Scattered thoughts on a death.
Even on a normal day I spend way too much time watching CNN. It's sort of my default setting - nothing on TV, toss on CNN. If I'm away for a few days and miss Anderson Cooper or seeing any news I feel discombobulated and disconnected, like I'm less a part of the world if I don't have constant information on what's happening in it.
This is silly, of course. But I'm a news junkie. I minored in journalism and over the years have both regretted and rejoiced my choice not to pursue that as a career. I enjoy analyzing the coverage, hearing the pundits argue, and yelling to no one in particular when the headline on the chryon is misspelled (which happens more often than it should).
But last night and today the news has been really fascinating. The breathless speculation of last night, waiting for the President's mysterious announcement, while networks scrambled to get their A-list anchors in place in time to cover whatever bombshell was about to drop. The aftermath, filled with shock and speculation and coverage of crowds in the streets of major cities. The snowball of information now rolling downhill, where every hour brings new facts and insights. The way spin happens on both sides and such a monumental event is so quickly politicized ("but how will this affect Obama's approval rating?"). From a pure media perspective it's sort of a petrie dish of really amazing bacteria ripe for study.
But there's such an emotional side to it all too. Who can watch and not be affected somehow? It's impossible (at least to me) not to think about how this will change the world. What comes next? Will this make things better or worse? What does our reaction say about us?
I've gone back and forth on that last one. Last night I sat horrified while my Facebook feed filled up with cheers and jokes and wishes of ill. I wondered if I was crazy to not feel this joy. I wondered if my offense at what I saw as bloodlust was too harsh.
Today I have a little more perspective. At a time like this, some level of catharsis and relief is natural. The deceased committed awful, evil acts against countless people, his most famous of which hit us right at home.
I wasn't personally affected in any real way on 9/11. I had one friend who ran down 81 floors to escape the second tower to get hit and fall and another friend who was evacuated from WTC 7. On the day I was part of a phone chain that reached from Virginia to Maine that passed around updates on what was happening and where our friends were. I remember watching the towers burn on my TV and shaking with fear and sorrow. I was on the phone with a friend in the Bronx when the second tower fell. I have friends who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan. I have family friends who are firemen on Long Island who responded to the WTC aftermath. But everyone I know is alive and well today, thank god. So I can't claim to understand the weight on the hearts of those who lost someone on 9/11 or in the wars that came after.
Really, I have no right to judge.
So I try not to judge. I can't say what it feels like for someone who lost a loved one to know that the man responsible is gone. But there's still something unsettling to me about some of the way we respond. A part of me can't help but ask: if we cheer the death of those who would cheer ours, then how are we any different?
An awful person is still a person. And even if the world is a better place without him, I can't feel too elated by any person's death. Maybe I'm just too soft-hearted.
This piece says very well what I say very clumsily:
As a citizen of the United States, I can appreciate the ways in which the distorted religious and political views of this deceased man have irrevocably changed the landscape of our society.
Yet, I am a Christian. I cannot take joy, regardless of how much I am tempted to be swept up in the celebratory fervor of my fellow citizens, in the death of my brother in our human family. Yes, Osama Bin Laden committed some horrible, terrible things and led a movement that cannot be supported in any form. Nevertheless, he was a child of God no less than your neighbor, son, daughter or self.
I also can't help but be anxious about what's to come: surely there will be rage at seeing Americans celebrate in the streets, and surely there will be plans for retaliation. There are still a lot of Americans in the Middle East: soldiers still fighting wars, civilians acting as teachers and missionaries, ex-pats living their lives. There are residents of these countries who mean no one any harm and have been in constant danger for years because of the cruelty and zeal of a few. The world is still a very dangerous place - maybe more dangerous than it was yesterday.
None of this is to say that I disagree with what was done. I can't conceive of a way that a man like this could have gotten any trial that wouldn't be a farce or a logistical nightmare. Any prison holding him would be a constant target. I understand why the choice was made - it was, I'm sure, a difficult one, and the type I'm grateful I don't have to make every day.
