Meeting the Grandparents

***Note: this entry has not been edited for grammar or presentation.***

Today was a very emotionally taxing day for me. I took a car out to small town called San Benito, about 10 miles out in the country, to go the cemetery and meet my grandparents on my dad´s side. The cemetery wasn´t easy to find, as it´s literally out in the middle of nowhere, only accessible by dirt road. I stopped at a fruit stand to ask for directions from the little boy who ran it, and after he told me how to get there, I bought some fruit from him. I asked him to bag for me 4 oranges. He did, and told me that it costs 1 peso (about 30 cents). he had told me that this fruit stand is a family business, and that they set it up next to the main highway so that truckers might want to stop and get some fruit. I asked him how much they made, and he said that in a good month, they make 400 pesos, which he said is enough to feed his family. I felt terrible for the kid, so I gave him a $10 US (about 32 pesos). The kid and his little brother almost cried.

I got back in the car and went down this lonely dirt road until I was out in the country. I made a right at the fork, just like the kid told me, and after a couple of miles found a paved road (only a few hundred feet long) that led to the cemetery gates. I parked the car and was awed by the desolation I found myself surrounded by: no cars, no people, no flower stand to buy flowers for the deceased, nothing. I walked into the cemetery and followed the signs to the caretakers office so I could find out where they were buried. No one home; as a matter of fact, when I looked through the office window, it looked like no one has been home for a while. The grounds were well kept, and there were flowers on the graves, so this place wasn´t abandoned at all. I just happened to be there when I was the only living soul for miles.

"Well", I thought to myself, "no map and no guide, so I better start walking and looking at the names on the graves". As I walked up and down the endless rows of headstones and memorial plaques, my thoughts drifted to the two people I was here to see: Matilde and Esteban. My grandparents, whom I had never known. I kept thinking to myself, "what will i say when I find them? what do you say to the dead you´ve never known?". Time seemed to drift by a little bit slower as I read each grave site, looking for their names. There were a lot of people buried here. This was a graveyard for the poor, and many (if not most) of these graves were "condo-style"; that is, two, three, or four people, usually from the same family, buried one on top of the other. "At least they will have each other for all of eternity", I thought to myself.

After about an hour (!!) of walking among the graves, I saw the caretaker walking in the distance by where I parked my car. I stopped walking down the row I was in and changed direction to intercept the man who knew where everyone here lived (figuratively speaking). He walked up to his office, unlocked that gate, opened the door, and went inside. I arrived at his door a few seconds after.

"Hola, disculpame. ¿Le puedo hacer una consulta?"
"¡Si, como no!"
"Mira, estoy buscando el entiero de mis abuelos. ¿Por favor, me ayudas encontrarlos?"

With that, he sat at his desk, opened up a big three ring binder, and looked up my grandparents. He took out a slip of paper, wrote down the section, row, and site numbers, and told me to go out the door and follow the left-hand walkway past the second monument, then turn left. When I stepped out of his office and began walking towards the memorial grounds, I felt a little uneasy, almost nervous. "Here we go", I thought, "I´m finally gonna get to meet you guys, after all these years". I followed his directions, and easily located the section and row listed on the paper (which I have since saved in my growing collection of souvenirs). I turned to walk down the row and meet my grandparents, finally.

What happened at the grave site is personal and confidential, but suffice it say that I had a good time and took some very nice pictures. The ride back to the city was quiet and uneventful. Their fate is the same as mine, the same as all of ours. I just hope that my grave won´t be as lonely as theirs.

Day Five

The last two days have been quite hectic. As evidenced by the time-stamp, I haven’t had much time to just sit down and write. This is what I feared would happen: my schedule would be so hectic that I wouldn’t have time to record my thoughts, and I’d begin to forget the little things. For example, I can tell you that since I wrote the last entry, I have been to visit:

• My mom’s favorite cousin Caudia’s house,
• My uncle Ricardo’s house (twice).
• A day spa at the local upscale hotel (one hour massages for $10USD!),
• The “Costa Negra”, a boardwalk-type place along the Parana River,
• My cousin Mariano’s house,
• The building my mom inherited half of from my grandparents

I kept thinking to myself as I was in the middle of each of the above situations, “man, I really need to remember this”, or “that was great, I have to remember to write this down”. But, as my short term visual memory is not so hot, I don’t remember any of those mental notes and snapshots, and now that I’m sitting down to write, I cannot for the life of me remember the little things I wanted to record.

