WE KNEW he was dead even before he walked through the door.

Saddam was expected to be the last of the eight defendants sentenced, but he came into the heavily guarded Iraqi High Tribunal courtroom even as the furore over the first death penalty, pronounced minutes earlier on Judge Awad Hamed al-Bandar, continued.

By then it was all over. If they were going to sentence the Chief Judge of Saddam’s puppet Revolutionary Court to death, the former dictator had little chance.

But there was still that moment of anticipation.

Throughout the morning I had been glancing at my watch as the six earlier defendants were dealt with — Saddam and his half-brother Barzan Ibrahim al-Tikriti were last — and saw it was all going so quickly: 11.20am. 11.30am. 11.40am.

A regime that ruled Iraq like a group of medieval despots for 35 years, from Baathist coup to US-led invasion, was ispatched in a series of verdicts that came swiftly and succinctly, lasting less than 40 minutes.

Acquittal, three jailed for up to 15 years, life imprisonment for Taha Yassin Ramadan.

And then al-Bandar, death by hanging. Saddam, death by hanging. Al-Tikriti, death by hanging. Each standing alone in the dock while being sentenced for crimes against humanity over the massacre of 148 people in Dujail in 1982 after a failed assassination attempt.

After the al-Bandar verdict shortly before noon three defence lawyers jumped up, screaming and pointing to one of the guards, shouting: “He’s chewing gum and he’s smiling. He’s laughing at the verdicts.”

The judge had no time for any of that. He just said: “Fine.” The guard knew he was going to be thrown out and started walking out of the court. As he left I saw his face and he had this smile that was not unprofessional, but he just couldn’t wipe it off because he knew that the others were going to get the death sentence.

Then Saddam just walked in, right after the guard. We were still watching the whole earlier outburst and his entry came as a complete surprise.

I turned to my left and looked through the windows of the press box at the back of the courtroom, watching his face coming right towards me. He was smirking and I said: “Oh my God, it’s Saddam.” It was one of the most historic moments I will witness, without question.

The judge said: “Please stand and hear the verdict.” Saddam said: “No, I’ll sit.” The guards hoisted him to his feet.

He imperiously shook one guard off his right arm, with a haughty: “Don’t bend my arm, stupid.” They reacted carefully, clearly under instructions not to manhandle him and provoke accusations of mistreatment.

Chief Judge Raouf Abdel Rahman pronounced: “Death by hanging for the charge of murder, for crimes against humanity.” I looked at my watch: noon at the time the judge declared that Saddam was going to die.

Saddam began his customary rant immediately, much as expected. At least five Allahu Akbars [God is Great] and a tirade at the foreign “agents”, “invaders” and “enemies of humanity”, stabbing his finger in the air all the while. But it had no impact because we had heard it all before. His impotence in a country he once ruled was a sign of how far he had fallen.

Sentence declared, a guard quietly restrained him, holding his right hand down behind his back. He continued invoking God, yelling, “Long live the Great Iraqi Nation. Long live the people,” as guards escorted him out. His last defiant move was to lean over the prosecution’s table and hiss something inaudible. A final snarl, and then he practically swaggered out through the door.

Appeals and further trials will follow, and undoubtedly mayhem on the streets of Iraq among Saddam’s Sunni supporters. But no one expects the sentence to be overturned.

Afterwards I turned to an Iraqi journalist and asked: “How happy are you?” He replied: “It’s like you know your wife or girlfriend loves you but until they actually say the words out loud you can’t touch it. I knew he would get the death sentence, but today I can touch it. It’s tangible.”

The green zone was quiet when we went outside, as were the streets of Baghdad, deserted and under curfew as we drove back to our offices. That artificial quiet is unlikely to last. Perhaps expecting this my driver muttered: “I’m happy, but I don’t want to see him put to death. He should be put in prison.”

Courtney Kealy is a correspondent with Fox TV.

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