J’accuse: Dying Myths

Posted on 05. Sep, 2010 by jacques in Articles

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Number One: God

It’s been one hell of a myth-busting week, one of the groundbreaking variety. It all began with the revelation (this time not in Patmos) that Stephen Hawking’s new book includes the following bold assertion: “Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing. Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist. It is not necessary to invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe going.” (For a dramatic touch read to this last paragraph while playing Mendelssohn’s And Then Shall Your Light Break Forth).

Hawking has not managed to completely dispense with the figure in the sky completely as many a Dawkins would undoubtedly prefer, but he has got quite damningly (in a Dantesque sense) close by asserting that the figure in the sky was not a determining element in what many religions term “the moment of creation”. “God the Innocent Bystander as the universe sparked into life” is definitely not going to go down well with many a deist on this earth – let alone the Monsignor Gouders of this island who are still putting forward the complex and highly relevant (and Dantesque) notion of classification of sins applicable to politicians performing their civic duty.

It was refreshing to read the reaction of senior members of the religious community in the UK. From Rowan Williams (Archbishop of Canterbury) to Lord Sacks (Chief Rabbi), the argument ran on familiar and (from my point of view) very comforting lines. Sacks summarised it beautifully in the simple but eloquent phrase: “Science is about explanation. Religion is about interpretation.” There you go – quod erat demonstrandum and all that. It threw me back to the days of yore when I was quizzed by Brother Mifsud (a brother of the learnéd Jesuit variety) as to whether or not I believed in the sun and that it would rise the next day. My unequivocal “yes” would earn me a harsh slap on the head and a (confusing at the time) explanation that you cannot believe in something that can be proved – such as the very sun shining through the window.

Belief, by definition, requires an act of faith. Whatever has been proved no longer requires belief. And that is where Hawking, Dawkins and all the rest will find that the new brick wall is to be raised. As the Archbishop of Canterbury put it, “Belief in God is not about plugging a gap in explaining how one thing relates to another within the Universe. It is the belief that there is an intelligent agent on whose activity everything ultimately depends for its existence.” Hawking may spend valuable time and energy telling believers that nobody really threw the switch (it was automatic) only to be dismissed with the phrase: “Yes, but who put the switch there?” He just has to thank God (or his lucky stars) that we live in the time of Benedict XVI not Urban VIII and there is little chance of his being summoned to the Ratzing-court for a forced recanting of his ideas.

Deep down, most religions do not even care or need to care about proof that there is a god. Religion works with or without such proof – like Schrödinger’s cat opening the box is not the whole point of the experiment. It’s not that hard to reconcile oneself with this new reality of mutual exclusion. Science is built on proofs and has no place for leaps of faith, or as French mathematician LaPlace best put it in answer to Napoleon’s question on why he made no mention of God in his works of astronomy “I have no need for that hypothesis”. The inverse is true in the case of faith as the Tourist from Tarsus once defined it: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.” See? Everybody’s happy. Except maybe Schrödinger’s cat.

Number Two: Those infallible Americans (and Brits)

On 31 August the number of US troops in Iraq was down to 50,000, as promised by newly elected President Obama 20 months before. Obama might still be in time to save the face of the world giant by stage-managing a strategic withdrawal (though it will definitely not be called that) from the zone of combat/stable democracy. Tune into any documentary on the US time in Iraq and you will be convinced that the stay has been anything but a success. The US joins a long list of world powers that have understood that the Middle East is nobody’s playground. Next Afghanistan.

George Bush’s partner in crime for Iraq has been busy publishing his memoirs, and although he might have expressed a tad bit of regret for whatever pushed him to invade Saddam’s jolly land in conjunction with his bumbling cousin across the ocean, he has less regrets closer to home. Blair has joined the list of clairvoyants who were apparently very confident that Brown’s term in power would be quite a cock-up of an affair. Insofar as myth spinning is concerned, the business of memoirs seems to be quite the ticket. Follow Jesus Blair (you’d be excused to thinking he’s the new Messiah) on his peripatetic attempts to save the world, the UK or the nearest local council, and you will be left with little doubt as to why the man abandoned the Protestant fold and marched straight into the comforting arms of Catholicism in a much publicised move towards the end of his tenure.

Meanwhile, in Westminster, a senior minister of the Tory-Dem coalition is rather angry at the gossip and spin culture perpetrated by the media and blogging world over the past few weeks. William Hague is in a bit of a fix because of persistent and undying rumours of his being gay (and of consequently having favoured gay partners) that have persecuted him since his entry into the world of politics. The great Tory orator is not new to PR slips but this time the story seems to be a conjecture of the whisper corridors that plague politicians and public figures. Apparently, Hague had opted to share a twin hotel room with an aide of his on one of his travels. That, and the close relationship he seems to have enjoyed with this young man, seems to have attracted the paparazzi moths to the limelight.

The aide had to resign from an advisory post earlier this week and only on Thursday, Hague’s wife had to break the silence on a very private aspect of the life of the couple in order to clear any niggling doubts as to the sexuality of the politician. It is always despicable when spin-monsters cut and slash into the private lives of politicians just for the sake of it and without any concrete proof. Hague has become disillusioned with political life, but then again he might come out of this saga in a stronger position.

Number Three: Those Magnificent Men in the PLPN

Michael Briguglio penned a good article this week (Sliema: Reaping what was sown) and it appears in J’accuse (www.akkuza.com) with his kind permission. Mike begins his article by stating that “the last local council elections were a clear example of how, at times, factors that have little to do with political vision influence electoral results”, and ends with a clear exhortation to the voter “if you want change, vote for it”. It would be stupid of me, or of anyone, not to read Mike’s invitation as a class bit of promotion for the party he chairs, but there is much more to this line of reasoning than simple a third litigant enjoying the ills afflicting the two behemoths.

Whether it is PL, PN or AD (or any other “political party” as defined under the Local Councils Act) presenting lists of candidates for your perusal and selection in local council elections, we have long laboured under the impression that such candidates have been selected by way of their being the best people to put into effect their party’s programmes and policies at local level. I am not one of those trigger-happy people who feel that the current spate of scandals vindicates Alfred Sant’s idea that political parties should keep out of local politics – far from it. I strongly believe (in a scientific and not in a religious manner) that a well thought out structure in a political party system that backs candidates in different localities can only enhance participative democracy and not degrade it.

That however is the ideal standard (why does that phrase remind me of toilets?). Ideally, party politics pervades the local level by bringing the administrative competence, the structural continuity and the value based commitment. Factually, as Mike has been ready to point out, party politics seems to be importing the rotten mentality that has been nurtured through years of practice of stagnant bi-partisanism. Power for the sake of power and not of service, cutthroat and inbred competition within the corridors of the same party and unregulated financing and sponsorship can only carry on for so long before exploding in the perpetrators face.

DimechGate and its cousins have shown the voting public the ugly side of voting through blind faith. Interviews carried out by internet papers among the Sliema population brought up two ugly truths (caveat lector: the interviews do not constitute a scientific survey): First it became clear that Nikki Dimech was elected mainly on the strength of the guarantees of a hidden saint or sponsor, which, combined with the PN nihil obstat assured the voters of a winning horse. Secondly, and more astonishingly, few, if none, of the interviewed had any idea of the mayor-elect Joanna Gonzi. It is a surprise mainly because someone, somewhere must have voted her in too – and with a number of votes inferior only to Nikki Dimech among those obtained on the Nationalist list.

Sliema is only one example of many voting through faith and not reason, as is the norm. It may no longer be only faith in the parties themselves but also in the complex system of saints and sponsors that is a throwback to the times of Cicero’s Rome. DimechGate will not provoke the kind of cleansing that a tangentopoli could have. PLPN have found a quick exit door via the washing of hands and responsibility. In a way they could do not other than ostracise the erring members of their wide net of candidates – true. On the other hand, we could ask questions of the structure backing the elected candidates once in place. Could a hypothetical council member who has been approached with a bung/suggestion for corruption resort to a party structure for support?

Are lawyers at hand to deal with such situations? Simple training and advice could create a sense of responsibility and awareness among elected councillors. This is where the role of party structures is desirable. A party could provide trained councillors – trained to face different situations at council level. Have our parties abdicated this side of their responsibility? Worse still, are parties too well entwined with potential providers of bungs (sponsors and donors in politically correct parlance) to be able to prevent their corrupting the local levels of our politics? In other words, does the infamous JS list extend to the local level or are other similar lists being refined at a lower level?

Number Four: ‘La Vecchia Signora’

I promised myself that should Juventus purchase Marco Borriello towards the end of the summer window, I would put my faith in the bianconeri in abeyance for a year at least. Although the transfer fell through I still have to be convinced that Juve are worth following this year – the insistence on the Italian label and on no brain to give the team some form of tempo is a formula for tears.

www.akkuza.com has resumed the discussion on impeachment and local politics. It’s never been a matter of faith.

