This morning I woke up once again hoping to hear that Hussein is dead.

I am disturbed by my callousness. Up through my ‘twenties, I would have reminded myself that all life is precious and would have dredged up some sympathy for Hussein. I could probably still do it. I could get there by thinking about how his children would — will — react to his death. But it’d be a real effort. And it no longer seems helpful or important.

In fact, in hoping that Hussein is dead, I’m also acknowledging that I’d be willing to kill him. That’s not to say that I can imagine sneaking through Baghdad and pulling a trigger. But, I’d take my failure to kill him if given the opportunity to be moral weakness.

So, here’s my question: When I was in my ‘twenties, I’d have to work myself into feeling sympathy for someone like Hussein. Now I have to work myself into feeling bad about not feeling sympathy for someone like him. Is my callousness a sign that I’m making moral progress or that I’m slipping into the comfortable certitude of middle age?

Categories: Uncategorized dw