Both of us were sweating profusely, and it was not just from the heat blasting off the desert. I leaned forward, poised on the balls of my feet, my fists clenched and white-knuckled. “This is private property,” he hissed at me in Arabic. “You have no right to be here.” The sentence was translated for my benefit. I took a step forward. The man did not step back. “Are you the owner of this disgusting place?” I asked. The translator put the words back into Arabic. “I own this park. What are you doing here?” “I have come to shut the zoo in your park down.” “Why?” “Because it is the most disgusting place on the planet.” We were now shouting. The TV cameramen, anticipating a fistfight to erupt at any second, crowded around us. I gestured at the TV crews, without taking my eyes off the Iraqi’s face. “You see these cameras? You are now internationally famous for the worst abuse of animals on earth.” The man stared back, eyes screwed into slits with naked hostility.