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J’accuse : Lying in State

Posted on 15. Aug, 2010 by jacques in Articles

The Maltese narrative has lost one of its most famous personalities since Independence: Guido de Marco – lawyer, politician and professor – is with us no more and the state’s sons and daughters rightly mourn the passing away of one of their most respected brothers. I am not one for writing moving obituaries, particularly of the kind considered to be delectable (and politically correct) among us Maltese. Fear not though, this is not a prelude to some horrible piece of disrespect by this writer but rather a shying away from the clichéd echoes of prefabricated sashaying of respects.

I found last Friday’s editorial in the Independent (“Guido and all our past”) a perfect description of Guido the man beyond Guido the collector of honorifics and titles. It was, in fact, the appreciation of Guido the man – outside of his ‘cursus honororum’ – that struck the right chords for the natural non-conformist in me. I too share an admiration for what Guido the man built through his love for the law, his amiable personality and his perennial road of discovery for the middle ground preferably through what he came to describe as the politics of persuasion. It was this man – a man who I did not know well enough – who probably was “perhaps too big for this country”.

For I am sure that Guido must have carried his enthusiasm and love for society from his early forays into student politics over half a century ago and that he bore this throughout his magnificent career. The closest I could get to Guido was as my criminal law lecturer as he patiently broke down the principal tenets of criminal law phrase by phrase, principle by principle in that calm but deep voice and in that slightly irritable Italianate twist. “Italianate” might usually be better used to describe a style of architecture and not to qualify an accent that emphasises and complements the Latin side of our Arabic language but that too was Guido – using the parts of speech and tricks of the art of oration as building blocks to drive his persuasive truths home. In his hands, even an obvious statement could become the unravelling of a mysterious truth hitherto unknown.

La contrattazione dolosa

I will never forget Guido’s description of the elements of proof in a criminal case as the ‘pillars that hold up the arches of truth’. The reason for this particular memory is a short anecdote from my time as a law student. It was the ‘oral season’ some time in 1996 when football had gone home and students gathered around a hastily assembled TV screen in the CCT building watching some football match from the European finals in anticipation of being called to the next room for the oral part of the examination (all the while hoping that they will be able to recall Carrara’s definition of theft before slipping into naming Italy’s first XI).

Orals would proceed late into the day – oblivious to the more important goings on in the world of sport – and I think I remember a colleague of mine turning up for his oral examination in tears right after England’s elimination so it must have been late in June. Anyway, the moment I was called in to the dreaded room I tried to put all footballing thoughts behind me and concentrated on the task at hand. Prof. de Marco (for that was his guise that day) sat before me along with two other examiners and immediately tried to put this nervous student at ease with a warm welcoming smile.

The usual pleasantries over, Profs got to give the parting shot and he asked me to describe the importance of the elements of proof and evidence in criminal proceedings. It was that usual feeling of having won the lottery for I could still see Profs pacing up and down the lecture theatre delivering his explanation on the “pillars that hold up the arches of truth” full of metaphors and parallels that drove the idea home. Just before I launched into the same detailed description I had heard in class, Profs’ mobile phone rang and he politely excused himself and moved to the back of the room to treat what undoubtedly must have been a more important matter than a third year student’s recollection on the importance of evidence.

Di cosa altrui

So I launched into this whole metaphorical description when all the while the platform before me lay bereft of the most crucial and understanding of listeners. The remaining examiners tolerated me to speak on for a while as their jaws fell further towards the ground. At one point the chain-smoker of the examiners decided to put a stop to what he evidently considered to be a load of waffle (the robotic examiner nodded in consent) and decided to remind me that this was Criminal Law not Classic Architecture. All the while, the only person to whom my side references to columns and artistry could have made sense was still lost in conversation with his back towards me and only returned at the end of this curt admonishment.

By then I had lost my nerve and even failed to hang on to the safety net thrown at me when I was asked to define homicide and blurted out a memorised definition of theft instead. Guido looked at me with a mixture of pity and consternation, probably wondering what had happened during his short absence and how I had descended to such depths of criminal misery. The rest of the oral is a blur of squirming out of the deep pit I had allowed myself to be drawn into, but the biggest lesson I learnt from it was that the art of metaphors and oration is one thing and cannot be hastily copied by any Johnny-come-lately especially under the duress of an oral examination.

Fatta invito domino

Last Friday’s The Malta Independent editorial described Guido’s passing away as “leaving a gaping hole in our national consciousness”. Guido will not only be remembered by that gathering of acolytes who are as common to our political landscape as are backhanders and nepotism but he will be remembered by a whole nation that is still coming to terms with the concepts of justice and liberty that embodied the very struggle of which he was one of the memorable leaders.

The man that was probably too big for his nation embodied a set of values that you could clearly agree or disagree with. There was no shuffling of feet and hesitant murmuring of the dithering student under examination – there was instead a clear assertion and sense of purpose. It is not by chance that Prof. Guido de Marco was the man who submitted Malta’s application to the European Union in the full understanding that our place was at the heart of the European Community.

The “gaping hole” in our national consciousness is also reflected in the gaping vacuum among the new generation of politicians unable to follow in the giant steps of their state-forming predecessors. Clarity of values has been slowly and gradually supplanted with the opportunistic waving of flags, and the vocational side of political service has all but disappeared. It is a telling truth that one of Guido’s most quoted phrases these days is the one where he thanked the Maltese people for allowing him to serve them for 40 years. Service: a sadly maligned word that has lost its former glory in this world of ambition and egoistic fervour.

Con l’animo di farne lucro

Farewell then dear Professor. When the emotions have calmed and the memories have been sifted you will surely still be remembered as a great man and a great politician. You chose an awkward time to leave us Guido (not that you had much say I presume). As the calm of Santa Maria weekend approached, this island of constant oxymorons threw another of its irrequietous tantrums with another explosion that from above might have seemed to be a last salute to your memory. It was an explosion that reminded us that we will never learn and that this stable democracy might probably do with some strong leadership. One that every once in a while lays down the law for the good of the people – no matter how much they might grumble and whinge.

You left at a moment when the very branches of this democracy are being shaken to their ends. It is a moment when local councillors of all shades are learning that politics is actually a matter of service and not a business for gain and pleasure. It is a moment that cries out for innovators and visionaries to replenish the dying souls of the centres of ideology in this country of ours, when the very party in which you proudly obtained most of your achievements is very evidently subject to a struggle for a new updated identity.

We are at odds with ourselves on many matters Profs, still scandalised by streakers long past midnight when most of us are in bed while we choose to close our eyes to the many obscenities that happen in front of our noses. We attempt to attract all of Europe’s greatest gamblers to our virtual home while raging against the gambling machines in our villages. We marry and we separate, as has happened from the beginning of time, but some of us still believe that divorce will bring on some new Armageddon.

Carrara

As yet we still have not got an effigy of Guido cast in carrara marble somewhere on the islands. There will probably be a time when such a statue will be erected by admirers of this most respected of Maltese sons. We do not have to wait for this to happen though in order to be able to remember the heritage left behind by il-Profs. The subtitles in this article are a homage to the criminal law lectures he delivered (architecture and all). Read together, they form the classic definition of theft by the Italian author Carrara. (The wrongful removal of an object, done without the consent of the owner, with the intention to make a profit thereof).

It’s going to be a sombre Santa Maria weekend, at least that’s what it looks like from here. We might profit of this quiet as a moment of much needed reflection as the nation takes time to mourn the loss of one of its respected sons. Farewell Guido, we are honoured to have had such a great servant among us.

www.akkuza.com is in ferragosto mode. Blogging is sporadic from here till September.

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J’accuse : Overnight Bags

Posted on 09. Aug, 2010 by jacques in Articles

It’s that time of the year when the arrival of the weekend heralds the packing of the overnight bag and a trip to some destination within driving distance of the Grand Duchy. It also means that the quality of the articles submitted to the Indy suffers from a telegraphic transformation as it is well nigh impossible to maintain a steady flow of coherent thought at about the same time as the mind wanders in parallel with what the encyclopaedia of the world has to throw at us.

Put briefly, the normal source of inspiration for the weekly J’accuse fare comes about as a not too summarised précis of the events populating the Internet of the previous week. At this time of the year, when the walking shoes are put on, we also add an extra set of feelers and listen to what the rest of the world is offering beneath its sun-kissed (hopefully) skies. For example, while the TV in some drive-by motel might announce record figures at the Edinburgh Fringe, and thus remind us that Art is more than alive and kicking in the more rational parts of the world, we prefer to sample this first hand by going out and about.

Walk through the cathedrals of illumination that are the bookstores in Blighty and you only stop for a minute to question whether that feeling of weirdness ever existed before getting your hands on a compendium of erotic literature that spans the centuries (The Collected Erotica – 2000 years of erotic literature available online at Waterstones) and pay for it at the check-out counter without feeling like you have violated a myriad laws of the state. “Life is easy abroad,” they will tell us Luxembourgers and Bruxellars with a wry smile. “You have no business reminding us how sad and oppressed the people of Malta are” they will say as they admonish us with much pointing of fingers and many a jealous gaze.

