There's a reason for the season
A reason if it snows
A reason for the river
And the places that it flows
A reason for the rain
A reason for the pain
Knowing deep inside my soul
That I would rise again
Cause the more I listen
Is the more I hear
And the more I learn
Is the less I fear
And the more I feel
Is the more I care
And the more them people dress it up
Is the less I wear
-Naked Walk, Ataklan
Obama got Osama and the West erupts in a display of excitement that suggests that everyone has been waiting too long to exhale. It's been too long that the name and image of the baddest badjohn the West has ever had the misfortune of coming up against has been uttered, but the excitement with which his enemies say good riddance is disturbing. It's easy to doubt that the man is actually dead. As easy as it is to doubt that he ever existed in the first place. In this era of constructed realities where we all subscribe to different versions of the truth, according to YouTube, according to CNN, according to Allah.
See us celebrating this end of barbarism, in a celebration so sickening I wonder if the same barbarism the West denounces is the same barbarism that it takes comfort in. But does killing the boogeyman rid you of fear? Does killing the boogeyman get rid of the threat of evil? If you kill a man, do you kill his ideas? Do bullets and helicopters and Navy Seals have the intelligence and the capacity to erase the fear of the boogeyman from the consciousness of a whole generation brought up on the terror of terrorism?
It's why Facebook was hit so hard with a virus claiming to be the video of Osama's death. For people to see for themselves. All of this may or may not be fiction. All of this may or may not be the latest Hollywood-sanctioned scripted version of reality. I guess if they say it's real then it is. If they say Al-Qaeda is real then it is. If they say democracy is real then it is. If they say freedom is real then it is. But how do these realities manifest in our daily lives? Who will wage more wars to make sure America gets the oil it needs at the prices it wants? Who will be the next boogeyman to keep us up at night, praying for deliverance, praying for someone to save us? They tell us the gospel truth, according to King James, who may or may not have wanted his own version of the truth to be told.
It's hard to ignore it, this death of Osama palaver, as hard as it is to imagine that Osama was living a regular old life on a compound in the uptown part of Pakistan. Far from the caves from which his iron mullahs wage their religious war. Far from the sacrifice of life and limb. They find him living. Just like the rest of us. Behind walls built to keep fear out and keep love in. It is a nonsensical thing to kill because you think you are right. It is a nonsensical, man kind of logic to conquer those who do not see the world the way that you see it. Obama gets Osama and for once a black man gets to kill for a good cause, allegedly. A black man is a threat to the safety only of those who want to destroy the so-called free world. So free behind media bars.
Kola Boof, an Egyptian/Sudanese writer who first shot to fame on the dubious distinction of being Osama's outside woman, said she feels it most for his mother. Like all of us, she says, he was somebody's child. She echoes the sentiment of every mother who has given birth, who has brought a monster, a deviant, an abuser, a bright star, a terrible waste of a brilliant mind. This is the only moment I feel any sort of pain for a man who may or may not be a real threat to my existence. I imagine that Osama is human. An exceptional one, no doubt. Who had the power to capture minds, to convince people to kill for him, on behalf of a belief that grows every day more strong.
I imagine that Osama is just a man. A man who takes orders from his wives. Whose mother nags him to make sure he has eaten. Who might play a lil small goal with his sons in their backyard. Who is kept awake at night by thoughts and dreams and fears that he might have made a mistake during the day.
This is the only moment that I want to weep. Not just for Osama, but for a thousand men and boys whose names I do not know. For those who lost their lives in terror attacks from New York to London to Palestine to Iran to Pakistan. For humans whose humanity is forgotten in the quest for power and in the name of a God who would probably prefer if humans would stop calling his name in their bacchanal.