What the hell is Robert Mugabe doing at the World Food Summit in Rome? This man belongs in jail, not at some international convention. Added to which the irony could hardly be more poignant. He has sytematically starved his people for years. So while he dines in the Via Veneto, his people die of hunger. As one journalist put it, it’s rather like inviting Pol Pot to a human rights convention.
I know a journalise who went to Zim recently. He interviewed a woman who was beaten repeatedly in front of her two children so badly that the Daily Mail judged the pictures too gory to publish. Her crime? Voting for the opposition. I cannot bear to think about the suffering going on there now before the electoral run-off at the end of the month. And yet western leaders welcome this tyrant, this dictator, this despot in Rome. Why didn’t Berlusconi (who loves attention) refuse to give him a visa? Why doesn’t someone shoot him? Mugabe that is, not Berlusconi. He at least is only starving his people of decent television.
Closer to home there is also worrying news. Today Rupert goes in to hospital to have his knee operated on. It is a simple operation, but any operation is worrying. Although possibly not as worrying as his reaction to shaving said knee in preparation for keyhole surgery.
“I can see what you girls are on,” he said, looking rather pleased with the results. I have left him in the capable hands of a friend who will take him to hospital as I whiz up to Paris for my style guru event. If only the talk were about men I could announce the new shaved knee look. As it is, I will have to come up with something else.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008