Intransigence

Funny how summer tends to bring out a regular parade of individuals intent on negating the attachment to Malta of their fellow countrymen simply because we do not have Malta as our one place of fixed abode at the moment. Apparently, we are no longer to be called expats but transfrontaliers or something of the sort. The phenomenon is not new on the continent; a Frenchman who commutes to Luxembourg for work will always consider himself to be a Frenchman rather than anything else and will be more worried about the advances (or otherwise) of Brother Sarkozy than in the intrigues of Juncker’s Luxembourg.

We are, however, the brigade that exists outremer (overseas) and that regularly pours articles of concerned disdain about the mishandling and mismanagement of our country. Our unbiased judgement (by national standards) is more often than not mistaken as some form of intellectual snobbishness since we can afford to stand aloof – far enough that we do not even need to peg our noses to avoid the stink. Woe betide mollycuddled (sorry Raphael, I like this version more – another jaccusism) expatriate tax-avoiders should they type even one word to criticise the goings on in the land of Milk and Honey.

Tired of the PLPN rant, I resolved to use the eighth month of the year for mental regeneneration in the hope that new ideas replace the mantra of old. No more Fear and Loathing in Valletta for us. In the meantime we notice, without any trace of humility, that the blog “e-volution” has been a partial catalyst to some form of mediatic development that was previously untraceable. Paul Borg Olivier will choose his boat trips more carefully next time around and he will do so because – notwithstanding all cynicism and conspiracy theories – such trips no longer go unnoticed.

Emancipation

Last week I criticised the Front Against Censorship for its choice of medium for protesting against the current state of the freedom of expression. The reaction to my criticism has prompted much of this article this week. I stand by my original statement – not with any intention of discouraging the young lads (ah, how I yearn for the folly of youth) from their task, but rather to urge them into more proactive action. Bring the Fringe to the streets of Malta. Fill space with ideas and darkness with light. The protest is not just a means in itself, it could become the very expression that the Front are rightly reclaiming.

The Internet is a wonderful medium of empowerment and expression. It is still, I believe, an unknown factor in Maltese social life and politics. We have still to see what the numbers are behind the equations – what is a “popular website”? , “What can we consider to be the maximum threshold for a Maltese website in terms of hits?” “how net literate are we?”. New battle lines are being drawn on the ether as Google controversially toys with the concept of “internet neutrality”. After its bumpy honeymoon with the Chinese giant, Google still seems to be hungry for power that ill befits its slogan of “Do no evil”.

Books

No overnight bag would be complete without a book to accompany you on the journey. I still have not got used to the e-book reader thanks to the hundreds of snags afforded by proprietary rights so I still depend on the printed word. I’m stocking up on a mixture of classics this summer – books I should have read long ago. From On the Road (Kerouac) to Kafka’s Castle through to a gigantic compendium on the history of Christianity. The best catch of the week has to be Thucydides’ History – an illustrated bumper hardback that is a veritable time machine into the days of our forefathers.

When I tire of the books, I switch to photography and editing – a new, very amateurish hobby of mine. Books and cameras will accompany me on any journey. During that journey I will sample the goods and delicacies of the lands I visit – like the memorable Winston Churchill burger I once washed down in Chaucer’s Canterbury. It was a home-made burger with all the right spices coated in sweet onions and a lovely capping of melted Stilton. As rudely pleasant as the Wife of Bath (God bade us for to ‘wexe’ and ‘multiplye’).

Art cannot die because if art dies then mankind is dead. It accompanies us to the depths of the earth. This expression business has really stuck in my head more than any other issue that has been in the headlines in Malta recently. It is a sad situation at the moment because it is a sad reflection on a country with so much potential that can only be wasted thanks to our trend for internecine warfare and jealous ideals. Frankly, I’m switching off the thinking cap for the next few weeks as I absorb, absorb, absorb.

For the world has so much to offer. If we’re prepared to listen that is.

www.akkuza.com is sort of packing its bags every weekend this summer. Join us in the interim and check out our views. As we type, publisher Chris Gruppetta has guest posted about what he thinks is the next big step in the freedom of expression saga. Gesundheit.

J’accuse : Nolens Volens

Posted on 02. Aug, 2010 by jacques in Articles

Art is not dead. The Front Against Censorship (FAC) may parade along Republic Street in a make-believe funeral, along with the usual suspects and hanger-on politicians, proclaiming that Art with a capital “A” is henceforth to be considered defunct and that the muses shall muse no more. They may paint the words “Art is dead” along the length of the coffin carried solemnly to the beat of the drums and the roar of the megaphone, but what they profess is a lie.

Art is not dead. It is alive and kicking in all its forms – from the amateur to the mediocre to the professionally entertaining. Whether it is to be seen prostituting itself in exchange for monetary tokens of appreciation, or whether it spontaneously erupts from the pen, the voice or the flash of one who has just been visited by the aforementioned muses, it continues in its existence quite happily and oblivious to all the fuss being made about its very own death.

Last week’s procession of the dozens (I am guilty of not attending but not for the same reasons as John Attard Montalto MEP) only contributed to the general theatrical air surrounding the whole issue of “censorship v expression” and risked becoming another caricature in the running saga. The Front has come up with a list of instances when art and expression have supposedly been on the wrong end of the long arm of the law. They range from the banning of biblical figures during carnival to various photo shoots being called off (remember the model in a cemetery?) to the infamous instances of Realtà and Stitching.

It’s now official – the Front has become a full-fledged whingeing member of this molly-cuddled pseudo-democracy. Theirs is not a reaction of artists angered by risible instances of conservative hypocrisy but the reaction of brainwashed citizens who actually believe that a coffin and a couple of megaphones is what it takes to get the dominant elements of our society to wake up and smell the coffee. In this country, where counter-culture translates into simply being a normal 21st century cosmopolitan person, our “artists” have chosen to abdicate their responsibilities.

‘Opera morta’

I shall not pretend for one moment to be able to define art. What I do believe is that in times of societal poverty and intellectual blandness, society sub-consciously depends on its reserve of artists and intellectuals for inspiration for change. Rarely has society welcomed artists and intellectuals with open arms – rather, it has more often than not kicked them down and attempted to silence them. On the other hand, those artists who have been trampled upon and shunned did not congregate in the middle of the main thoroughfares of Europe to protest “It’s not fair” but preferred to use their art to expose the hypocrisy of their very persecutors. Action. Reaction.

Not in Malta though. My suggested choice of action for the artistic fraternity would have been a self-imposed nationwide moratorium on the arts. No more plays by actors, no more songs to be sung and no more paintings to be exhibited (continue in this vein). A silent veil would be drawn over the whole works as the supposed audience is starved of such outlets of expression. For if the Civil Court – when assessing a play from the point of view of a reasonable man – is unable to grasp concepts such as suspension of reality, metaphors and the very essence of representative art, then it is not art that is dead but the very spectators that have slipped into some sort ofpermanent coma.

The FAC should not be angry at the “authorities” (even in their wide definition of the term that includes private art galleries) but should get busy urging artists to embark on a nationwide awareness campaign of what art is about and why it is an integral part of the soul of society. They should be provoking the man in the street to think himself out of the self-imposed rigidity and vacuum bubble. Rather than writing eulogies on Art’s tomb, they should be making the sorts of noises (or silences) that bring the current situation to everyone’s attention – using the very medium whose death they are supposed to be lamenting. My idea of a moratorium is only one way of making the right impact. When I bounced that idea off some friends they reacted typically: “Who would notice?” Would anyone notice that the artists have gone on strike? Is our situation that dire?

Willy-nilly

It all boils down to the “audience” or rather to the citizens that make up our Republic. They are citizens brought up on the Myth of Saint Paul, the Bedtime Story of Count Roger, the Saga of the Great Siege and the Narrative of Malta – Blitzed but Not Beaten. Our tiny nation has had its defining moments that were then cemented with the musical chair moments of Integration – Independence – Republic – Freedom – European Union Membership. We read the story line convinced that, like the Israelites, we too are the chosen people and that fate will inevitably look favourably upon us and that everyone and everything in the world will owe us a living because we are after all the islands where civilisation practically kicked off – how else would you explain the Neolithic temples?

Try to look back at the narrative again and introduce one new element – inevitability. Think of every step as having been inevitable – that it would have occurred with or without, and not thanks to, the inhabitants of the time. Saul of Tarsus or no Saul of Tarsus, we would still have had a couple of hundred years as a mostly Muslim people and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Roger was the last of many of Tancred’s sons scrambling for some territory, and although the story of the Great Siege would make for a lovely Guy Ritchie film it would not be the last of its kind.

There were similar perils to “Christendom” faced in Vienna and Buda, and the Ottomans only turned away because they got distracted elsewhere. Meanwhile “Christian” Europe – seeing another day and another Hail Mary thanks to the valiant Maltese (no doubt) – would soon be immersed in a fratricidal war that would render any effects of La Valette’s last stand hugely inconsequential (the Thirty Years War pitting Christian versus Christian).