It's hard to keep up with all the thoughts in my head when something like this happens. It's all so complex.
This is silly, of course. But I'm a news junkie. I minored in journalism and over the years have both regretted and rejoiced my choice not to pursue that as a career. I enjoy analyzing the coverage, hearing the pundits argue, and yelling to no one in particular when the headline on the chryon is misspelled (which happens more often than it should).
But last night and today the news has been really fascinating. The breathless speculation of last night, waiting for the President's mysterious announcement, while networks scrambled to get their A-list anchors in place in time to cover whatever bombshell was about to drop. The aftermath, filled with shock and speculation and coverage of crowds in the streets of major cities. The snowball of information now rolling downhill, where every hour brings new facts and insights. The way spin happens on both sides and such a monumental event is so quickly politicized ("but how will this affect Obama's approval rating?"). From a pure media perspective it's sort of a petrie dish of really amazing bacteria ripe for study.
But there's such an emotional side to it all too. Who can watch and not be affected somehow? It's impossible (at least to me) not to think about how this will change the world. What comes next? Will this make things better or worse? What does our reaction say about us?
I've gone back and forth on that last one. Last night I sat horrified while my Facebook feed filled up with cheers and jokes and wishes of ill. I wondered if I was crazy to not feel this joy. I wondered if my offense at what I saw as bloodlust was too harsh.
Today I have a little more perspective. At a time like this, some level of catharsis and relief is natural. The deceased committed awful, evil acts against countless people, his most famous of which hit us right at home.
I wasn't personally affected in any real way on 9/11. I had one friend who ran down 81 floors to escape the second tower to get hit and fall and another friend who was evacuated from WTC 7. On the day I was part of a phone chain that reached from Virginia to Maine that passed around updates on what was happening and where our friends were. I remember watching the towers burn on my TV and shaking with fear and sorrow. I was on the phone with a friend in the Bronx when the second tower fell. I have friends who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan. I have family friends who are firemen on Long Island who responded to the WTC aftermath. But everyone I know is alive and well today, thank god. So I can't claim to understand the weight on the hearts of those who lost someone on 9/11 or in the wars that came after.
Really, I have no right to judge.
So I try not to judge. I can't say what it feels like for someone who lost a loved one to know that the man responsible is gone. But there's still something unsettling to me about some of the way we respond. A part of me can't help but ask: if we cheer the death of those who would cheer ours, then how are we any different?
An awful person is still a person. And even if the world is a better place without him, I can't feel too elated by any person's death. Maybe I'm just too soft-hearted.
This piece says very well what I say very clumsily:
As a citizen of the United States, I can appreciate the ways in which the distorted religious and political views of this deceased man have irrevocably changed the landscape of our society.
Yet, I am a Christian. I cannot take joy, regardless of how much I am tempted to be swept up in the celebratory fervor of my fellow citizens, in the death of my brother in our human family. Yes, Osama Bin Laden committed some horrible, terrible things and led a movement that cannot be supported in any form. Nevertheless, he was a child of God no less than your neighbor, son, daughter or self.
I also can't help but be anxious about what's to come: surely there will be rage at seeing Americans celebrate in the streets, and surely there will be plans for retaliation. There are still a lot of Americans in the Middle East: soldiers still fighting wars, civilians acting as teachers and missionaries, ex-pats living their lives. There are residents of these countries who mean no one any harm and have been in constant danger for years because of the cruelty and zeal of a few. The world is still a very dangerous place - maybe more dangerous than it was yesterday.
None of this is to say that I disagree with what was done. I can't conceive of a way that a man like this could have gotten any trial that wouldn't be a farce or a logistical nightmare. Any prison holding him would be a constant target. I understand why the choice was made - it was, I'm sure, a difficult one, and the type I'm grateful I don't have to make every day.
It's hard to keep up with all the thoughts in my head when something like this happens. It's all so complex.