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with my questioning of the president, I would get to interview the first lady. Were they trying to ensure a soft ride for the president, or was I the new flavour of the month with the first family?
"I'm going to give the president his final briefing. Are there any further questions you want to pass on to him?" MC asked.
"No," I said, "just tell him I want to chat."
Stephanie and I locked eyes and headed for the ladies' powder room, where we prayed.
Mr President," I began. "You will arrive in Ireland in less than 24 hours' time. While our political leaders will welcome you, unfortunately the majority of our people will not. They are annoyed about the war in Iraq and about Abu Ghraib. Are you bothered by what Irish people think?"
The president was reclining in his seat and had a half-smile on his face, a smile I had often seen when he had to deal with something he would rather not.
"Listen. I hope the Irish people understand the great values of our country. And if they think that a few soldiers represent the entirety of America, they don't really understand America then . . . We are a compassionate country. We're a strong country, and we'll defend ourselves. But we help people. And we've helped the Irish and we'll continue to do so. We've got a good relationship with Ireland."
"And they are angry over Iraq as well and particularly the continuing death toll there," I added, moving him on to the war that had claimed 100 Iraqi lives that very day. He continued to smile, but just barely.
"Well, I can understand that. People don't like war. But what they should be angry about is the fact that there was a brutal dictator there that had destroyed lives and put them in mass graves and torture rooms . . . Look, Saddam Hussein had used weapons of mass destruction against his own people, against the neighbourhood. He was a brutal dictator who posed a threat that the United Nations voted unanimously to say, Mr Saddam Hussein . . ."
Having noted the tone of my questions, the president had now sat forward in his chair and had become animated, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. But as I listened to the history of Saddam Hussein and the weapons inspectors and the UN resolutions, my heart was sinking. He was resorting to the type of meandering stock answer I had heard scores of times and had hoped to avoid. Going back over this old ground could take two or three minutes and allow him to keep talking without dealing with the current state of the war. It was a filibuster of sorts. If I didn't challenge him, the interview would be a wasted opportunity.
"But, Mr President, you didn't find any weapons," I interjected.
"Let me finish, let me finish. May I finish?"
With his hand raised, he requested that I stop speaking. He paused and looked me straight in the eye to make sure I had got the message. He wanted to continue, so I backed off and he went on. "The United Nations said, 'Disarm or face serious consequences'. That's what the United Nations said. And guess what? He didn't disarm. He didn't disclose his arms. And therefore he faced serious consequences. But we have found a capacity for him to make a weapon. See, he had the capacity to make weapons . . ."
I was now beginning to feel shut out of this event. He had the floor and he wasn't letting me dance. My blood was boiling to such a point that I felt like slapping him. But I was dealing with the president of the United States; and he was too far away anyway. I suppose I had been naive to think that he was making himself available to me so I could spar with him or plumb the depths of his thought processes. Sitting there, I knew that I was nobody special and that this was just another opportunity for the president to repeat his mantra. He seemed irked to be faced with someone who wasn't nodding gravely at him as he was speaking.
"But Mr President," I interrupted again, "the world is a more dangerous place today. I don't know whether you can see that or not."
"Why do you say that?"
"There are terrorist bombings every single day. It's now a daily event. It wasn't like that two years ago."
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