It seems appropriate to return to this site on this day - a site born from my anger at the US foreign policy reaction to 9/11 and its subsequent political warfare.
They say this will be another one of those remember-where-you-were world events.
Much as I was on 9/11, I was in the middle of nowhere - or at least - somewhere less populated than my usual residence - driving home on Route 99 through California's Central Valley when my parents informed us, insulated from the world through the power of corporate, pre-programmed radio, that Osama bin Laden had been killed.
We searched for news on the FM dial and found none, but AM gave us the CBS news feed where we listened to the latest. Driving along the dark highway, I was reminded of my feelings on 9/11 when I sat in the midst of the mountains glad to be away from concentrated population areas.
My husband and I were both somber. The fatigue of driving lifted as we sat listening to the coverage of groups converging at the White House to chant "USA" and wave flags. Without speaking to each other, we already knew we agreed. We didn't want to hear celebration. We didn't want to hear chanting. We didn't want to hear hubris and ignorance excitedly ruling the day.
Something that should be marked with solemnity happened in a far off city to actual people who lived.
And so we come back to the notion of killing starfish.
It is hard to kill a starfish because if so much as a single cell of the starfish's core is present in the limb, the limb will grow a new starfish. There are an endless number of new starfish to be created from one, supposedly dead starfish.
In this case, the starfish may be Osama bin Laden, but more likely, the starfish is the idea of Osama bin Laden.
You cannot kill an idea. Ideas are bulletproof.