Alone, and Yet Alive

There is a scene, late in “The Mikado” -- where Katisha, “an elderly lady”, who has been frustrated in love (or whatever serves for such in her case) presents a mournful recitative and song, bemoaning her fate, i.e. the fate of being “alone, and yet alive”. Now, those familiar with the opera will recall that this Katisha character has been, up to that point, a total hag and a harridan – a kind of Japanese version of the Queen of Hearts. But for a brief moment we can almost feel sorry for the old gal – it turns out that she does, indeed, have feelings – other than anger and rage. Of course, she reverts to type in short order, but not before delivering these lines:

Alone, and yet alive! Oh, sepulchre!
My soul is still my body's prisoner!
Remote the peace that Death alone can give--
My doom, to wait! my punishment, to live!

... The living I!
Oh, living I!
Come, tell me why,
When hope is gone,
Dost thou stay on?
Why linger here,
Where all is drear?
Oh, living I!
Come, tell me why,
When hope is gone,
Dost thou stay on?

All of which reminds me of (Oh man, here he goes again with one of those far-fetched analogies!) none other than O. J. Simpson... and Bernie Madoff... and any number of other felons who have passed under the limelight, first of fame and fortune, and then of infamy and ruin, and are now relegated to a deep dark cell somewhere in the hinterlands, far from their victims (and from their admirers, stooges, and toadies as well). They have become – thanks to our enlightened system of justice – the living dead, doomed to wear a drab uniform and co-mingle with their obvious inferiors for years to come, if not for life. A suitable punishment, but ironic as well, in the sense that they might have preferred actual death – but that was not forthcoming. Instead, they are left to brood, and “repent” -- as if it will do any good – while their victims, if alive, are at least free... and if dead, are also free, and memorialized in the fondest possible way.

This is all by way of pointing out that our growing horror of capital punishment may, in fact, be based on a misconception. We assume that it is always better to be alive – even clad in shame and disgrace – than to be facilitated off this mortal coil before one's time. But you'll notice that, in those rare instances when a perpetrator really is done away with, they become an immediate non-issue; it's anticlimactic, in a way. The victims know that they will never walk the streets again... never victimize anyone else. But it is difficult to dwell on those who have been finally put away. Whereas, if the person is in jail, we can wake up every morning to the consoling thought that, indeed, we are at home in our own bed and they are still rotting in jail. Isn't there a kind of meanness – a sort of dark satisfaction – to being able to ponder this fact day after day... for years, or even decades? Because we know not what fate awaits after death – perhaps there was some last-second conversion, just as the lethal injection was administered, or the poison gas was released, or the electric switch closed. Who knows? But as long as they are alive and behind bars, we can continue to wallow in a kind of righteous, but not particularly edifying, satisfaction. And yet the “perps” will, by and large, fight like demons – again, for years, or decades – to avoid the final sanction. They will grow old and gray in jail rather than face their ultimate fate... although the rare one will, in fact, admit that the world really would be a better place without them in it, and rush to the execution chamber. Such is the mystery of life. All I'm saying is that the premise that capital punishment is, somehow, “inhumane” and “cruel”, whereas life behind bars is a sign of enlightenment, should, at least on occasion, come up for reconsideration.