Overcome

The news of Bin Ladin's death surprised me this morning. Soon after hearing it on the radio, my mother called: "They got him! What great news!” For those who know me, my mother's joy is fully explained - on 9/11, I was home, a few blocks from the World Trade Centre. Along with thousands of others, I was evacuated and lived as a refugee in a very modern city. Luckily in my case, this was only for two weeks.

The impact of the events was lasting. Decisions that to this day affect my life were made back then. My mother's joy betrayed her hope that this death would release me from sadness and melancholia that should have never been mine, from the residual guilt of being so safe when a few blocks away, 2606 lives were burnt, crushed or vaporized. (Even today, just writing the number of dead fills me with anxiety - what if it isn't accurate? What if they have forgotten to account for someone who died there and no one knows? Am I complicit in erasing the memory that this person existed?)

And I must confess that, at first, I felt some relief. Finally! Finally they got the guy. Finally, they killed him! Finally. Then, almost immediately, the sadness returned, with the realisation that it would never really go away.  This man, who so publicly barged into people's lives, who so violently interfered with the lives of some of us, eventually died in an anonymous confrontation, and was buried anonymously. Did he realise he was going to die? In that millisecond before death, did he grasp the magnitude and horror of what he did? Did he feel regret?

Make no mistake - it is for people such as Bin Ladin that I agree with the death penalty. I do not cry for his loss, and I do not care for his suffering. What pains me, as a survivor (I hate this word), is that he was spared what for him, I presume, would have been the most humiliating and vile treatment - a trial, with a defence lawyer, in the Hague Penal Court. 

I feel that I have been cheated. As I was cheated when Slobodan Milosevic died, even though he was in custody; or when the British sent Pinochet, and the Scottish sent al Meghrahi, back to their home countries to die peacefully. As I feel cheated when I think that Fidel Castro will never face those he oppressed. 

But, obviously, in the case of Bin Ladin it feels much more personal. I feel cheated of my closure, my very personal closure. And especially of the vindication of the social system in which I believe, in which I have unwavering faith - democracy. Failing and fallible yes, but that awards me a louder voice, a wider choice and yes, greater freedom, than any other system. And an integrant value of this system is the concept of Justice. 

I never yelled for a Dead or Alive Bin Ladin. In fact, Bush's cowboy language was one of the greatest difficulties I found during my post 9/11 life. I always very much wanted Bin Ladin Alive, so that he could be tried like a man, defend himself like a man, and die like a man. This stripping of the human condition makes me sad and uncomfortable. 

Even though I feel - I know - that he received just punishment, I cannot put a full stop on this subject. And now, these events will always be a part of me; they will drag alongside me forever - the unreality of what went on, the loss of lives, of energy, of all the creation that could have happened since that day. The loss of faith in the values of absolute good, of protection of the state, of just reward for a life well lived. This loss is present, it resurfaces, and now, with this "hidden death", will continue to resurface for the rest of my, of our, lives, 

In a few months, we will commemorate the 10th anniversary of the events. I had planned, after that date, to never mark it again, to finally let this behind me, to pack it away in my storage box of memories, having paid my dues for having made the right choice that day of not venturing out into the street. Not being a victim, or a relative of one, this was a luxury I could afford. And I always assumed that "the disposal of the Osama" would help in this process. Yet, the initial moment of relief set aside, I realise that it really doesn't.

So bear with me if I seem too sanctimonious, but when President Obama says we can tell families of those who died that day that "justice has been done", I cannot agree. While I certainly do not presume to speak for the relatives of those who died what happened was retribution, not justice. It was a collective sigh of relief of finally seeing a manhunt that was becoming almost as humiliating as the attack that had originated it come to an end. 

Justice would have been to feed and clothe the man, throwing in a bath for good measure, and send him to The Hague. Justice would have been to subject him to that  long and complex process that constitutes a trial, ruled by laws based on values of humanity, respect for the others and for the intrinsic value of each human life. Values which this criminal so haughtily ignored. Justice would have been to see his conviction - preferably a death one, which is why I am not a judge at The Hague - and imprisonment. 

Bin Ladin's death takes me again and again and again to the same question: If, at times of greater difficulty and tension, we cannot behave in accordance to our collective values, then what are our values for? 

In reading this text, most of my friends may imagine me with a wagging finger and a facial expression apoplectic with indignation, my word debit per minute reaching full speed. 

My friends would be wrong. More than indignant, I am sad that this is how it all ended. It saddens me that we have been deprived of seeing that sample of man, of looking into his eyes, of listening to his justifications based on silly extrapolations of a poorly interpreted Qur'an. 

Therefore, while part of me is relieved to finally know the man's whereabouts - at the bottom of the ocean, where no fans will converge on an annual pilgrimage - I now know that for me, as well as for many other, what happened 10 years ago will forever remain unsolved, another loose thread that each one of us carries without being able to tie it to anything, or even knowing what to do with it. 

And I feel that my sorrow cannot be that different from that of some families of victims, survivors and witnesses of what happened. 

So while the world around me gets ready to yet another round of "Were we right? Were we wrong?”, I pray that God may bless not only America, but all of us.