I did take some pictures at some of these places, and maybe upon reviewing these pictures my memory will be jump-started. But, for now, I just feel plain helpless in the morass that is my memory. I feel like an old man.

Day Three

I know, I know.....what happened to Day Two? Read on...

I see now that finding “alone time” to journal my thoughts is going to be a bit more difficult than I first imagined. I’m currently sitting in a small neighborhood restaurant called “Don Charras”, a steakhouse one block from my uncle Maurico’s house. I ate here yesterday after I arrived in Parana, and the fact that I’m back here the next day is testament to both the quality and value of the food. But, once again, I’m getting ahead of myself, starting at the end instead of the beginning. Let’s go back to yesterday where we left off...

My plane landed at about 12:30PM local time. Once the plane taxied to the terminal, I got off the plane. As a side note, we had to wait until the propellors stopped spinning before we could disembark. This was because we had to get our own luggage, and the luggage compartment was located uncomfortably close to the propellers. Either way, I walked towards the terminal, luggage in tow, thinking through all of the methods I would employ to get myself to the town of Parana (25km away, which is too far to walk). As the Fates would have it, my mom and her brother were in the terminal waiting for me! You see, when I was still at the AeroPark airport in Buenos Aires, I had stopped by a phone cabin and called my dad back in Miami. I let him know of my plans, so there would be at least one person who knew where on earth I was and where I was headed. As it turns out, after I got off the phone with him, he called ahead to Parana and informed the family there that I would be flying in to Santa Fe at such-and-such time, and to have someone there waiting for me. I must confess that I felt a little bit deflated at their sight. Not because of them, per se, but because of the adventure I wouldn’t have now that I had someone to take me to Parana safe and sound. But thankfully, I got over that feeling pretty quickly. I was very happy to see my mom and uncle. Right then and there, it felt like home.

Driving to Parana felt a little bit like playing Grand Theft Auto on my XBOX. I’ll skip the details and just say that we would’ve had three stars after finally getting to Parana. Sergio (my mom’s brother) dropped my mom and I off at my uncle Mauricio’s house, where I’d be crashing the for at least the next two days. I lugged my bags upstairs and, before I could even take a breath, was whisked out the door to have lunch at Don Charros steakhouse (where I am right now, but not where I am right now in the narrative. Capiche?).

We had a delightful time at Don Charros. Great food, good company, and conversation full of insight, candor, and forthrightness. After a couple of hours, we left the restaurant to go back home. I needed a shower, a change of clothes, and some rest. Of course, I only got two out of those three (guess which two). Once again, I got yanked out of the house (now that I was all cleaned up), and taken across the street to my grandparent’s apartment. I was so happy to see them; they are one of the main reasons I took this trip. We stayed a while chatting, but I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness with each passing minute; after a half hour with them, I could no longer form complete sentences in spanish. I excused myself, apologized for my early departure, and went home to rest.

At this point, it was about 7:30PM. I unpacked my things and put them away as best as I could, then sank into bed. I stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, trying to clear my thoughts before I sank into sleep; if I don’t, I tend to have uncomfortable dreams, so I always take a moment to clear my head. I realized that I had forgotten to brush my teeth, so I lumbered to the bathroom and went through the routine. I got back into bed, saw that it was almost 8PM, then closed my eyes and floated away.

I awoke the next day at 11:30AM. The house was quiet. I sat up, scratched my head, and walked to the shower. Thank goodness I was wearing clothes, as I scared the mouse-quiet housekeeper to death. In retrospect, it was pretty funny, but at the time I felt awful for sneaking up on the poor woman. After she realized I wasn’t a stranger there to assault her, she calmed down and commented on how much I looked like my dad. Hmm.

A word about the shower. Hot water works very differently in Parana than it does in other parts of the world that I’ve visited. For starters, the amount of hot water is limited; that is, each house has a set amount of hot water they get every day and when it runs out, that’s it. You’re out of hot water. This causes everyone to ration out their own hot water, to have to make decisions such as “Does everyone in the house shower today, or do I do laundry?”. I’m not joking. As it relates to the shower, one has to bathe themselves Navy-style:

• Turn on the water and wait for it to get hot.
• Get yourself wet and turn off the water.
• Lather up and shampoo your hair.
• Turn on the water, wait for to get hot, then rinse your body completely.
• Pray that the hot water doesn’t run out before you finish rinsing off.