The Malta-centric narrative is badly in need of a couple of blows to the stomach. Our political representatives have long feasted on our gullibility within this context and fed us more propagandistic drivel fit for the 20th century. I have once before drawn the opprobrium of die-hard Nationalists by stating that European membership was an inevitable obvious step for this country and we got there in spite of our political establishment and not thanks to any part of it. The PN was lucky enough to have a blind, incompetent adversary who believed (for an incredibly long time) that membership was anathema and thus could step into the shoes of supposed saviours of the nation – much like good old Dom had conned the other half of the nation into believing the Helsien joke a couple of decades before. In a normal, civilised and rational country, we would have been joining the EU without so much as a referendum. The equation was all too clear – out was not an option, it was a disaster.

Yet. Yet. Yet. Even in the most obvious of situations – a no-brainer – a large part of the population had to have the wool lifted from its eyes and had to be dragged unwillingly – nolens volens – along with the rest. Still I find the assertion of Nationalist flag-wavers that “dahhalnikom fl-Ewropa” (we put you into Europe) so pathetically absurd. Little do they know what a great part they had in almost getting us to miss this supposedly most obvious of targets. Sic transit gloria Melitae (Thus passes the glory of Malta).

Mules and asses

The latest “discussion” (should I say dialogue) on censorship and divorce has once again brought out the nolens volens element of Maltese society and of its most honourable representatives. You can imagine one great mass insisting as obstinately as possible on moving against the signs of the times: “because it has always been so”, “because those are our values and traditions”, “because God wants us to be his soldiers” and other such drivel. We are by nature a people who would have been ignored by history but who, through an incredible twist of geopolitical necessity, seem to always end up in the thick of some action or other (and manage to take the credit).

The fundamental right of expression and the civil right of divorce are a bit more complicated than the no-brainer of inevitable membership of a large economic and political union. This time, fate and destiny might not be so willing to lend a helping hand and we risk becoming the victims of our own obstinacy and our conservatism founded on myth. It is time to break the old narratives and rediscover our true likeness in order to better understand where we want to go next. It’s not going to be an easy task.

The tsk-tskers and tut-tutters in Balluta who turned on the bikini-clad lass like a mediaeval crowd of peasants minus the pitchforks exemplify the type of people who will have to be dragged nolens volens into the age of reason. Then there were those who harassed the prankster who had the audacity to pitch a deckchair on the hallowed ground of Saint George’s Square (The Times report claimed that some people hurled insults at him). There’s the huge mass of automatic voters who cancel each other out at the poll every five years, and then there’s plenty more where those came from so it will take more than a coffin ride through Republic Street to swing the balance away from their considerable (voting) clout.

‘Eppur’ si muove’ (and yet it moves)

Meanwhile, Tonio Fenech’s men have published the Pre-Budget Document and I am using it as my choice bedtime reading for the next week. I’m already horrified by the government’s idea of “creative works” – surely, given the current environment, a statement like “Government is committed to championing the creative economy” is grossly misplaced. There are other interesting insights to be had from this pre-budget document entitled “Ideas, Vision and Discussion” and I’ll have more to say about it next week.

In the meantime, a bit of news from that other intransigent, conservative institution of power. The Vatican has been getting some heat with regard to the radio masts of Radio Vaticana. In response to allegations linking their masts to tumours the Radio responded: ““Il nesso tra tumori e onde elettromagnetiche non è scientificamente dimostrato” (The link between tumours and electromagnetic waves has not been scientifically proven). Scientifically proven? The Vatican? Now if you don’t see the irony in that one, don’t ask me to help you…. I’d hate to have to explain it in (the civil) court.

www.akkuza.com is back at the home away from home. The weather here is miserable, which probably explains the time we have to spare for “Ideas, Vision and Discussion”.

J’accuse : Intemperate Winds

Posted on 25. Jul, 2010 by jacques in Articles

It’s a windy Sunday, or at least it’s supposed to be. That’s if the weatherman got his calculations right and a strong wind should have been blowing across the island since last night acting as a downright spoiler to whatever estival events you might have planned. For me that means that a boat trip with the extended family will not be taking place this afternoon and that I will have to forego the last visit to the various nooks and crannies of Comino and Gozo. To others, this ill wind scattering uninvited across the isles has meant a forfeit of an evening of melodic entertainment with Malta’s favourite musical son and Signor Cocciante.

Doubtless the anti-open theatre lobby will already be smirking and repeating the “I told you so” mantra about the usefulness of open air theatres and events in Malta. The crowing started earlier this week when the predicament of the European Baroque Orchestra showed up the limitations imposed by our humid environment on most instruments in open air. To be fair I did not really see the point of so much complaining when I sat through the splendidly set Midsummer Night’s Dream in the Argotti gardens (Bravo Globe Theatre people). While the occasional firework might have proven to be a slight distraction every now and then, the most distracting noise on the evening turned out to be a tiff between cats towards the end of the performance.

All this probably leaves a hung jury on the business of the pros and cons of outside performances at the end of the day although I am beginning to be convinced by the arguments favouring a revision of the City Gate plans to incorporate a roofed lot where the Opera House used to be.

Mistral

But back to the ill wind. It has been a splendiferous couple of days barring the couple of hours when the sweltering heat combined with the drenching humidity sufficed to send any reasonable man in tilt. I cannot stop singing the praises of some of Malta’s finest beaches – top among which must be Ghadira Bay. It might take a humungous effort of coordination and civic consciousness but the crystal waters and the absence of beach louts are enough to make you want to visit the beach again, again and again. Undoubtedly Malta’s best advert is Mother Nature herself.

Unfortunately we do not seem to be too keen on preserving the more natural side of the equation. It’s not just nature in the tree-hugging sort of sense. There are also more modern kinds of pollution that lead me to marvel at how tourists are not abandoning the islands in droves. Whatever happened, for example, to the rule/law of no major construction works in tourist areas in the summer months? Have the PLPN benefactors had their way again? Why does the man with the jackhammer still wake up anyone within listening distance of Church Street, Paceville at 8am and how does he walk away from his job after four hours daily of constant hammering. Does not prolonged use of a pneumatic drill turn a man into a human vibrator?

Another thing. Who, and with what divine inspiration, allowed the myriad cranes to apparate along the main thoroughfares of Paceville without so much of a by your leave? Paceville must be the only corner of Malta to witness 24-hour gridlock. The carefully planned (do you smell the sarcasm?) blockage of more parking spaces in Saint George’s Road (for Pender Place trucks to exit occasionally) must be second in uselessness only to the massive new “No Parking” footprint (at least six places) blocked out by the new boutique student harem/hotel known as The George. You would think that if new hotels come complete with underground parking they need not block a whole street of parking places.

Scirocco

Out on a boat trip on Friday (course reunion – never put 14 lawyers in one boat – which is why we used two) I could witness the growth and growth of the buildings along the coast from Valletta to Comino. Sliema is particularly impressive though not, obviously, to the levels of the Manhattan skyline that one can see on an evening trip on the New York Water taxi. A question that rings through your mind as you cruise along the beautiful waters is how much public land is dedicated to private building and foreclosed from public use. The saddest picture of them all must be the tiny tower dwarfed by a hotel in the Saint George’s Bay area. It yells for help surrounded by the walls of concrete – a fate soon to be shared by the tower at the end of Tigné Point.

One of my colleagues raised an interesting question regarding the foul smelling tuna farms. Technically speaking the area of the sea in which these tuna farms are kept is public property. How much of that public property generates returns to the benefit of the nation? Which set me thinking that if this was Venezuela we’d have nationalised the tuna farms ages ago. Instead we make do with a pittance of taxation on a product reared on public property and which incidentally leaves a nice oily trail on our seabed. Spiffin’.

Levante

Leaving nature and the seabed behind us there’s still things political going on in this island of Don Camillo and Peppone. News of Sliema’s young mayor being locked out of his own council’s emergency meeting made the headlines this week as yet another mayor seems to have to deal with a mutiny on his hands. This follows hot on the heels of the Fgura incident where another young mayor was sidelined by his own party – supposedly for his own good. Are the young studs of the PLPN stables finding the kitchen too hot to handle?

Meanwhile in Zebbug it was not the mayor making the headlines but the parish priest. Father Daniel Cardona erected a temporary billboard (we assume it is temporary for there is a temporary indulgence of 21 days from the requirement of Mepa permits if a billboard has a socio-religious function). The infamous quote of Malachi 2:16 has now become “God does not want divorce” – to which the obvious answer should be “God has no vote”.

Now I have no problem with the Catholic Church or members thereof airing their opinion publicly about the best future of civil legislation on the institute of marriage and its possible dissolution. As any other member of this open society of ours, and as one which has long influenced its staggered progress towards the future, the Church too has a role and understandable influence on what happens in our society. Which does not mean to say that its “catholic” and universal elements still hold automatically. If the civil debate on whether or not to allow divorce should centre around the issue of whether deities approve of such dissolution then we might as well resort to augurs and the slaying of goats on altars as we read the signs in their entrails.

This is proving to be hard to explain to the weak-willed believers who are unable to come to terms with the fact that the availability of divorce does not perforce mean that they themselves will be forced to avail of it. I should hope that we will not get stuck discussing the finer elements of divination while ignoring the more secular of arguments that should be relevant to this discussion. Once again J’accuse laments the fact that the only party with the balls to take a definite stand on the issue of the introduction of divorce is the one that has been effectively ostracised by the voting population. Such is our ironic predicament. Bring on the cohabitation Bill – there seems not to be a Malachi quote to tell us of God’s will on that particular issue.

