Stories and News No. 1242
USA, UK and Australia made a military pact vs China in its strategic expansion in the Pacific. It is trivially called AUKUS, or Australia, UK and USA. One of the first actions, a consequence of this agreement, is the recent disgrace against France, which expected to collect billions of dollars from the sale of 12 nuclear submarines to Australians. In short, the sensational choice of the latter provoked inevitable anger with political, war, economic and diplomatic repercussions on the part of the French.
However, a question arose spontaneously: what are nuclear submarines? From what I understand, they are called so because they have an engine powered by a nuclear reactor, which makes them go faster, they can spend more time underwater and, above all, it is not easy to identify them with the various sonars. Nonetheless, the real gem, so to speak, is that they are capable of launching nuclear missiles equipped with little warheads. Meanwhile, France on the one hand and the US, Australia and the UK are fighting badly.
In my small way, to resolve the dispute, here is a very brief school essay of a seven-year-old child, even six:
The grandfather's shotgun
Grandpa came to visit us last Friday. Grandma too, but she has stage four Alzheimer's and she believes she is her own daughter. Since the latter is my mother, so in order not to confuse her my mom pretended she was grandma and she really liked this little game. Usually, when his father, grandpa, is at home, my dad attacks my mother to please the parent, because she is a pacifist and grandpa does not like this, because he is not. Actually, my grandpa isn't a lot of things that my mom is and I'm happy with that, really happy it's not the other way around. One of these is his obsession with armies, uniforms and war. He talks about the latter as if it was a sport, but I know the difference: in sport there is one who wins and one who loses, while in war everyone loses, even those who laugh with the trophy in their hands. Returning to this Friday, since it was my brother's name day, grandpa brought us a gift: a shotgun with shot included. It's called soft air, air soft, I didn't understand much about it. I was disappointed, because the week before was my name day and I didn't get anything. However, I was silent, because my parents taught me that gifts are not expected, at most they are discarded with enthusiasm, haste and fury. But I was pouting, because I haven't learned to control my face yet. With my feet, my hands and my hips, I am doing great, but I think that deciding on facial expressions is for grown-ups. The fact is, however, that my grandmother, aka my mother, noticed it and she pointed this out to her husband, that is my grandfather. And the latter came out like this: "Then let's make sure that the gun belongs to both and they play together." It is easy to see that grandpa did not have any sons. Together among two brothers, with only a year and a little more difference, is a word that does not make any sense. It's like asking both of us to run slowly when we get to the court and the ball starts running away from us. So, after the grandparents left the scene, from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon we did nothing but fight over who was supposed to shoot the rifle. It wasn't fun at all. Another reason why I agree with my mother on the war. Indeed, I do on a lot of things, see the way in which she have resolved our quarrel. How? Very simple: she took the shotgun and also the shots, she tore everything apart and threw the remains in the garbage, obviously making a proper separate garbage collection. “Here's what weapons do,” she said immediately after out of breath, but with an equally confident voice, as only mothers can do when they know, period. "They move us against each other even when it's just a game. Let alone if they can hurt and even kill..."
Do you think that the idea of being able to throw twelve nuclear submarines in the trash is extraordinarily stupid, childish and naive? And what about thinking of making, selling, and even using them? Is it a smart grown-up stuff in your opinion?
My recent book: A morte i razzisti (Death to racists)