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Let us confront the grim reality of Nidal Hasan, a name that ought to evoke not just revulsion but a piercing clarity about the consequences of ideological blindness. The Pentagon, we are told, is poised to seek President Donald Trump’s approval to execute this former jihadi Army major, convicted of the 2009 Fort Hood massacre, a slaughter that left 13 dead and 32 wounded. If granted, this would mark the first U.S. military execution in over six decades, a milestone that forces us to grapple with the weight of justice and the cowardice of obfuscation.
The facts are stark. On November 5, 2009, Hasan, then an Army psychiatrist, strode into Fort Hood's Soldier Readiness Center, armed with a semi-automatic pistol, and unleashed carnage on his fellow service members: men and women preparing to deploy in defense of their nation.
At his trial, he offered no pretense of remorse, declaring the act necessary to shield an imagined "Islamic Empire" from American forces. Such is the mind of a man who, born in Virginia to Palestinian parents, served nearly two decades in the U.S. Army only to betray it, seduced by the siren call of radical Islam.
For years, Hasan has languished on death row at the U.S. Disciplinary Barracks in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, his appeals snaking through the courts like a slow poison. In April 2025, his final legal gambit was rejected, clearing the path for the Pentagon to act.
For years, Hasan has languished on death row at the U.S. Disciplinary Barracks in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, his appeals snaking through the courts like a slow poison. In April 2025, his final legal gambit was rejected, clearing the path for the Pentagon to act.
The Department of War, under Secretary Pete Hegseth, is unambiguous: "I am 100% committed to ensuring the death penalty is carried out for Nidal Hasan," Hegseth told Fox News Digital. This savage terrorist deserves the harshest lawful punishment for his 2009 mass shooting at Fort Hood. The victims and survivors deserve justice without delays."
One can almost hear the exasperation in his voice, a righteous demand for closure after years of bureaucratic nose picking.
And yet, the story is not merely one of a traitor's overdue reckoning. It is a searing indictment of institutional denial. The Pentagon, in a decision that defies reason, initially labeled this massacre "workplace violence." Workplace violence! That's like calling the Charlie Hebdo massacre 'a workplace misunderstanding.' It's as if Hasan's rampage, fueled by his outspoken defense of suicide bombings and hatred of U.S. campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan, were akin to a disgruntled employee's outburst over a parking dispute. Lawmakers, victims' families, and national security experts rightly excoriated this absurdity, pointing to the ideological and terrorist roots of the attack. To call it anything less is to dishonor the dead and to embolden those who would emulate Hasan's treachery.
Now, with the Army secretary's recommendation in hand, the Department of War presses forward, seeking Trump's authorization to end Hasan's stay on earth and send him to meet his goats. He remains one of only four prisoners under military jurisdiction facing the death penalty—a small, grim fraternity. The question is not whether justice demands his execution; it does. The question is whether we, as a society, have the moral courage to see it through, or whether we will once again retreat into euphemism and delay, leaving the wounds of Fort Hood to fester.
This is not merely about one man's fate. It is about whether we can still name evil, confront it, and destroy it, or whether we will continue to avert our gaze, pretending that the ideologies that animate such atrocities are mere workplace grievances. The victims of Fort Hood, and the nation they served, deserve better.
And yet, the story is not merely one of a traitor's overdue reckoning. It is a searing indictment of institutional denial. The Pentagon, in a decision that defies reason, initially labeled this massacre "workplace violence." Workplace violence! That's like calling the Charlie Hebdo massacre 'a workplace misunderstanding.' It's as if Hasan's rampage, fueled by his outspoken defense of suicide bombings and hatred of U.S. campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan, were akin to a disgruntled employee's outburst over a parking dispute. Lawmakers, victims' families, and national security experts rightly excoriated this absurdity, pointing to the ideological and terrorist roots of the attack. To call it anything less is to dishonor the dead and to embolden those who would emulate Hasan's treachery.
Now, with the Army secretary's recommendation in hand, the Department of War presses forward, seeking Trump's authorization to end Hasan's stay on earth and send him to meet his goats. He remains one of only four prisoners under military jurisdiction facing the death penalty—a small, grim fraternity. The question is not whether justice demands his execution; it does. The question is whether we, as a society, have the moral courage to see it through, or whether we will once again retreat into euphemism and delay, leaving the wounds of Fort Hood to fester.
This is not merely about one man's fate. It is about whether we can still name evil, confront it, and destroy it, or whether we will continue to avert our gaze, pretending that the ideologies that animate such atrocities are mere workplace grievances. The victims of Fort Hood, and the nation they served, deserve better.
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