I am 34 and alive. Myuran Sukumaran was 34 and is now dead.
I am 34 and alive. Myuran Sukumaran was 34 and is now dead. On the night Myu was tied to a stake and shot in the heart by a man to whom he had done no wrong, I fed my four month old son breast milk from a bottle. Myu’s heart, beating against the humid night, was bathed in torchlight, an aid to the marksman.
In his nursery, Oscar’s heart pulsed blood around his body, the better that he might grow. He jerked with the restless movements of a baby eager to become a child. When the bullet struck Myu’s heart, it exploded and beat no more.
With one eye, I watched the breast milk ebb into Oscar’s body; with the other eye, I followed the macabre live newsfeed on my phone. Would Myu live to the end of Oscar’s feed? It all depended on vested political interests.
Oscar was becoming full. When the safety and sustenance became overwhelming for Oscar, he shut his eyes. His arm went limp, he drifted off to a peace that new days and reaffirmations of love would interrupt. As Oscar fell asleep in my arms, I cradled his bald head in my hands. He was soft and warm. As the bullet ripped through Myu’s ribcage, his bald head would fall limp. Still soft and warm, this son and brother would begin to grow inexorably cold and hard.
When Oscar wakes up, his body will continue the unrelenting task of becoming a more advanced human being, capable of making rational decisions and displaying that uniquely human quality – empathy. Oscar will perform many acts of love and compassion in his life. Kind acts to be executed. Good deeds to be done one day.
In Indonesia, Sukumaran committed a very dangerous and unethical act, an act that put the lives and well being of many other humans at risk. In response to his conviction, he demonstrated many other uniquely human abilities: the ability to reform, to show love and care for others and to create profound statements of emotion through his art. A kind man executed. All of his good deeds now done.
Myu is reported to have refused the blindfold offered to him. He wanted his eyes to be open, to stare into the three barrels that would end of his life. Shortly after Oscar’s eyes closed, so did Myu’s. Both went to their sleep bathed in love.
Four months ago, I would not have been touched so deeply by the death of a convicted drug smuggler. But four months ago I did not understand what it means to be a father.
[Editor's note: If, like James, you are moved by the executions of Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran I encourage you to get involved and take action to help end the death penalty. Amnesty International run a number of important campaigns and you can get more details here.]
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