American goes to Libya, decides that it sucks

I'm always fascinated by stories of trips to oppressive regimes.

Since I live in the worstest of all the cultures in the world I am well versed in the ways of oppression. But Libyan oppression is of the pure and noble socialist kind (it's for the greater good of all the citizens), and mine is of the evil and stifling capitalist kind (American culture is so disgusting as to put value, value, on individualism).

“And Qaddafi is our president,” he said. “About him, no comment.” He laughed, but I don’t think he thought it was funny.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Comment away. I don’t live here.”

He thought about that. For a long drawn-out moment, he calculated the odds and weighed the consequences. Then the dam burst.

“We hate that fucking bastard, we have nothing to do with him. Nothing. We keep our heads down and our mouths shut. We do our jobs, we go home. If I talk, they will take me out of my house in the night and put me in prison.

“Qaddafi steals,” he told me. “He steals from us.” He spoke rapidly now, twice as fast as before, as though he had been holding back all his life. He wiped sweat off his forehead with trembling hands. “The oil money goes to his friends. Tunisians next door are richer and they don’t even have any oil.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“We get three or four hundred dinars each month to live on. Our families are huge, we have five or six children. It is a really big problem. We don’t make enough to take care of them. I want to live in Lebanon. Beirut is the second Paris. It is civilized! Women and men mix freely in Lebanon.”

This man speaks as though women mixing freely with men was a good thing. I may have thought men and women mixing freely was good, but I know it is not because the state tells me so. And since the state was set up to benefit all citizens we know it is infalliable. It has to be good. This man must be confused by all that love for Qaddafi. It's clouding his logic. I mean, they put all the pictures up because they love him so much. It's not his fault he's such a great leader and is forced into the omnipotent dictator role by an adoring populace.

“It has been a long time since I heard that accent,” said the man with the glasses.

I smiled. “It’s been a long time since this accent was here,” I said. Until just a few months ago, any American standing on Libyan soil was committing a felony.

“We went to college together,” he said, and jerked his thumb toward his friend. “In Lawrence, Kansas, during the ’70s.”

“Yes,” his friend said as he rubbed the bald spot on his head. The two were all smiles now as they remembered. “We took a long road trip up to Seattle.”

“We stayed there for two weeks!” said the first. He sighed like a man recalling his first long-lost love. I watched both their faces soften as they recalled the memories of their youth and adventures abroad in America.

“What a wonderful time we had there,” said the second.

They invited me out to dinner, but I was getting ready to leave. I didn’t want to say no. They looked like they wanted to hug me.

We shook hands as we departed. And as I stepped into the elevator, the first man put his hand on his heart. “Give two big kisses to Americans when you get home,” he said. “From two people in Libya who miss you so much.”

Poor bastards are so overwhelmed by their voluntary desire to sacrifice personal freedoms for the good of the state they've forgotten how terrible and awful America really is. Walmart exists. Need I say more?