The End of History

The base-level contrarian in me doesn't really want to react to the death of Osama bin Laden at all. That's the catch to contrarianism as a rule: a sometimes smug (or smug-like) self-ostracization from the impulses that direct and inspire the passions of the whole, or at least the majority. So I don't know who the contenders are on American Idol and I'm not sure what a Twitter "hash-tag" is or what it's used for.

So we the contrarians miss out on proper context for the water-cooler talk sometimes, but there are advantages. Like... um... well, I did mention the smugness already. I was going to also say "sanctimony" but that's really the same thing, for all practical purposes. Ah! Think of all the money we save not buying ribbon-shaped magnetic car decals! A couple extra dollars to spend on indie-rock albums and pre-washed organic kale is more than worth the price of appearing not to publicly give a shit about autism.

People gathering together and waving flags and shouting always makes me a little jumpy. Groups like that, giving over individual judgment to the kinetic, inertial flow of CrowdThink, I always feel are one thrown shoe or misheard remark from whipping into a red-white-and-blue-blooded lynchmob looking to focus their pent-up fervor on... well, probably someone like me. The guy not waving the flag in a crowd of flag wavers is the teetotaler at the office Christmas party. It seems like he's minding his own business, trying to make conversation with an ornamental artificial potted palm, which would be fine, even borderline logical were he soused. But really what he's doing is ruining it for everyone else by providing a contrast to the prevailing social convention drinking-and-overeating-and-probably-dryhumping-in-the-unused-cubicle-we-haven't-filled-since-Jerry-retired. Nobody dryhumps the teetotatler at the office Christmas party. The only options are a) offer him a drink; b) angrily insist that he drink; c) passive-aggressively suggest he could be a homosexual if not for his irredeemably appalling fashion sense and d) find a way to make him pay on his next performance review. The protruding nail-heads will be hammered down until flush.

Patriotic crowds are the same way, except someone almost always actually has a hammer.

So I stayed in on the evening of Bin Laden Day. It was an easy choice considering NY and DC are thousands of miles away. I was comfortably ensconced in my safe, crowd-free home, as conflicted and overanalytical as ever, comparing my reaction to what I was reading from others online.

And then Andrew Sullivan included a quote from a writer Hot Air, a right-wing blog I can't quite bring myself to link directly. It says:

I feel strangely low key about the news, to my surprise; since it broke a few hours ago, I’ve been thinking of the sound the second plane made when it hit the second tower. Nothing will undo it, not even this. But it’s rewarding to know that Bin Laden spent 10 long years hiding his face from the world and that, when the moment of truth came, he had to look Americans in the eye. It’s better than a happy ending. It’s a just one.

And then I'm all: Damn. I guess I am one of you.

But just for today. Tomorrow you'll want to play that fucking awful Lee Greenwood song and I'm right back out again.