I remember traveling through southern Morocco just a little over 2 years ago with Jasmine, on our way to Tunisia. A trip I am immensely glad we took then as the opportunity to take it today seems to be dwindling, at least a trip marked by friendliness and acceptance like the one we took.

We had only been in southern Morocco for a few days, including a brief visit to Sahara but the stark red landscape, while beautiful was alien, and utterly devoid of greeness, or, to my untrained eyes, life. This impression was enhanced by the overwhelming, baking heat that left me feeling as dry, and parched as the red dust kicked up by the tires of the bus.

And it was in this landscape that we came across our first palmery. Palmeries are the communal oasis farms in the desert, planted thick, almost like a jungle, vibrantly green, full of people winding their way between the fields, over the water ways, and under the outstretched palm fronds. It is hard to convey how beautiful these places are, how magical they feel; they put the emotional impact back in the word oasis. I will always remember the day we spent wandering the palmery near Todra.

Which is why it hits me like a sharp pain in my stomach to know that my government is bulldozing date palms, and citrus trees in Iraq to punish the farmers in district where guerillas continue to resist the occupation.

As Patrick asks, Who kills orchards? And Juan reminds us that collective punishment is forbidden by the Fourth Geneva Convention.

I suppose its ridiculous to cry for trees when there are so many people dead, and yet…