Saddam Hussein is dead, hanged in the dawn.

(In what is either a sick joke or brilliant marketing, depending on your sense of the absurd, the New York Times prefaces its video coverage of Saddam at his execution with an ad for the film “The Last King of Scotland,” which is about Ugandan dictator Idi Amin.)

No matter one’s stance on the death penalty, it is impossible—and wrong—to feel sorry for Hussein, a mass murderer and the inflictor of vast misery. And there is relief in knowing that he will not be able to prevaricate and stall until he dies a natural death, like Augusto Pinochet, doing his best all the time to whitewash history’s verdict.

Still, there is little satisfaction in Hussein’s death. It is chilling to watch the video of masked hangmen tightening the rope around his neck. Surely they wear masks for fear of retaliation—not a good sign in and of itself—yet at the same time, their hooded visages invoke memories of terrorist videotapes, upheld knives, terrified hostages. Even at the death of a dictator, the line between right and wrong does not seem so stark as we would like.

Hussein’s death probably will do nothing to promote peace, and may well provoke some short-term chaos. That does not mean it was not necessary or important; how many families of the murdered will rest somewhat easier tonight?

But success in Iraq will be determined by the state of that nation when we leave, and on that score, the death of a dictator is inconsequential. If things do not improve in Iraq, how long will it be before the people of that country begin to speak of Saddam Hussein with nostalgia in their voices?