When did killing someone become a measure of justice? And when did watching someone die become entertainment?
Let’s begin with Christa Pike. On Sept. 30, the state of Tennessee attempted to execute Pike by lethal injection. She was administered two doses of the drugs intended to end her life. But she didn’t die. Instead, she suffered a prolonged and traumatic ordeal, was transported to a hospital, and eventually regained consciousness.
Grady Throneberry
Now the state must decide whether to attempt to kill her again.
Think about that for a moment. The government strapped a woman to a gurney, administered drugs intended to kill her, watched the procedure fail, and now faces the possibility of doing it all over again.
What exactly are we accomplishing here?
I am not suggesting Christa Pike is innocent. She was convicted of a horrific murder. Her victim, Colleen Slemmer, deserves to be remembered, and her family deserves compassion, dignity and justice. But acknowledging the brutality of a crime does not require us to embrace brutality as our response. Justice is not supposed to be a competition to see who can inflict the most suffering. And yet, apparently, we haven’t learned that lesson.
“Justice is not supposed to be a competition to see who can inflict the most suffering.”
Now comes the announcement from Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth that the execution of Nidal Malik Hasan, the former Army major responsible for the horrific 2009 mass shooting at Fort Hood, will be carried out by firing squad. And not merely carried out — livestreamed. Broadcast so that people can watch the government deliberately take a human life.
Hegseth has defended the execution as a demonstration of consequences. But what, exactly, are we trying to demonstrate? That murder is wrong? That human life is sacred? That violence is an unacceptable response to our grievances?
And we intend to communicate those values by assembling a firing squad, pointing rifles at a restrained human being, and inviting the public to watch him die? The contradiction is breathtaking.
Let me be absolutely clear about something. What Hasan did was monstrous. Thirteen people were murdered. Dozens more were wounded. Families were devastated. Lives were permanently altered. Nothing I write here should diminish the magnitude of those crimes or the suffering of those who loved the victims.
Having spent more than four decades in law enforcement and public safety, including 16 years as a police chief, I understand the responsibility of holding people accountable for their actions. I understand justice. I understand consequences. And I certainly understand that some people commit acts so horrific that they should never again walk freely among us.
But I also understand something else: There is a difference between holding someone accountable and exacting vengeance. And when we begin broadcasting executions as demonstrations of governmental power, I believe we have crossed that line.
“There is a difference between holding someone accountable and exacting vengeance.”
What troubles me even more is the argument that executions somehow deter future acts of violence. The evidence supporting capital punishment as an effective deterrent is, at best, deeply inadequate. We never have established that executing someone prevents more murders than a sentence of life imprisonment.
And in Hasan’s case, the argument becomes even more troubling. Hasan previously indicated he could view his execution as martyrdom. Consider the implications: We are going to publicly execute a man who has expressed a willingness to see his death through the lens of religious martyrdom, and we are going to broadcast that death for the world to see.
What could possibly go wrong?
I cannot predict how extremist movements will respond. But it is entirely reasonable to question whether turning his execution into an international spectacle might serve the very ideological narrative we ought to be challenging. Rather than diminishing his significance, we risk magnifying it. Rather than demonstrating the superiority of democratic justice, we risk providing violent extremists with propaganda they could never produce as effectively themselves. And rather than showing the world what makes America different, we risk resembling the governments whose public executions we routinely condemn. There is something profoundly disturbing about that.
As a Christian, I find another dimension of this conversation impossible to ignore. We worship a man who was executed by the state. Jesus was subjected to a public execution intended not simply to kill him but to humiliate him, intimidate his followers and demonstrate the power of the authorities. Crucifixion was more than a method of capital punishment; it was political theater. It was a public warning. It was the state’s way of saying, “This is what happens when you challenge our authority.”
And yet, 2,000 years later, some of the loudest voices defending state-sanctioned executions identify themselves as followers of the crucified Christ. I find that contradiction difficult to reconcile.
Jesus consistently challenged the assumption that violence could produce righteousness. He called his followers to love their enemies, extend mercy and resist the temptation to answer evil with evil. None of that means abandoning accountability. It means refusing to confuse accountability with revenge. It means recognizing the moral character of a society is revealed not simply in how it treats its most admirable citizens, but in how it treats those who have committed its most terrible crimes.
Howard Thurman understood that violence has a way of reproducing itself. Martin Luther King Jr. reminded us that darkness cannot drive out darkness and hatred cannot drive out hatred. And perhaps we need to remember that the same principle applies when violence is sanctioned by the government, carried out according to established procedures and wrapped in the language of justice.
I know the familiar arguments: Some crimes are so terrible that the perpetrators deserve to die, families need closure, the punishment must fit the crime, there must be consequences. I understand those arguments, even if I disagree with the conclusion. But consequences do not require execution. Life imprisonment without the possibility of release is a profound consequence. It protects society. It holds offenders accountable. And it does so without requiring the government to deliberately extinguish another human life.
Nor should we assume that watching an execution will bring healing to grieving families. Grief is far more complicated than that. Some victims’ families support capital punishment; others have become among its most passionate opponents. Neither group should have its suffering exploited to justify turning death into a public performance.
“We have become increasingly comfortable with cruelty when it is directed toward people we believe deserve it.”
What concerns me most about this latest development is what it reveals about our culture. We have become increasingly comfortable with cruelty when it is directed toward people we believe deserve it. We celebrate humiliation. We confuse toughness with strength. We mistake vengeance for justice. And now, apparently, we are prepared to livestream an execution as though the deliberate taking of a human life were another event to be consumed on our screens.
I spent much of my professional life believing the legitimacy of law enforcement rests not merely on the authority to use force, but on the discipline to exercise restraint. The same principle ought to apply to government. The capacity to take a life does not establish the moral authority to do so. And the ability to broadcast that death certainly doesn’t make it more just.
Perhaps the question we ought to be asking is not whether Christa Pike or Nidal Malik Hasan deserve to die. Perhaps the more important question is whether we want to be the kind of society that deliberately kills people in the name of justice — and now, apparently, invites an audience.
I believe we can do better. I believe justice can be firm without being cruel. I believe accountability can be meaningful without becoming vengeance. And I believe a society that claims to value the sanctity of human life ought to demonstrate that conviction most clearly when doing so is difficult.
Because ultimately, the death penalty tells us something not only about the person being executed. It tells us something about ourselves. And what we are saying right now should trouble every one of us.
Grady Throneberry is a speaker, author, coach, pastor, retired police chief and member of Crescent Hill Baptist Church in Louisville, Ky.
Related:
Catholic and Methodist leaders condemn livestreamed firing squad
What kind of people are we becoming? | Opinion by George Mason
The state doesn’t need my eyes | Opinion by Justin Cox
Pete Hegseth’s gospel of violence | Analysis by Josh Olds
Justice does not require spectators | Opinion by Brian Henderson
Go ahead and livestream that firing squad execution! | Opinion by Mark Wingfield