Libeccio

I’ve left the worst wind for Gozitan commuters for last. I didn’t spend enough time on Gozo this time round and must make amends as soon as possible. Last Sunday though I did get to eat at one of Gozo’s best kept secrets. Il-Lantern restaurant at Marsalforn (part of the guesthouse in Qbajjar Road) serves what is probably the best rabbit spaghetti and stew in the whole of the Maltese islands. A footballing buddy of my youth, Rafel, braves the heat of the kitchen to provide you with a five-star homely stew fit for the palate of a king. Don’t expect refined silver service – it would not befit the ambience – but do expect a welcoming smile and good hearty food that your grandma would enjoy without batting an eyelid. Sunday visitors can also buy the Indy on the way in.

It’s been a fun break back home packed with sun, food and sea. It will be hard to slog back to Mitteleuropa where the winds are known to reach over 120 km/h and where most concerts and activities are held indoors in magnificent theatres but a man needs to get bread to the table. Even if most of it is gluten free. I’m over and out from Paceville, Saint Julian’s, Malta.

www.akkuza.com returns to Luxembourg by Tuesday. Back to basics and blogging for Malta’s longest-running source of indy punditry.

This article and accompanying Bertoon appear in today’s edition of The Malta Independent on Sunday

J’accuse: “Forni Gate” and the Jazzy Ensemble

Posted on 18. Jul, 2010 by jacques in Articles

We finally made it to Malta and the excruciating heat (not much change there). An early morning three-hour drive and a damned stomach bug, which kicked off its effects from 4am, did not prevent us from getting onto the Malta-bound plane from Frankfurt. Funny how you can drive for three hours without a problem in Germany but have a very adventurous 20-minute trip from Luqa to Paceville, slipping back into cussing mode with self-drive rental car drivers.

All that Jazz

Having slept all afternoon on Thursday, I forewent the traditional first dip and only regained my senses in time to get to the jazz festival (on Thursday, missed the first acts though). It’s a well-organised festival of sound, mind you, and you could tell the enthusiasts from the hangers-on from a mile away. It all depended on how they twisted their face. The ones with their face screwed up in rigorous attention looking as though they would burst into orgasmic ecstasy following an epiphanic progression of notes and melodies were definitely the jazz buffs. They looked Sterner than Stern and would only occasionally switch to an appreciative swaying or clapping – most of the time the concentration on the deepest intricacies of this genre that grows on you (presumably like a wart but nicer) led them to bearing Lascaris-like faces.

Then there were the others whose faces were twisted as though in the eternal suffering of some recently scratched purgatory. Their expressions varied from “bring back the vuvuzela” to “who the hell gave those kids their toys and why do they have to practise on stage?” They gathered in inconspicuous circles and confessed to each other that they couldn’t quite fathom what the fuss for this ruckus was really all about, and concurred that if they could, they would revive the Hector Bruno eighties mass meeting act on stage as a merciful compromise.

I say “they” but surely (and shamefully) I should say “we”, for I must confess that I formed part of this ignorant clique whose presence could only be explained because they form part of the chain of junkies of all things remotely labelled as “cultural”. Yes, we were there because the event came with a ticket, the venue was naturally and historically spectacular and even the food on offer in the stalls was more than a few marks above the clichéd concert nosh. And we enjoyed it in spite of several notes and riffs and other such noises creeping up behind us as unexpectedly as a JPO Divorce Bill and releasing bursts of cacophonic ear-bell nauseating sounds. It was, in its own way, very emotional.

Forni Gate

We walked back to our legally parked car past Valletta Waterfront and I noticed a number of tourists still looking for an extension of their night out. The majority of the Waterfront shops had already gone into sleep mode. Where’s the fun in summer with bars closing at 12.30? Does a tourist not deserve a quiet cocktail on the Valletta waterfront in the silence of the early hours of the morning? Maybe not, but in any case my intention was not to complain about bar opening hours but rather to mention my linguistic discovery on the way to the Waterfront from Ta’ Liesse.

As we ambled from concert to car, taking in the latest developments in this area that is planned to receive thousands of tourists every year (maybe hundreds of thousands), we noticed, for example the “Magazzino” embarkation place for tourists. It fits very nicely into the surroundings and adds a nice touch to the foot of the bastions. Before the Magazzino though (I think) we passed one of the many gates serving the mooring posts by the port. The clear signage announced to anyone who cared to read it that this was… drum roll here… “Forni Gate”.

Now there’s an ironic gate for a tourist to walk through on arriving in Malta. A rather misleading encouragement I would say. Shouldn’t they add a postil or something? Something like “but not in public and definitely not in hotel rooms in case some MP or other develops a sudden interest in your private activities?” Even better we could add, “You might try but we care about this more than you would ever like to know”.

An international gate consisting of an imperative to copulate? OK, the word association made after a few hours of jazz-related disorientation is a bit childish but, hell – it is rather ironic, isn’t it? I’d heard of the Austrian town of “Fucking” (google it… I’m NOT making this up), I’d driven by the German town of “Katzen” and read of Titty Hill (England), Bald Knob (Arkansas) as well as Twatt (Scotland), but I was quite sure that the country that had opposed the acronym O.S.C.E. (rejected) would make sure that no such unfortunate slips would occur in its topography.

Censored ships

Let’s face it. Were this any other time in our variegated history, the (childish, I repeat) issue of the unfortunate naming of a Valletta entrance (resulting from an Anglo Italian corroboration) would not be worth writing about. The combined effect of various moralistic issues being presented from the platform of hypocrisy and ingenuity does lend itself to parody and satire of the not too refined kind. As I type, a local paper reports that Anthony Neilson’s play Stitching has been awarded a 14 rating at the internationally famous Fringe Festival in Edinburgh. The hard-nosed protestant Scots (stereotype warning) will allow 14-year-olds to watch a play that was rated in Malta as being “unsuitable for any audience”.

Forget the criminal code. This is not a question of protecting the infants, is it? It is really a question of being unable to look outside the cave and beyond the shadows and reflections for fear of noticing that there is a whole world out there (and in here – though we cannot see it) that we cannot contemplate with our limited philosophy. I’m sorry if I have to harp on this matter for a second week, but surely we must realise how dangerous the path is that we have chosen to tread.

It’s the intolerant attitude that is absolutely flabbergasting. Forget penises in paintings in some art gallery in Gozo. The issue is much wider than that. The issue is that in this particular corner of the world there are people who would want to impose their life choices on others. It is not so much an issue of majority versus minority as it is an issue of crass interference. There is another ironic own goal to be registered here: the craving for legislation banning anything that goes against a particular set of morals also reflects an innate weakness in the bearers of such morals. What they are saying in effect is that if such things as provocative art or legislation to dissolve marriage contracts were available, then they would be too hard an attraction for them to resist. The solution? Ban them.

Summer politics

Which brings me back to the divorce question. I’ll set aside the detailed arguments for my blog. All I need to point out here (again) is that divorce should not even require any debate. The contradictions are that our two representative parties need to shuffle their legs and drag their feet while amusing us with musings of consultation peppered with quasi-fatwas of moralistic fervour. We will have a government that has no qualms regulating cohabitation while still opposing (at least in its majority) the introduction of divorce because of the deleterious effect it has on marriages.

We have a mad hot summer to discuss the possibility of divorce legislation ever happening. Some are already giving up as the ugly head of intolerant conservatism begins to bark and rant. I suggest we focus on a wider question – the very common line that runs through both the divorce and censorship issues. Are we really too scared to look in the mirror and see what we really are? Do we really want to bury our heads in the sand and continue perpetrating the myth of this “catholic nation”? There is nothing wrong with trying to be a catholic nation – if it were one that can proudly count among its citizenry a subset of people with a set of values that can only strengthen our social backbone then it is all well and good. I start to worry when the catholic fortress turns out to be a shambles that can only be saved (can it really?) through coercion and imposition of lifestyle choices on everybody else.

‘Bieb l-iFran’

It does not have the same ring does it? I kid you not though. Forni Gate does exist and you can snap your Facebook photo standing beside it on your next visit to the waterfront. This holiday has started quite well and I do not mean to be mean to the jazz enthusiasts – my lack of interest in the genre is surely my loss and not theirs. I’m looking forward to the next week of hot sun and sea back home and this weekend will start with a visit to the sister homeland, where J’accuse began.

www.akkuza.com wishes a happy feast to the Stilla crew in Victoria. Send creative snapshots of Forni Gate and we will publish them on the blog.

J’accuse: A nation divorced from reality

Posted on 11. Jul, 2010 by jacques in Articles

A few months ago I mentioned, in an interview on Dissett, that blogs were holding a mirror up to our society and that our society did not like what it saw. The process of reflection has been going on for some time now and whether it is the sudden urgency with which we are discussing Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando’s Bill or whether we are lost in the aftermath of the Stitching decision in court, we are constantly confronted with a picture of Maltese society – warts and all.

