There was a gentleman on stage with him who stood up and tearfully confessed to conspiring against Saddam. After this traitor confessed, he pulled out a piece of paper and began to call out the names of the "co-conspirators"--currently sitting in the audience.
As each name was called, Saddam would nod, and the man was immediately removed from the room and executed--no questions asked or explanations entertained. The men who were witnessing this madness--seeing their close friends removed from the room, and hearing their quick and violent execution right outside the doors-- had no idea if they were next.
As I watched the documentary, I could only imagine the terror these men must have felt.
At that moment, they had no power...no way to exert their will...no control...and no escape. I can imagine that all they had was uncertainty and a deep, dark fear of hearing their name called from that stage.
From this fear--borne of uncertainty, lack of control, absence of free will and diminished power-- blossomed the most intense outpouring of worship, praise, and reverence for the man who did have the power, control, certainty, and will--Saddam.
According to the narrator of the documentary, this terrifying event was evidence of Saddam's growing paranoia as these men were truly his most loyal confidants and were not involved in a plot to overthrow him. They had done nothing wrong, yet without the opportunity to understand what was happening or the chance to ask "why", they were, called out, taken outside and killed.
In the documentary, cacophonous cries of "long live Saddam" filled the space.
Raucous applause and shouts of praise drowned out the sounds of men screaming as they were dragged from the room. Wealthy, influential, respectable men fell to their knees in tears as they reached out to this all-powerful, almighty leader to shout of their undying love and unquestionable loyalty.
I can imagine that for those whose lives were spared, a sudden feeling of specialness and purpose. Saddam could have had them executed, but he chose not to. Not because they were so good, but because Saddam was so powerful that he chose life for them. The fear that had, just moments before, signaled pending doom seemed to have been transformed to love for this one who could, with a simple nod of the head, determine whether they lived or died.
Was this praise, reverence, and worship really fueled by love?
I seriously doubt it.
These men did not love Saddam. They most likely despised and hated him for reducing them to weeping balls of helplessness that had to beg, pretend and barter for their lives. These men had to live a lie in order to live at all.
They likely had to pretend to love someone they detested in order to safely take their next breath.
Fear of death, not love, was the fuel behind the worship. Fear of annihilation, not love, was the cause of the praise.
I see that my worship and praise for God, as I was growing up, was a cover for my intense resentment. The praise was rooted in fear and hate. I hated this God that I had to love with such an intensity that I had to hide it. Under the guise of "worship" what I was really doing was hiding and expressing my hatred and fear because of what he had done.
And what had he done? He'd taken away my choice, my power, my will. If I lived to see the next moment, it was his choice, not mine. My life was in his hands. I did not love him for that; I despised him. I pretended to worship and praise him because I had no choice. He had all the power! I didn't want to die or be punished forever so I had to sing, lift my hands, cry and acknowledge him as the one with all power. I had to do this, not because I loved him, but because I was afraid...I was afraid that he nod is head and take the one thing that's truly mine--my life.
Since I wrote and published Firing God, I've gotten several nods of concern from individuals who have heard the title of my book (Just the title! they didn't even read it!). According to them, they are seriously concerned for my life and the life of my family. They are concerned that God will choose for me and make the decision for death and hell because I've turned my back on him.
If I don't choose God, I'm toast!!
What kind of choice is that?!
Since I no longer buy into the reverence and praise, my loved ones are hastily and lovingly praying for my redemption and reminding me of the fear that compels us all to worship. I must worship, praise, serve and love. If not, I will live a miserable life devoid of God's favor and blessings. Then, after living this miserable life, I will be punished for eternity after death.
Because I now see more clearly, my decisions are not solely informed and clouded by fear. Because I questioned the unquestionable, my actions are not solely informed by the past and future. Because I'm okay with being wrong about...everything, I can choose more authentically.
In the book, I talk about how I finally told myself the truth. To really feel the hatred and resentment and look at the fear has been the most freeing experience ever.
It's by telling myself the truth that I can see it's all been a mistake. My will is free and it has always been free. Fear of death real, but it's also nonsense...laughable even.
The journey to awakening is not a journey and it's not about waking up. By refusing to tell myself the simple and obvious truth, I'm pretending to be asleep.
Is it possible to wake someone who is pretending to be asleep?
No, it isn't.
Does someone pretending to be asleep need to go on a journey to awaken?
No, they don't.
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