The hot shower that I took today was one of the more stressful showers I’ve experienced. Imagine this Sword of Damacles hanging over you the whole time, except that instead of death, you’ll have cold water inflicted on you in the Argentine winter (well, I guess that’s the same as death). I was able to lather up and shampoo just fine, but as I was rinsing off, I could feel the water go from hot, to warm, to lukewarm, and finally to cool. Jumping jesus on a pogo stick! A shower is supposed to be relaxing! (God, I sound like such a spoiled Westerner...)

By the time I had gotten out of the bath, my mom had come home from her walk, and told me to get ready for lunch at the grandparent’s house. A couple of minutes later, we’re out the door and crossing the street to the front door of their apartment building. It’s a beautiful building, very modern with all of the things one expects in a 2 year old high-rise (except hot water). We had the key to the front door, so we let ourselves in and jumped into the elevator for the slowest trip to the fifth floor of a building ever recorded. I swear, this elevator must have been powers by hamsters: starving, elderly, handicapped, retarded hamsters. I could have scaled the outside walls like Spiderman quicker than this elevator took to get us to the fifth floor.

When we walked into the apartment, it was joy all around. The table was set simply, but to me it was a joy to behold. I’ve learned to take the time to enjoy the little things, like the precious creativity that my grandmother summoned to set the lunch table in such a homey fashion. Grandma made a chicken with small potatoes, empanadas, and a salad. Grandpa brought out the red wine, which he swears is the key to his longevity; we drank several glasses to his health. I took a ton of pictures, and had more wonderful conversation. After a little while, the grandparents got tired and declared it was time for their nap. Taking the hint, my mom and I helped clean up and gathered our coats. A kiss and hug later, we were out the door.

We decided to take a walk to meet with some cousins. After we met, we took a walk to the center of town to buy an adapter for my Mac, so I could charge my MacBook’s battery. Then, we strolled through a park where we saw a group of about 20 people dressed in traditional Argentine Gaucho garb to a little ceremony in commemoration of the death of San Martin, a national hero from the independence days. The ceremony was really fun to watch, as they gaucho people recited poetry praising San Martin, then did a little dance number to traditional “chamame” music. That made my day.

Walking back to the house, I told my mom that I wanted to go for a drive through the countryside outside of town. She said, “that sounds like fun, if you want to see miles and miles of nothing”. I told her I had my reasons, and that she could stay home if she didn’t want to come. Nonplussed, she said she’d love to accompany me. We jumped into a Mitsubishi hatchback that was parked in Mauricio’s garage, and hit the streets. A few minutes later, we’d crossed the city limits. Instead of a narrative, I’ll relay what I saw in the form of bulleted observations:

• The countryside is poor in every way that doesn’t count. Sure, they may not have paved roads, centralized sewage and sanitation, reliable electricity, or any of the other civic developments that we take for granted back in the States. But they do have some things that we’ll never have: a true sense of neighborhood and unity, sincere thanks for the little they do have, and a strong current of family loyalty that is just plain lacking in our more “civilized” society.
• Everyone is Catholic. Everyone. No Jews, Bhuddists, Muslims, Scientologists, Baptists, or Pastafarians. But, it’s amazing how no one shows off the fact that they are religious like they do in the States. Everyone’s faith is their own.
• The concept of “organic food” doesn’t exist here; everything is organic. No BGH, no toxic fertilizers, none of that.
• I was really left to admire just how unspoiled everything was. Talking to the guy at the fruit stand we stopped at, he told us that there are still large amounts of land with no owner, just waiting to be claimed. He said that people here were so poor that they wouldn’t be able to do anything with the land even if they claimed it, so no one bothers. Couple this with the fact that there is no infrastructure in the countryside, and you have “unclaimable land”. Just think about that for a second.
• Since I’ve known him, my father has not stopped singing the praises of the Argentine countryside. His music listening habits lay exclusively with “argentine country music”, who’s topics are as diverse as How Beautiful The Countryside Is, All Of The Animals Of The Countryside, How Great It Is To Fish In The Rivers Of The Countryside, etc. Having heard these songs all of my life, then finally getting to see it all for myself, I can say that I understand the old man a little better.

After we drove back to town and parked the car, my mom and I went for a walk through the town center. Eventually, we stopped at a little cafe to have some hot tea. This is when she told me that it was in this very cafe that her and dad would meet everyday after school to have have coffee and hang out. She started pointing out other buildings that she would hang out in when she was in her early 20’s, places where she would meet up with friends, study, hang out, and be with my dad. It struck me just how old this place was. Not old in the epoch sense, but old as in my mom, and her mom, and her mom before her...they all have shared experiences bound by these buildings that have been here in one form or another since the early nineteenth century. Everyone went to the same school (literally!), the same cafes (literally!), the same parks (literally!), and so on. It saddens me that I will never know such a sense of stability, and neither will my children. That kind of non-change just doesn’t exist where I’m from.

