A man died this weekend.
He was one of more than fifty siblings, and fathered at least twenty-three children.
In the 1980's, he helped the U.S. by fighting in the U.S.-funded insurgency against Soviet troops in Afghanistan.
He was later nearly killed by the U.S.
In the 1990's, his family disowned him.
He has had a very difficult life.
And today, people celebrate his death.
I'm certainly not saying that I support Osama bin Laden, or that I condone any of his actions. He is, after all, the man responsible for approving the action that shattered my childhood, and brought the City that is my lifeblood to a standstill of shock and pain. The world is undoubtably a safer place without him in it. And, even though I would rather he weren't killed by the U.S., and thus, made somewhat of a martyr, I also know that there is no way we ever could have reached any kind of peace with him, and that some form of what happened was our only choice. I am well aware that this was our only option.
But a man died this weekend. And, no matter who he is, that is nothing to celebrate.
Hatred only begets more hatred. Violence begets violence.
There is no end result we could reach for. We can't try to find peace "in the end", because there never will be an end. But violence is never an acceptable means. And perpertrating that violence is not something to find laudable. It is something to be lamented.
I suppose what this all comes down to is... I'm not sorry that Osama bin Laden is dead. But I'm sorry that we killed him. And I refuse to celebrate his death.