Gilroy is a crossroads where travelers from many other walks of
life meet.
Gilroy is a crossroads where travelers from many other walks of life meet. As the Gilroy garlic mouse-about-town, I can’t help but overhear a lot of interesting conversations. Such as two long-haul truckers sitting in Golden West discussing their rigs and the ruts of the road, giving me a little glimpse into another life, another world so different from my own:
“Yeah I watched you parking your rig out there,” the older one says by way of introduction.
“People have no idea what maneuvering 70 feet of truck is like,” the younger driver replies.
“Oh I know, I know, they give us so many problems with bad directions,” the other one goes on, “I get trapped all the time because they tell me a right turn when it’s really a left.”
“Then I get socked with a $100 ticket for being on the wrong road – all because I was given the wrong directions.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotten three of them myself on this trip.”
“Where you comin’ from?”
“Been drivin’ all week, from Chicago, went to Wisconsin, southern California, Santa Barbara, Carmel, then Santa Cruz today.”
“I’m hittin’ Watsonville by way of Spokane, Washington,” the younger trucker describes.
“I wanted to make it a little farther down the road, but I was getting so hungry it felt like my big intestine was starting to eat the small intestine; thank heavens Gilroy was here. I’ve got a lot more miles to do before my next stop.”
While getting gas at the truck stop just off Monterey, I happened upon a very animated discussion between a man from Bangladesh, a man from India and an Iraqi trucker. As it dawned on me that I was overhearing the opinion of someone who had actually lived in Iraq, I jumped into the conversation. He talked about the loss of precious trees in Iraq, how once there were 22 million of the valued date palms, and now thanks to Saddam, only five million remain. It turns out that this man was a political prisoner in Iraq for 10 years after speaking out against Saddam, and he showed me the torture marks on his wrists. He told me that two days a week are designated execution days, and everyone lives in fear of who will be next. I couldn’t help be moved by the passion with which this man spoke.
“Do you think we should invade your country? What about all the innocent people who will be killed?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I want the U.S. to attack. Less people will be killed by your bombs than by Saddam. It will stop Saddam’s killing.” It’s one thing to hear that from George Bush; it’s quite another to hear it from an Iraqi himself. He went to his truck and brought out photos to show me of Saddam and the double Saddam uses as a decoy. He spoke of whole families being imprisoned (including children) when one family member speaks out against Saddam. “Even children?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied, “Children too.” As he spoke, he brought the reality of what is happening in his world face to face with the reality of my own world. The pain this man feels at not being allowed to speak freely in Iraq, the longing he has for his people to be free, and for the torture to end was so evident in his eyes and the passionate way he spoke. But the question I have to ask is this: Are we in the business of liberating other countries? If so, there are plenty of them in line ahead of Iraq.