People don’t leave this town, and even when they do, they always come back. I think that’s called “Home”.

Day One

You know, international travel is funny business. I’m writing this from 15,000 feet above the Argentine countryside, on a rickety 2-prop plane. But, as usual, I’m starting at the end instead of the beginning.

Yesterday (August 16th, 2007) at 5PM, I began what would be a 6000 mile journey from Miami to my birthplace of Parana, Argentina. As anyone who travels in the US knows, the security measures in place to “protect us from evil terr’ists” means that you’ve got to be at the airport 3 hours in advanced for full cavity searches and whatnot. After standing in line after line after line, I finally got on my plane at 8:30 PM and sat in the chair where I’d spend the next nine and half hours.

The section of the plane where I was sitting was also the holding pen for no less than 4 crying implacable demon children, who (I’m not kidding) cried the ENTIRE FLIGHT DOWN. For the first few hours, I was unbelievably annoyed, first at the children then at the parents for not shutting them up. Soon, though, my annoyance melted away to a simple kind of awe; I mean, you have to wonder exactly how you can scream and cry for nine hours straight without going hoarse or stopping to breathe. Truly, it was amazing. Normally, I’m the first person to come out against giving behavioral modification drugs to children, but I was about ready to squirt Ritalin down these kids’ throats with a turkey baster.

I finally land in Buenos Aires, Argentina and make my way through customs. After I got spit out of the customs line, I had to make my way to the baggage claim area. This is where it gets interesting. In order to get to baggage claim, you have to walk through what can only be described as a shopping center. The walkway to baggage claim wound through no less than 4 fully stocked stores; there was no way around this. I was reminded of Disney World, where every ride dumped out to store with the same theme as the ride you just went on. Except, here, the theme is “Duty Free”. I didn’t buy anything, for the record.

When I finally made it out of the store into the baggage claim area, I found about 50 people waiting for the luggage belt to start moving. Always wanting to be ahead of the curve, I walked over to the nearby Currency Exchange Hut to convert dollars to pesos. Later, I would realize that each Hut I would encounter after this first one had a better exchange rate than the one I ended using (to the tune of fifty cents per peso better!). At the time, I didn’t realize I was getting screwed, but hey, you gotta learn somehow. I ended up exchanging one hundred dollars for three hundred pesos.

I went back to the luggage belt, which was not moving. I made small talk with a British tourist who was waiting along side me for a few minutes, where I was made aware of how great Argentina is as a vacation destination on account of the ridiculous exchange rate for the Pound Sterling against the peso. As I held my meager US dollars in my wallet, i couldn’t help but to envy this man, this holder of superior currency. Lost in thought, the luggage belt started.

I picked up my luggage and proceeded towards the exit. Now, the plan at this point was to find the Bus Terminal, buy a bus ticket to either Santa Fe or San Nicolas (depending on availability) and be on my way. Of course, both bus lines were sold out to those two cities. Let me jump back a second: bus transport was chosen over airplane because I was told in Miami that there were weather problems in Buenos Aires that prevented airplanes from getting off the ground. This is why I planned to subject my self to a six hour bus ride through rural Argentina. When I was told there were no seats available on any buses going to my preferred destinations, I noticed that the weather outside was not bad at all. Indeed, it was wonderful! My plan quickly changed from bus back to plane, and I got on a shuttle to the regional airport.

The airport shuttle took me to AeroPark, the municipal airport where the vast majority of domestic flights arrive and depart. Bear in mind that at this point, I had no idea whether there were any planes that went where I wanted to go. But hey, if you don’t shoot, you’ll never score.

I walked up to the Information desk and told them I wanted to fly to Santa Fe. They said that there were two airlines that had flights out today: Aerolineas Argentina (the national airline) and Sol Aero (a scrappy upstart with propeller planes). The AA flight left at 7:20PM and the SA flight departed at 11:30AM (just a two hour wait!). I walked up the SA counter, bought a ticked for one hundred sixty pesos (about eighty bucks), and was happy as a clam! I waited around for a bit, realizing how tired I was (at that point, I’d been traveling for 14 hours). When my flight was called, I went into the waiting salon, and eventually boarded the rickety propeller plane (which, again, is where I’m writing this from).

