So, there’s another report that Osama’s taking the big dirt nap. Some are even speculating that the big Taliban funeral we passed on bombing last month might have been for the Big Cheese himself.
Intellectually, I find I don’t care any more.
Emotionally, I’m still tremendously invested in seeing the son of a bitch dead. I want his rotting corpse paraded around the US, with prolonged stops in New York City, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania. I’d like to see his preserved head as a key part of a monument. I want his grave designated a national rest area, so we can all line up and piss on his grave.
But intellectually, I recognize he’s long past any relevance. He had his successes, leading up to his singular achievement, but he’s yesterday’s news now. He hasn’t been important for several years.
The war was never about him. It did not start when he first struck at the United States, and it will not miraculously be over when he’s finally confirmed dead. And those who fixate on him as the be-all and end-all of the war on terror do so at all our peril.