I watched a video clip of a young man whose father, a NYC firefighter, died while responding at the twin towers on 9/11. This very decent kid acknowledged his ambivalence at celebrating someone's death, but added, "for him, it's different."
And it is. I remember receiving, via e-mail on the first anniversary of the attacks, a montage of images from 9/11. Bodies falling, towers burning, people running, shocked faces, ash everywhere. Stuck without warning in the middle of the pictures was a photo of bin Laden, and I was unprepared for the physical reaction I had to his face. My heartbeat accelerated, my fists clenched, and I actually trembled with rage. I had to fight not to cry.
Reports are that he used one of his wives as a human shield--no surprise, if true. The decision to bury the body at sea with dispatch was a good one, I think, although it will fuel the inevitable claims that whoever was killed was not bin Laden. Everyone who follows the news knows that al-Qaeda in Yemen is a more serious threat than bin Laden himself, and that the practical value of his assassination may be minimal. But the psychological value is huge, and I hope the bastard rots in hell.