Much has been made of this idea that the battle between conservatives and progressives has reached its defining moment, but there is more to it than the centuries-old battle between preservation and change. While following debates on both divorce and censorship over the past week, I have noticed a trend in some of the arguments. Both subjects deal with specific values and bring to the discussion table a plethora of issues that have for a long time been dealt with quietly and away from the public eye. There lies an important point for this argument. I harbour a strong suspicion that one field in this debate – that of the conservative elements who are normally both anti-divorce and pro-censorship – is firmly rooted in denial.

This denial is built around a permanent incapacity to reconcile the facts thrown at them daily by the world around them with the principles and dogmas that they have been brought up to regurgitate. There is an innate inability to question and examine the unfamiliar allied with an ability to blot out huge portions of their own experience that would be incongruous with the very principles they would love to follow. It’s complicated. But you’ll soon see what I mean.

I can’t believe it’s not Shakespeare

Back in the time when I could play football for hours during break without fearing for life and limb, I used to return to my fourth form English literature lessons looking forward to the latest text on offer. I still vividly remember a particular play about a dysfunctional, murderous couple who were never up to any good. The woman (should I say woman?) in particular was quite a devil of a woman. To this day I am impressed by the passage of the play where she invokes the spirits to unsex her pronto and to transform her into the very embodiment of cruelty that is bereft of any remorse – a machine honed to commit any form of evil without any pangs of conscience.

That a woman would be prepared to relinquish her very own sex in order to become a perfect evil machine was surprising enough. There was more though. She then proceeds to invite murderers to come suckle from her breasts that, thanks to the aforementioned transformation, no longer provided maternal milk but had been transformed into a source of gall. Gall being of course the mediaeval word for wrath, anger, hatred… you get my drift.

Behind every great man lies a great woman. With this couple the woman is both schemer and mastermind, egging on a weak-willed husband to murder and remorseless backstabbing for the sake of power. When her husband’s will seems to wane and when he seems to be reneging on his conspiratorial promises, she once again provides him with an inspiring speech. Well, inspiring is one way of putting it. What she does tell her pussy-footing husband is that if it was her being held to her word, she would do so even if she had promised to bash the brains of her own infant. Her nonchalance is legendarily spine-chilling. She has “given suck” she says and “knows how tender ‘tis to love the babe that milks me”, but she would still “while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this”.

A charming Lady she must have been, no doubt, this Mrs Macbeth. For yes messieurs et mesdames, this devilish dysfunctional couple is none other than the ill-fated Thane of Cawdor, Glamis, etc and his belovèd wife, and the play in question was written by the much acclaimed Bard of Avon himself – one Mr Shakespeare William of Stratford-upon-Avon. Given that the shenanigans to which these two got up could easily fall within the parameters of dangerous sexual perversions, as well as the imagery of assault and murder of suckling babes, it is a wonder how our English teacher – good, old Ms T. Friggieri – managed to present this play to a class of young impressionable adolescents without too much trouble.

Censor this?

Even if Ms Friggieri had the text whipped from her hands by Malta’s punctilious Bord ta’ Klassifika ta’ Pellikoli u Palk (hard one that, given that she is also the chairperson of said board), we could always fall back on William Golding’s magnificent Lord of the Flies and the wonderful metaphor of collective sexual climax among shipwrecked pre-adolescent boys as they stab away at a pig while being carried away in an ecstasy of violent and murderous pleasures. Who ever said school literature was boring? I wonder what the kids at Saint Aloysius’ College are reading today in the post-Stitching world. And will the Jesuits take the pupils on a trip to the cinema over Easter to watch Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ replete with exaggerated scenes of violence and sadistic suffering far beyond anything found in the Scriptures?

Gibson, Golding and Shakespeare. All use their medium to deliver a message. The audience is not expected to sit back and literally consume all that is set out before it but is rather expected to question the content. The complex characters in Shakespeare’s Macbeth expose the dangers of a quest for power – Tolkien gives us the Ring, Shakespeare gives us an unsexed half-demonic woman prepared to bash the brains of her own suckling offspring. Golding examines humanity at its most crude and Gibson? Well, Gibson took the narrative of the suffering of the Son of God and exaggerated it beyond recognition. By the very standards imposed by the Stitching decision, Gibson’s film should never have made it to the silver screens in Malta (nor, should we really be punctilious, should most tracts of the Bible).

I could go on. The list is endless. As Rupert Cefai rightly pointed out, we might be the victims of our own hypocrisy. We would be prepared to censor the portrayal of a father lifting a dagger to the skies about to murder his own son as being “violent” and “offensive to sentiments”, but we might change tack if we called the dad Abraham and the son Isaac. Every narrative has its medium and, yes, some are quite shocking. But the mere fact that they are intended to provoke does not mean that they are “bad” or “censurable”. In the end we must ask the question: Are we protecting our values or are we cushioning ignorance? The debate (unfortunately) continues.

He ain’t heavy, he’s my Jeffrey

Michael Briguglio, AD’s chairman, penned a brilliant article last Friday called “Censoring (post)-Modernity” and you can find it on www.mikes-beat.blogspot.com. In the article, he argues that when referring to “Maltese civilisation” the Court that gave us the Stitching decision was actually referring to “the dominant interests of the dominant institutions in Malta”. It goes without saying that, having written of the dangers of the stranglehold of bipartisan politics in Malta for over five years, J’accuse is in full agreement with Mike. The mainstream of both political parties is unable to deal with substantial issues such as divorce or the latest questions of censorship.

The traditionalist stranglehold must not necessarily be seen with a chiaroscuro sense of “good or evil”. It does, however, threaten to choke the rights and expressions of a different (and growing) minority aspiring to a more liberal (or if you like a toned down term, a more personal) lifestyle. This is the unrepresented minority that is not content with having others think for itself. It’s the same unrepresented minority that would like to be provoked and challenged with new ideas and which believes that the building block of society deserves a shot at a second chance if it is broken, and irretrievably so. It believes in not imposing its values and thoughts on others but, ironically, it also still feels part of the social fabric that keeps us all together.

Which brings me to JPO (abbreviation for convenience) and his Bill. It’s clumsy and elegant at the same time. It’s oxymoronically magnificent and has shocked the lethargic dinosaurs plodding at the head of Mike’s “dominant institutions” into action. Shocked was GonziPN (the man, the label and the immediate entourage) by the sudden need to take a stand without faffing away or hiding in a bishop’s frock (plus the lurking danger of a new perceived fragmentation of the party). Shocked was Muscat’s Progressive Party by the sudden realisation that its bluff, with all its flaws and miscalculations, had been called and that the honeymoon with all things progressive would soon be over once the cover has been blown. The lone part-time farmer, journalist and dentist from Zebbug had struck again with a vengeance and hooray for that. Yes, we applaud JPO for this shock treatment. No wonder we chose him as our Personality of the Year in 2008.

The Bill itself has a long way to go and there are many tricks up the sleeves of the dominant institutions before we could actually see a proper divorce bill introduced (hopefully not this cut and paste Irish job). There’s free votes and qualms of conscience, there’s an uphill battle to educate about the tutelage of minority rights, there’s a possible refusal by a Catholic President to sign the bill (an excuse to get out of the way after the recent faux pas?), and then there is the mother of all threats: an abrogative referendum. For if fundamental fanatics like the GoL people can go to extremes to coerce parliamentarians into signing bits of nonsense, how can we not expect equivalent tactics to get a future divorce bill abrogated by busybodies who would tell you when and where to copulate, if they could.

The battle lines have been drawn. Right now we should focus on the debate rather than on the people jumping in and out of the limelight. I for one am grateful for the empowered journals with their mini-video vox pops that persist in their duty to lift the mirror straight into the face of Maltese society but please, please, someone get that Board of Censors to prohibit the use of the phrase “as such” in an interview. This practical debate (fortunately) has begun.

Encyclopaedic

This article threatens to reach the encyclopaedic levels of old and that is because of the two subjects that provoke endless discussion. Do pop over to J’accuse the blog because we have been having quite a few interesting exchanges over the last few weeks. We’ll be writing and blogging from home base (Malta) next week and you’ll be able to hear about the latest ECHR case obliging a state to provide a proper set-up for its residents abroad to be able to vote (cheers to the Runs for the flagging). I pick up my rental car on Thursday morning and I hope that the roads will be a little calmer than has been reported over the last few days. Easy on the gas pedal, guys.

Finally, the World Cup will be one match short of being over by the time you finish reading this article. We will either have Spanish or Dutch celebrations – either way it’s a European victory, which is small consolation for those of us whose hopes lay elsewhere in the beginning. Unlike the eight-limbed cephalopod of note, my predictions for this world cup have been absolutely atrocious but I am still convinced that we have seen some good football. Speaking of the World Cup and Octopi, I leave you with a quote I pulled from Facebook. It’s by a colleague and fellow Juventino Damien Degiorgio:

“I’ve got nothing against Paul but World Cups used to be remembered for a Paul Gascoigne, a Paolo Rossi or Paolo Roberto Falcao, not for Paul the octopus” – brilliant.

