by Jason Boyte

This past Wednesday, we, relatively quietly, put a man to death. By the time of his death, his name was John Allen Muhammad. Previously, he was John Allen Williams, an American military man who grew up in New Orleans.

If you don’t remember the time the way that I do, this man was responsible for perhaps the greatest amount of fear in the greater Washington DC area since the attack on the Pentagon September 11. He [...]]]> by Jason Boyte

This past Wednesday, we, relatively quietly, put a man to death. By the time of his death, his name was John Allen Muhammad. Previously, he was John Allen Williams, an American military man who grew up in New Orleans.

If you don’t remember the time the way that I do, this man was responsible for perhaps the greatest amount of fear in the greater Washington DC area since the attack on the Pentagon September 11. He and his “partner”, a child he’d indoctrinated, are responsible for the murders of at least 10 people, all of whom were shot at long range with a sniper.

Assassination of the ordinary.

His goal was terror and it worked. He put the fear of God into everyone. We were told while the mystery of the shootings were occurring to watch out for a white van. Information to be totally incorrect, but information onto which everyone latched. I couldn’t believe how many white vans existed those weeks. Everywhere – anywhere – there was danger turning left, right, parking in front of you.

I worked in Chevy Chase, Maryland, just outside of DC. I was running a lot at the time, training for a marathon. A couple colleagues and I would go running during lunch in and around the area Mr. Muhammad was targeting victims. I cannot possibly express how one’s perspective of their surroundings changes when one is faced at the possibility of a single bullet appearing from out of nowhere to potentially end their life. Though statistically improbable, I and my friends were faced with the possibility of just this. The sky seemed bigger. We noticed hillsides more, where one could potentially perch with a weapon. We still went on out of stubbornness, thankfully, but yes, we were scared, and yes we thought twice about it.

It dawned on me then. That is perfect terrorism, if there can be such a thing. Bring terror through the unknown and the unpredictable. These people who were killed were innocent of anything real or perceived. They did nothing, and that was the point. Anyone could die just like that. A bullet from nowhere.

It made me appreciate, when John Muhammad was finally caught, what so many countries deal with everyday — danger. Real and persistent. Random. Terror. But what happens to it? Does it fade? Does it become like the possibility of a car accident? An IRS audit? Or does it seep in deeper somehow and become a more profound fear?

John Muhammad died this week knowing that he would die and why. Sadly, according to his beliefs, he probably got a great deal of satisfaction out of that knowledge. For he undoubtedly thought he’d be rewarded for his jihad. While I do not agree with the death penalty for anyone for a number of reasons, it is particularly upsetting in a case such as this. When I heard the news of his execution, I did not feel satisfaction that a killer is stopped, but instead I felt we missed the point as a people and nation.