Obama Gets Osama

The biggest tactile accomplishment in the War on Terror thus far has been the assassination of Al Qaeda founder and front-man Osama bin Laden. It seems like his name has largely disappeared from the news (until Sunday), but we all still kind of painted his picture with horns and a pitchfork in our minds, and the celebration of his death at baseball games, at the White House, and on the site of Ground Zero has reaffirmed the associations Americans have with this man.

I think that the best description of this benchmark is "a symbolic victory." Bin Laden, as far as I know, has been largely a figurehead for the group and although once maintained a position of unspeakable power, he had retired to a state of image and motions, not one of power and action like he once held. The fact that the United States has removed bin Laden from any position is meaningful, since he still held an important figure in al Qaeda, but will do very little to disenfranchise any fighters in the group. To me, this killing is akin to an enemy of Great Britain assassinating the Queen. No one would expect the government to crumble, since the Queen's role is largely symbolic, and other than a period of mourning and outrage, not much would change. The Queen is a figurehead, has a minimal role in running the country (although the monarchy once ran the entire empire - noticing the parallels here?), and there are several others in line for the throne. The similarities are stunning. I do not think that Americans should hope for much change in the way al Qaeda functions, and if anyone has their fingers crossed for a disbandment of the terrorist organization now that bin Laden is out of the picture...well, don't hold your breath.

Another side of this killing is the highly-suspicious in which bin Laden was found. First of all, the people who lived there were strangers to the rest of the population of Abbotabad, where they were located. They never left, except, according to some citizens there, to go to there store where they got what they came for and made no contact otherwise. Even though they are model shoppers, if that is really the case, people had to have been suspicious. Never going outside and not talking to anyone when they are out are suspicious enough, and to add to that isolation, there was no kind of internet or television connections, and waste removal was forfeited in favor of burning all of their garbage. Super-weird. Oh, and I guess it is relevant to say that the distance between the bin Laden's compound and Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan, is just barely farther than Hope is from Calvin.

This country claims to be an ally, definitely a recipient of a TON of aid money from our American federal government (over $4 billion per year), and now has been found housing bin Laden, despite their claims that they did not know he was there and was not protecting him. I find this incredibly difficult to believe, considering the location of the compound in relation to the capital, and the fact that Abbotabad is home to the Pakistani's version of West Point Military Academy. Bin Laden was literally right under the Pakistani military's nose for over five years, and they did not find him, despite the obvious signs of suspicious activity mentioned about. Some ally.

This is really a lose-lose for Pakistan. I compare them to a guy I worked with at Wisconsin Memorial Park who was about as accident-prone as they get. He kept getting in accidents with machinery, and was taken to be drug tested after each accident. This implies that either 1) Drugs had to have influenced his behavior, because no normal person would suffer the same injury sober, or 2) He was acting in such a stupid way that no normal person should suffer the same injury, except on drugs. Pakistan is stuck in this same pickle. Either they admit to have been hiding bin Laden while claiming to assist the US in the manhunt and fight against bin Laden's organization and their associates, or they are ignorant enough to have him hiding in broad daylight in the middle of a military establishment. No way to win. Either the Pakistani government is on drugs, or they acted in a manner that can only be explained by substance abuse.

This, of course, is said with all due respect to Pakistani authorities...who can perhaps pull the knife out of the White House's back if they get the time.

Toska

As I studied history in college, I would notice a strange phenomenon when studying periods of American history that I was particularly interested in: I would feel a dark nostalgia, a wish that I was a part of that era and a strange feeling that I really missed out on something in which I conceivably could have participated. I still get this feeling when I study the 1920s or the 1950s and read about the dynamic, tumultuous social scenes that shaped the American of the time. I have always interpreted this as a sure sign that I was the king of nerds in the history department, but as I grow older and find this feeling toward past periods of my own life, I think that maybe this feeling is a sign of something else – nostalgia for certain, but feelings like passion and interest as well.

As an example, the spring of 2010 was just a highlight of my existence. Although I was living 800 miles away from Nora, whom I had since decided was the one I was supposed to marry, other parts of life gave my life meaning and definition. I was living on my own in a city that was at the same time strange and my home, with people who were strangers yet my closest friends, at a time where I was young and learning but much wiser and more experienced in life than I ever had been before. I was learning how make it on my own, how to question and rethink long held beliefs, how to maintain old relationships and formulate new ones, and how to live as a young, independent man. There were, of course, definite challenges that appear in any period in one’s life, but it is not the negative I remember; only the positive moments that in a way still shape how I live today.

I learned a new Russian word the other day while reading an article in National Geographic magazine. The word, toskavat, means “to long for” and is derived from the noun toska, which is, according to the magazine, a dark nostalgia bordering on depression. When I think of time periods in my life that I am particularly drawn to, I experience this toska. It sometimes makes a physical impact; it is like the progression of time’s version of homesickness that makes me long for another place, another place in time.

I do not know why I get this feeling, or if others are plagued with this toska for the past. Logically, it makes no sense, considering my partiality toward this time period is inherently skewed with the faults of human memory, my opinion of this time period as favorable is arbitrary at best, and there is no way that I can possibly revisit this period in my life. I long for these times nonetheless and am affected by these feelings consistently, to the point that I take the time to write down my reflections.

I think one part of the gravity of these nostalgic waves is a guilt that I ended this time period prematurely. I voluntarily left the school where I taught, the apartment where I lived, and the bonds that I had formed with new friends, places, and routines. I could have stayed and could have continued the life that I loved so much, but chose to move back to Michigan and the routines that I had the very same feelings for while living in Frederick. Because I had gone through parts of my life that ended all too soon (or so it seemed), I knew that looking back at my time in Frederick, I would consider how strange it is that I once got up, drove to school, and taught five days out of the week. How strange that I maintained relationships with the people I played ultimate with twice per week, and how strange that I would happily make the hour drive down to Crystal City to spend time with my close friends there. I knew that I would feel the way I do now about my life then. And then, I had that same toska for the times of college, living with my roommates and going to classes. At the same time, I was so looking forward to moving back to Michigan, back to Nora, back to family, back to my old routines…

And this is where my train of thought ends. I must conclude that we (presumably – I know that I am, and can only assume that others are too) live our lives suspended in a web of a longing for the past and anticipation of the future. The present does not even really exist – we never really experience the present, as our thoughts are in the past and our plans are in the future – and we are thus never able to really enjoy it. We are left with the aftertaste of our experiences and a hunger for our arrangements, and no chance to really enjoy the digestion of where we are in the moment. It must be a delicate balance; to live in the past is not much of a life at all, but neither is a life built on intentions. I think that my toska for the past is an important part of appreciating my current situations and shaping my plans for the future, but to dwell on the past strips the present and future of all too much significance; almost making an unfair comparison to an idealized nostalgia that can never be matched in real time.

So it is difficult. It is a challenge. It is just hard to not wish one lived in the past as he remembers it, but it is so important to find that proportion of past and future that creates the present, and to make the limbo of time in which we hang balanced and tolerable. I may struggle more than others, but think it is important all the same to emphasize that the present is what we make of it, and any excess of past or future can make the present a meaningless unreality.