(Errata Corrige: Chief Justice Roberts is NOT resigning as erroneously asserted in last week’s J’accuse. Chief Justice is there for life (a bit like a pet) – it is Justice John Stevens who has retired and will be replaced by Elena Kagan. Thanks to Indy readers the Jacobin and John Lane for the quick corrections.)

www.akkuza.com – uncensored, uncut, and unmarried. “Two-thirds of the country is divorced from reality. The rest would vote for divorce.” – from this week’s J’accuse.

J’accuse : Courting Justice

Posted on 04. Jul, 2010 by jacques in Articles

I’ve just watched Ghana get unceremoniously kicked out of the World Cup by an unsinkable Uruguay team. Having already witnessed a despondent Brazil being outmanoeuvred and outwitted by a resilient Netherlands, I started to strongly believe that there is no footballing god. When Luis Suarez punched the ball off the line in the last of the 120 minutes of an incredible football match, I had hoped that, finally, some divine justice had been served on a plate and that the Black Stars would be the deserving representatives of a whole continent, come the semi-finals.

Instead, up stepped the hapless Asamoah Gyan – a 25-year-old gentle giant who had outrun and outlasted everyone else on the field – and he took the weight and responsibility of a whole continent in those last fatal steps before opting for power rather than accuracy and slamming the ball against that fateful crossbar. Uruguay had been let off the hook and the Russian roulette of a penalty shootout ensued.

It was too much for the Ghanaians, who had ran their hearts into the ground and given it their all. They were out, and with them were the hopes of a whole continent. Like Cameroon (England in 1990) and Senegal (Turkey in 2002) before them, Ghana proved unable to break the jinx of the quarter-finals for the African representatives. You had to yell it in the end. “This is unfair. This is not how it was meant to be.” The air was pregnant with exclamation marks of disappointment. The whole of the world (ok, except maybe large parts of Montevideo) cried out for justice.

Just Desserts

It’s a slippery business this justice thingy. Take football for example. It revolves around a set of rules that are (mostly) over a hundred years old but which continue to be interpreted and applied in real time by that most reviled species of human beings – the referee. Argentina’s first goal against Mexico, Luis Fabiano’s handling of the ball before scoring, Van Bommel’s uncarded efforts to destroy the legs of half the Brazil squad and, of course, the ball that crossed the line for everyone except the Uruguayan ref (there you go again with Uruguay) – they are all instances of split-second justice-making deliveries by a human being. In each case there will be a nation yelling “foul”, yelling “injustice” as well as yelling a few more unprintable expletives directed at the referee, his assistants and, in some cases, his immediate family.

Leaving the unprintable expletives (and the reason why, apparently, they are unprintable) aside, have you noticed that the subject of justice and the dispensation thereof has had a particular week in the spotlight that was not limited to the performance of the whistle-bearing men south of the equator? Justice – “the constant and perpetual wish to give everyone that which they deserve” (Corpus Juris Civilis) – often makes it to the headlines in the media but so much attention in so many different forums is a rare occasion that merits close attention.

Supreme

First up, the US Supreme Court where Chief Justice Roberts is coming to the end of his tenure. He is most likely to be replaced by Elena Kagan, the Solicitor-General whose confirmation hearings were underway in the Senate this week. Yes, one good thing about the method of political appointment in the Yankee system is that the proposed judges have to pass through the scrutiny of the representatives of the people during which they are asked questions on a variety of topics that might end up before them in court. Having seen this procedure in action, the articles in local papers this week calling for the respect of the principle of “seniority” in the appointment of new judges tend to look a bit frivolous (we’ve got vacancies thanks to Justice DeGaetano’s move to Strasbourg and Justice Galea Debono’s retirement).

Most important courts decide in a collegial manner – that means that the decision is not attributable to one judge in particular but is a decision of the group of judges forming the particular chamber making the decision. The practise of dissenting opinions (UK) might go some way towards giving a more personal touch to the decision – and in some cases leads to accusations of activism among some judges. The US are pioneers in this respect too, since records are kept of which judges voted for what decision. It is, in fact, possible to track a judge’s track record in decisions of a court much as you can track the voting record of an MEP at the European Parliament.

Chief Justice Roberts is a strong case in point. It turns out that in the five years he served as Chief Justice he was in the majority of the cases 92 per cent of the time. The Supreme Court has been dubbed “the Roberts Court” because of this statistic. During his tenure as Chief Justice, the Supreme Court has delivered some major rulings that have signalled a shift from its minimalist phase to a more assertive approach.

[Errata Corrige: Chief Justice Roberts is NOT resigning as erroneously asserted in this article. Chief Justice is there for life (a bit like a pet) - it is Justice John Stevens who has retired and will be replaced by Elena Kagan - thanks to Indy readers the Jacobin and John Lane for the quick corrections this morning]

Only last year, a 5-4 decision in the Citizens United case meant that corporations were allowed unlimited spending in elections (reported in J’accuse – remember?). It was not to be the only controversial decision. It also ruled that a government law that makes it a crime to depict cruelty to animals violated the First Amendment (Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances). Sound familiar?

Human

Across the big pond another Court was in the news this week. The Strasbourg ECFHR was in session listening to the pleadings before it in Italy’s appeal in what has come to be known as the “Crucifix Case”. The Strasbourg court has the wonderful facility of streaming live webcasts of big sittings of the court so we were lucky enough to watch the pleadings of the parties and main interveners (Malta also intervened by the way) to the case much earlier than expected. I watched a streamed version of the pleadings two days later, mainly because my curiosity had been piqued by the presence of one of my former Bruges professors on the team representing 10 of the intervening states.

Professor Joseph Weiler spoke for the intervening 10 countries (Armenia, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Greece, Lithuania, Malta, Monaco, San Marino, Romania and the Russian Federation), all of which were supporting Italy’s case to keep the crucifix in the classrooms. While Weiler agreed with Italy’s ultimate aim, he disagreed with the position taken by the Italian representative who described the crucifix as a passive symbol with no relation to teaching, which he describes as secular.

The issue, according to Weiler, is that the court must be wary of “the Americanisation of Europe with a single rule that goes against a multiplicity of constitutions”. This side of the Atlantic, Christian countries have the right to define themselves with regard to their religious heritage. More than half the population of Europe lives in states that cannot be described as laique. The state and its symbols are essential to democracy. The professor reminded the court that it is because of our history that many of our state symbols have a religious dimension. In essence, Prof. Weiler criticised the Court’s first ruling because it failed to distinguish between private rights and public identity. While the Court may have every right and duty to impose an obligation on states to ensure that their public schools are not a place which is “religiously coercive”, it must be aware that there is no “One Size Fits All” manner in which this may be achieved.

Weiler’s solution is not to take tolerance too far as to make the very rule promoting tolerance intolerant. He showed how this could happen by asking whether the Court’s earlier decision should mean rewriting Great Britain’s national anthem (God Save the Queen) or the Irish, German and Maltese constitutions, all of which invoke religion in one way or another. It’s a hard act to follow, and the Strasbourg court still has to decide on the matter, but it also goes to show that the difficult matter of balancing rights and interests is not as straightforward as our emotions might lead us to believe.

Stitched

Which brings me to the 82-page masterpiece of our very own Constitutional Court. You will by now have heard of the Stitching controversy and the way it was decided by Malta’s Constitutional Court. The decision of the Board of Censors was upheld by the Court by way of a curious bit of not so linear logic. Reading through the motivational part of the judgement, you get the feeling that emotions and morals trumped the necessity to ground the reasoning in legal justification. Like the ECFHR judgement banning crucifixes from classes, this latest product of the Constitutional Court might require revisiting – maybe in the Strasbourg court itself. Taken to the extreme, the application of this judgement would require a rather punctilious and efficient policing and censorship force and threatens to obliterate a substantial amount of media from the Maltese landscape.

It might still be early to cry “injustice”, and it is definitely not the time to yell expletives towards the referees in question – especially judging by the level of tolerance advocated at that particular freedom of expression. It’s not time to be alarmist but definitely time to be activist and explore the limits of this particular interpretation of the island’s mores. Pleasures, they say, yet to come.

European

In our corner of the judicial sphere, the tempo is mighty hectic before the relative lull of summer. Which is why J’accuse has gone through an extended hiatus after the New York break. We will be back soon enough to report from the island itself on our well deserved visit. We are equipped with new blogging tools, including the amazing flip camera and an amazing Macbook that is absolutely stunning. Pity about the hitches Apple is having with the iPhone 4 (antenna problems it seems – quite a blooper for the company) but we will remain diehard supporters of the logo and all its products.

Be seeing you sooner than you think in Malta. In the meantime, remember: “Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are a good person is a little like expecting a bull not to attack you because you are a vegetarian”.

www.akkuza.com will be migrating to Malta in 10 days time. Heavy blogging activity is predicted.