In a few minutes, I’ll be landing in Santa Fe, a town across the river from Parana. I hope to find a taxi, shuttle, van, or other form of transport to get me from one town to the other. I don’t even know exactly where I am going, or whether anyone will be there to receive me once I finally arrive. The unpredictability of this whole caper is really exciting for me, though I know it’s really not the best way to go about international travel. What’cha gonna do?

My plane is landing. I’ll let you all know how it all turned out.

A Child's Guide To U.S. Foreign Policy

Q: Daddy, why did we have to attack Iraq?

A: Because they had weapons of mass destruction honey.

Q: But the inspectors didn't find any weapons of mass destruction.

A: That's because the Iraqis were hiding them.

Q: And that's why we invaded Iraq?

A: Yep. Invasions always work better than inspections.

Q: But after we invaded them, we STILL didn't find any weapons of mass destruction, did we?

A: That's because the weapons are so well hidden. Don't worry, we'll find something, probably right before the election.

Q: Why did Iraq want all those weapons of mass destruction?

A: To use them in a war, silly.

Q: I'm confused. If they had all those weapons that they planned to use in a war, then why didn't they use any of those weapons when we went to war with them?

A: Well, obviously they didn't want anyone to know they had those weapons, so they chose to die by the thousands rather than defend themselves.

Q: That doesn't make sense Daddy. Why would they choose to die if they had all those big weapons to fight us back with?

A: It's a different culture. It's not supposed to make sense.

Q: I don't know about you, but I don't think they had any of those weapons our government said they did.

A: Well, you know, it doesn't matter whether or not they had those weapons. We had another good reason to invade them anyway.

Q: And what was that?

A: Even if Iraq didn't have weapons of mass destruction, Saddam Hussein was a cruel dictator, which is another good reason to invade another country.

Q: Why? What does a cruel dictator do that makes it OK to invade his country?

A: Well, for one thing, he tortured his own people.

Q: Kind of like what they do in China?

A: Don't go comparing China to Iraq. China is a good economic competitor, where millions of people work for slave wages in sweatshops to make U.S. corporations richer.

Q: So if a country lets its people be exploited for American corporate gain, it's a good country, even if that country tortures people?

A: Right.

Q: Why were people in Iraq being tortured?

A: For political crimes, mostly, like criticizing the government. People who criticized the government in Iraq were sent to prison and tortured.

Q: Isn't that exactly what happens in China?

A: I told you, China is different.

Q: What's the difference between China and Iraq?

A: Well, for one thing, Iraq was ruled by the Ba'ath party, while China is Communist.

Q: Didn't you once tell me Communists were bad?

A: No, just Cuban Communists are bad.

Q: How are the Cuban Communists bad?

A: Well, for one thing, people who criticize the government in Cuba are sent to prison and tortured.

Q: Like in Iraq?

A: Exactly.

Q: And like in China, too?

A: I told you, China's a good economic competitor. Cuba, on the other hand, is not.

Q: How come Cuba isn't a good economic competitor?

A: Well, you see, back in the early 1960s, our government passed some laws that made it illegal for Americans to trade or do any business with Cuba until they stopped being communists and started being capitalists like us.

Q: But if we got rid of those laws, opened up trade with Cuba, and started doing business with them, wouldn't that help the Cubans become capitalists?

A: Don't be a smart-ass.

Q: I didn't think I was being one.

A: Well, anyway, they also don't have freedom of religion in Cuba.

Q: Kind of like China and the Falun Gong movement?

A: I told you, stop saying bad things about China. Anyway, Saddam Hussein came to power through a military coup, so he's not really a legitimate leader anyway.

Q: What's a military coup?

A: That's when a military general takes over the government of a country by force, instead of holding free elections like we do in the United States.

Q: Didn't the ruler of Pakistan come to power by a military coup?

A: You mean General Pervez Musharraf? Uh, yeah, he did, but Pakistan is our friend.

Q: Why is Pakistan our friend if their leader is illegitimate?

A: I never said Pervez Musharraf was illegitimate.

Q: Didn't you just say a military general who comes to power by forcibly overthrowing the legitimate government of a nation is an illegitimate leader?

A: Only Saddam Hussein. Pervez Musharraf is our friend, because he helped us invade Afghanistan.

Q: Why did we invade Afghanistan?

A: Because of what they did to us on September 11th.

Q: What did Afghanistan do to us on September 11th?

A: Well, on September 11th, nineteen men, fifteen of them Saudi Arabians, hijacked four airplanes and flew three of them into buildings, killing over 3,000 Americans.

