that although it may seem just, appear just and be just- it just wasn't just. It was offensive, ugly, dehumanising (for both of them) and humanly sad.
On this day the realisation of three things occurred for me and maybe even the big boy: Our hearts surprise us even when we think a certain just action is deserved and that such a realisation may impact on us heavily after the event. The second is closely related to the first- be wary of reasoned morality, including our own. Let us not be moral or be guided by the retributive moral judgements of others if we are not prepared to act on it ourselves e.g. don't talk about the death penalty unless you're prepared to inject, shoot, electrocute the person yourself. (Of course its easy knowing that a State employee is going to do it behind 18 ft walls and barbed wire). I know for a fact the big boy that day was inspired by the rational arguments of his peers and was egged on. Yet its on his boots and dreams when the bullies blood lies, not theirs. Thirdly, life constantly surprises us- our humanity and cries for eternal friendship and peace always remain prevalent and real. Especially on occasions like these.
I know events like this both surprise us and remain with us. I genuinely thought I'd forgotten this event and other similar experiences. Yet like most of us who had to endure the live beating and eventual killing of Colonel Gaddafi, the memory came flooding back.
I pray simply for the men who killed him. Yes with reason and words they will tell us what happened was just. They will convince themselves of this reality until the day they die. They may even be hailed as heroes. The arguments for their actions may be valid and robust, after all Colonel Gaddafi did unimaginable horrible things. Yet I pray for them as somewhere between me, a twelve year old bully and a strong boy looking for justice was a real and genuine sense of inhumanity, spiritual demoralisation and a realisation that nobody would benefit from this depraved act. I can only imagine the aura between those after the killing of another human being. Just and all as it appears to be.
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