J’accuse : The Banana Republic

Posted on 27. Jun, 2010 by jacques in Articles

There’s this company and its put a new product on the market. Over the last 80 days it has averaged a sale of 37,500 units per day. There’s this mayor who is doing all he can to tackle the problems of pollution and dust in the air that are threatening to rack up huge fines from the EU. There’s this politician who took a decision to sack a senior institutional member in less than three hours – that particular member had publicly misbehaved and given away signs of disunity among the leadership of the nation. There’s this immigrant woman who suddenly finds herself at the helm of an entire continent. There’s this tiny nation where democracy has been on hold for a while. And then there are the French and the Italians…

Entrées

And we’re back. A thousand apologies for last week’s hiccup – it’s my first since I began writing this column. Unfortunately, a combination of technological glitches (hotel WiFi was not what it promised to be and laptop started to play up) and the usual inability to deal with temporary shifts in the time-space continuum (coping with a change in time zone) led to one last desperate attempt to submit the weekly fare from onboard a sleepy Greyhound bus headed towards Washington DC in the early hours of the morning. The absence of any J’accuse fare last week is ample proof that this mission failed miserably. Hence esteemed readers were given a break from the usual disquisitions.

I was in America, the US of A – land of the free and home of the big – and I had a whale of a time. The danger of visiting a country obsessed with size is that you soon get the hang of it and before you know it the “whale of a time” becomes a “whale having a good time”. Not that I have assumed the proportions of our cetaceous giant cousins of the ocean, but let us just say that when reviewing the holiday photos I did not feel very comfortable about what seemed to be incontrovertible proof of a double-chin. It’s impossible not to eat in America. Like their cousins across the ocean (with whom they have shared many a battle – for or against – and a World Cup draw) the ’mericans are not particularly famous for their cuisine. Which is unfair. There are burgers in your average American eatery that provide the kind of satisfaction that would make El Bulli’s Ferran Adria cringe with jealousy.

And they love their entrées. It takes some getting used to this “entrée” business. You needn’t have been living on the fringe of frogland to know that an entrée is normally a smaller course that precedes the main course. In the US, the heading on the menu normally reserved for the main course is “Entrée”, which can catch you off guard if only for the few hours needed to consume the average bacon-cheese-Swiss edam-egg triple burger. Food is an art form worthy of a hall in the MOMA or Guggenheim. Every swish of ketchup, every hot dog and falafel stand on 42nd St, every Mr Softy lurking next to the ubiquitous post-boxes yell “Murder by Cholesterol”, but it’s only then that you begin to appreciate the “I’m lovin’ it” slogan.

Restrooms

It’s easy to understand why whole books have been written taking note of the cultural differences in the land of the large (Bill Bryson sticks out as the obvious example). From the libraries to the drugstores to the restaurants the evidence is all over. The obsession with large is fantastic – I was berated for using a wrong (smaller) cup for a beverage (drink – a “soda” actually is a “soft-drink”) and they look at you quizzically when you refuse to avail yourself of cheap upgrades for your meal. At the B.B. King Sunday Gospel Brunch with the “World Famous” (what would American lingo be without epithets?) Harlem Gospel Choir, I sat timidly watching the spectacle surrounded by hundreds of hippos and rhinoceroses swinging to the music and chewing on an eat-all-you-can buffet. I can’t. Eat all of that, that is. You know what? Screw political correctness. Big, fat American people are all over the place. Then comes the cherry on the cake (if you still have space): New York City has a campaign running to “reduce the amount of sodium” in foods. Apparently it’s bad for your health.

One last thing before this column becomes a running commentary of the Bryson kind. The lingo. They do not speak English in the US. I am not referring to Spanish soon becoming the national vernacular but rather to the complete, absolute and unequivocal rape of the language of Shakespeare. Not that it is not the right of the people across the pond to develop their own queer way of speaking English but I was not aware of how many simple words we use daily have been replaced. It’s not the “kerb v pavement” kind of thing.

It’s signs like “Restrooms One Flight Up” that get to me in a funny way. At first glance there is nothing abnormal with that is there? Think again. How many times have you seen that sign recently? What you may have seen is this one: “Toilets Upstairs”. There’s loads more where that came from and I am not complaining – it’s just part of the fun while staying in the US and in the city that never sleeps.

Jelly

NYC mayor Bloomberg has just announced that, despite the recession and the retreating power of the euro, the Big Apple has set its sights on reaching a record of 50 million tourists annually by 2013. They’re not far off that record, seeing as how they will probably hit 47 million this year. That’s 47 million potential gym clients in Europe by December 2010 – there must be a few easy bucks to be made somewhere. Speaking of bucks, another Big Apple that is on a roll is Steve Job’s ship. iPads have been on sale for about 80 days now and over 30 million units have been sold. Pastizzi anyone?

If selling iPads is a bit like selling cheesecakes in Hamrun High Street, then selling the new iPhone 4 is like giving out free pastizzi at City Gate on a Monday morning. We’ve stopped getting as excited as when the advent of the first iPhone was with us, plus the rapid development of Android might mean that Apple’s competitors might be catching up faster than Steve thought, but in any case, the iPhone and iPad will give us a reason to flex our digits and surf the net like never before.

One new development to look out for is Google’s Chrome OS. It might redefine what computers mean and do for us. Essentially, it takes all the advantages of cloud computing and uses them to eliminate start up time and hardware and software problems on your PC. Lost? Just sit back and wait… it will all happen to you as inevitably as the sun will rise tomorrow morning.

Cap it all

Washington DC’s mall must be one of the most incredible feats of democratic architecture ever. I do not mean the buildings themselves that surround the vast expanse centred around Washington’s monument (which looks like, and is inspired by, a phallus but which tends to cause no fuss at all in the US). What I mean is the use of symbols and space to immediately convey the meanings and principles upon which the American Dream was originally built. Remembrance, respect and aspiration. They are all there. From the magnificent Capitol, to the war memorials, to the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials to the White House. Standing under the Washington Monument on a clear night with the temperature hitting the nineties, you take a deep breath and an incredible head rush of history immediately assaults your brain. You see it all, from Leif Eriksson to Columbus to 1776 and beyond. It is hard not to feel awed and envious of the American Dream.

There were moments when my pride to be European kicked in though. None were more obvious than the “little” perks brought about by the EU. Take being “delayed” on a flight thanks to some bumptious handling by the Delta ground crew (half the commuters had been delayed to the airport by an extraordinary amount of traffic). No vouchers for food. No vouchers to phone home. No hotel in case of an overnight delay. Upon landing in Amsterdam for my connect flight, the wonderful people at KLM issued me a new ticket at no extra cost, handed me both food and phone vouchers as well as a smile that went along with the service. Thank you European Directives and Regulations. Damn you Delta Airlines and the insufferable desk clerk with monosyllabic vocabulary (i.e. NO).

The worst two things about a stay in the States though are both money related. First of all is the hopeless system of not including tax on prices. Whether in a supermarket or booking your hotel the price you see is not the price you pay. A $4.99 plug becomes something ridiculous like $5.13, which only means that your pockets will be loaded with pennies, dimes and quarters. Also, there seems to be a staunch resistance to using the practical one-dollar coins as against the filthy one-dollar bills – not to mention the irritating fact that all dollar bills are the same colour.

I could bother you with my grievances about the concept of “gratuity” at US tables (it’s a tip but sounds nicer when it is called a gratuity). I witnessed a waitress chase after a couple who dared leave a pittance on the table in tips and was also lectured to by a Russian taxi driver about the dangers of not tipping (the previous occupants had dispensed with the idea of a tip altogether) but the time has come for me to conclude.

Johnny Rockets

The blog is entering the summer phase and I have chosen “the Banana Republic” as the main theme. I will not discuss the merits and demerits of the World Cup performances as yet out of superstition. Brazil is still in it and looking good so that is fine for me. The Banana Republic will deal with the global village, with the local democracy put on hold by two parties who can only gain from the status quo and with the latest thrills from the technological development.

Congrats to the competition (MaltaToday) for the spanking new portal on the web – as I have long been saying, this step is an inevitable one for newspapers of today (hint and nudge to the Eds). The original battleground for online news seems to be gravitating around a more settled feel. The latest step is for papers to take back control of their comment board. Expect local papers to oblige users to register and sign comments in their own name sometime soon. That might lead to less comments and more quality.

The company in the intro was Apple of course. The mayor is Boris Johnson tackling London’s new levels of pollution. It was President Obama sacking General McChrystal after reading some remarks made by the general an interview with Rolling Stone magazine. It took President Obama a reading of the first few paragraphs to reach a decision to fire a general who had hitherto been thought to be indispensable to the efforts in Afghanistan (it’s not the war it’s the counterinsurgency, stupid). Julia Gillard, a Welsh immigrant in 1966, became Australia’s first woman Prime Minister when Labour leader Rudd stepped down following an inside revolt. There are no surprises in guessing that our democracy is still on hold following Labour’s walkout from the House Committee for the strengthening of democracy. Finally, there’s the French and the Italians. I guess some things are best left unsaid.

www.akkuza.com found a link between Inter’s pre-world cup championship victories and early exits (with dismal performances) by Italy. Four times out of five this has been the case –- the only exception being Mussolini’s Champions in 1938. Maybe there is more to it than just superstition.

J’accuse : Friends

Posted on 06. Jun, 2010 by jacques in Articles