Q: So how did Afghanistan figure into all that?

A: Afghanistan was where those bad men trained, under the oppressive rule of the Taliban.

Q: Aren't the Taliban those bad radical Islamics who chopped off people's heads and hands?

A: Yes, that's exactly who they were. Not only did they chop off people's heads and hands, but they oppressed women, too.

Q: Didn't the Bush administration give the Taliban 43 million dollars back in May of 2001?

A: Yes, but that money was a reward because they did such a good job fighting drugs.

Q: Fighting drugs?

A: Yes, the Taliban were very helpful in stopping people from growing opium poppies.

Q: How did they do such a good job?

A: Simple. If people were caught growing opium poppies, the Taliban would have their hands and heads cut off.

Q: So, when the Taliban cut off people's heads and hands for growing flowers, that was OK, but not if they cut people's heads and hands off for other reasons?

A: Yes. It's OK with us if radical Islamic fundamentalists cut off people's hands for growing flowers, but it's cruel if they cut off people's hands for stealing bread.

Q: Don't they also cut off people's hands and heads in Saudi Arabia?

A: That's different. Afghanistan was ruled by a tyrannical patriarchy that oppressed women and forced them to wear burqas whenever they were in public, with death by stoning as the penalty for women who did not comply.

Q: Don't Saudi women have to wear burqas in public, too?

A: No, Saudi women merely wear a traditional Islamic body covering.

Q: What's the difference?

A: The traditional Islamic covering worn by Saudi women is a modest yet fashionable garment that covers all of a woman's body except for her eyes and fingers. The burqa, on the other hand, is an evil tool of patriarchal oppression that covers all of a woman's body except for her eyes and fingers.

Q: It sounds like the same thing with a different name.

A: Now, don't go comparing Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia. The Saudis are our friends.

Q: But I thought you said 15 of the 19 hijackers on September 11th were from Saudi Arabia.

A: Yes, but they trained in Afghanistan.

Q: Who trained them?

A: A very bad man named Osama bin Laden.

Q: Was he from Afghanistan?

A: Uh, no, he was from Saudi Arabia too. But he was a bad man, a very bad man.

Q: I seem to recall he was our friend once.

A: Only when we helped him and the mujahadeen repel the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan back in the 1980s.

Q: Who are the Soviets? Was that the Evil Communist Empire Ronald Reagan talked about?

A: There are no more Soviets. The Soviet Union broke up in 1990 or thereabouts, and now they have elections and capitalism like us. We call them Russians now.

Q: So the Soviets ? I mean, the Russians ? are now our friends?

A: Well, not really. You see, they were our friends for many years after they stopped being Soviets, but then they decided not to support our invasion of Iraq, so we're mad at them now. We're also mad at the French and the Germans because they didn't help us invade Iraq either.

Q: So the French and Germans are evil, too?

A: Not exactly evil, but just bad enough that we had to rename French fries and French toast to Freedom Fries and Freedom Toast.

Q: Do we always rename foods whenever another country doesn't do what we want them to do?

A: No, we just do that to our friends. Our enemies, we invade.

Q: But wasn't Iraq one of our friends back in the 1980s?

A: Well, yeah. For a while.

Q: Was Saddam Hussein ruler of Iraq back then?

A: Yes, but at the time he was fighting against Iran, which made him our friend, temporarily.

Q: Why did that make him our friend?

A: Because at that time, Iran was our enemy.

Q: Isn't that when he gassed the Kurds?

A: Yeah, but since he was fighting against Iran at the time, we looked the other way, to show him we were his friend.

Q: So anyone who fights against one of our enemies automatically becomes our friend?

A: Most of the time, yes.

Q: And anyone who fights against one of our friends is automatically an enemy?

A: Sometimes that's true, too. However, if American corporations can profit by selling weapons to both sides at the same time, all the better.

Q: Why?

A: Because war is good for the economy, which means war is good for America. Also, since God is on America's side, anyone who opposes war is a godless un-American Communist. Do you understand now why we attacked Iraq?

Q: I think so. We attacked them because God wanted us to, right?

A: Yes.

Q: But how did we know God wanted us to attack Iraq?

A: Well, you see, God personally speaks to George W. Bush and tells him what to do.

Q: So basically, what you're saying is that we attacked Iraq because George W. Bush hears voices in his head?

A: Yes! You finally understand how the world works. Now close your eyes, make yourself comfortable, and go to sleep. Good night.