I was away from the big screen for an hour, and when I sat back down, all five of my Twitter columns were dotted with “don’t look for the video” or “don’t look at the photos” or, in a few places, “I apologise for linking ISIS propaganda.” All this amid the empathy spill around the disgusting Ferguson situation and a few outliers bitching about Twitter surfacing favourites from people you don’t follow. The “don’t look” messages multiplied. It took five minutes for “James Foley” to come up. Then “James Foley dead.” “RIP James Foley.” Don’t look. James Foley dead. You can’t unsee it. RIP James Foley. It will haunt you forever. James Foley executed. Beheaded. Video on YouTube. Video removed from YouTube. Video up on archive.org. “The item is not available due to issues with the item’s content.” Don’t look at the video. Don’t look at the stills. It’s not worth it.

It’s too easy, I know, too tempting, to read things into the images. His steady voice, his set jaw. I hope his family and friends never see it. But I do, somehow, hope that someone tells them that, in that unimaginable final extreme, he was strong, and that he did not give those bastards the reward of his fear.