Some thoughts on the lives and deaths of Andrew and Myuran...
Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran. These two were, at one time, foolish and frustrated young men. They were stupid; they were selfish and they recklessly endangered the lives of others in their decision to enter the world of drugs and drug smuggling. I don't think many would argue with the suggestion that actions such as theirs required some kind of societal recompense.
These two men spent the better part of a decade in prison. They did their level best to transform their lives, which, given the looming spectre of execution that hung over them through this time, seems nothing short of remarkable. They tried to make the most of the time they had, and seems that they did so with considerable success. But rather than be given the opportunity to give back to Australian and Indonesian society, their lives were terminated. I just cannot find a way to view this decision as anything other than a maddeningly illogical act of cruelty and waste.
Some people say that they knew the laws; they should accept the consequences. Even if this is possible, it is neither logical nor compassionate. People make mistakes - including those charged with upholding the law. Many people have found themselves falsely placed on death row, and many have been unjustly executed. But regardless of guilt or innocence, if you actually want people to atone for their mistakes (and/or their crimes), you need to give them time. The dead cannot atone for their crimes.
It seems to me that a sane society’s basic aim should be to have as many of its citizens as humanly possible in a position where they are able to contribute in a meaningful way to their society, and to ensure that all people are given the opportunity to live their lives with dignity and security. The ten years of rehabilitation experienced by these men could have resonated to positive effect for decades to come. Their stories, their experiences, their art and their faith could have transformed the lives of so many others on a potentially comparable path. In economic terms alone, the financial saving would have been phenomenal. (It costs enormous amounts of money to put a person in prison and keep them there, and that’s before their potential lost earnings and tax contributions are taken into account.) That opportunity has been lost to blindly imposed ‘tough on crime’ bullshit.
The death penalty is not ‘tough on crime’; it is tough on humanity. Statistics have shown time and time again that the death penalty is a failure as a crime deterrent, and the overwhelming percentage of people who end up on the various death rows around the world are young men (often black or from an ethnic minority) who come from backgrounds that are violent and/or impoverished. To embrace the death penalty as some kind of solution to societal ills is about as logical as taking Jonathan Swift’s satiric exhortation that we could solve the problem of poverty by eating the poor on a literal level. Truth be told, prisons probably create more crime than they prevent, by incarcerating in an unproductive manner people who, if meaningfully rehabilitated, would actually contribute.
This isn’t rocket science, but it seems to be a terribly hard argument to sell to some in the broader community, and especially so to politicians, who are as good as the media at simplifying and debasing issues of public debate for their own short-term gain. If the money we spend on incarcerating people were spent on helping them grow and change, our society would be a very different place. In particular, the difference in predominantly Indigenous communities could be our greatest gift to future generations.
Now, it must be said, that there are people (not many, but some) who deserve to die for their crimes. At least, that’s what the blackest, darkest, most hateful – and fearful – part of myself tells me when I think about what I’d like to see happen to anyone if they hurt a member of my family. But I know that if ever such an unthinkable thing were to happen, I would be faced with a terrible choice; to let my hate, rage and sorrow consume me; or fight to my last breath to live a life, however broken, that is ultimately salvaged and redeemed by love. I know, in my heart, I would hope I choose the latter path, and I also know that such a path is incompatible with the embracing of state-sanctioned murder. It is simply not right, no matter how terrible the crime. It is better, if there be no hope of rehabilitation, that these few unredeemable people (and they are still people) spend their lives in a place were they cannot do harm. This might not be a traditional prison; it might be an environment were, even in some small way, they can contribute to society and endeavour to atone for their crimes.
These two young men have lost their lives; and in their own way, they are victims of the war on drugs like so many others. This isn’t fair or poetic; it’s just terribly, terribly sad. I feel for their families and friends, I hope that in time, the extraordinary grace and dignity that Andrew and Myuran managed to find in prison becomes an illuminating presence in the lives of their family and friends and in the lives of others as well.
At times, I become despondent about the general lack of empathy and humanity in Australian societal discourse. All too often, we are far too quick to self-righteously judge, to defensively justify the cruel, and to turn a blindly indifferent eye to the struggles and suffering of others. Lucky country? Too bloody lucky, I sometimes think. However, the deep degree of protest and support offered on behalf of these men – which clearly crossed the political divide – gives me a small hope that we may one day become the progressive, intelligent and compassionate society that we have the potential to become. Let’s learn from Andrew and Myuran – and strive to summon grace, dignity and hope, no matter how hard the road to decency might be. And let's hope and pray that we're given more time to get there than they were.
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