This is the last article in the J’accuse series on the Malta Independent on Sunday. I have decided to concentrate on J’accuse the blog and limit any print contributions to an ad hoc basis. Until the next print adventure… it’s been emotional. Don’t forget to subscribe to J’accuse and receive updates by mail. Use the box below the video clip to the left of your screen. (Accuse Me!) 

Interesting times. 2012 has begun very much in the way 2011 ended: with the fireworks, the ominous cloud of crisis(es) and a general holding of breath for what is to come. Metaphorically we are still holding our breath and I am not just referring to the election-no-election saga but to the world of wider affairs and economic crises. Malta – the civilisation of 400,000 people at the centre of the known universe – kicked off the year with a horrible double-murder and then shifted its attention to one man who holds the fate of our political history for the short-term, foreseeable future.

I have often referred to the Chinese curse that goes “May you live in interesting times” that is based on the assumption that interesting times would involve war, blood and danger. Well insofar as insular politics are concerned it does not get more interesting than this. The survival instincts of every politician on the island are piqued at this moment – raring to plunge into another battle of passionate electoral proportions and no amount of Standard & Poor degrading will deviate their attention from the ultimate Holy Grail of a parliamentary seat.

Ah yes. We’ve been downgraded. The fact that Malta’s rating now has less A’s than Franco Debono’s school reports has a lot to do with the fact that this country forms part of an elite group of members of the eurozone who are also intimately tied with saving packages and funds intended to soften the damage of any impending crises. S&P were not very positive about these plans and chose to clip the credit ratings of Malta – and France, and Italy, and Spain, and Austria (among others).

Lost in Translation
Well the Merkozy efforts to recreate a solid European Union economically speaking, the S&P rating reviews based on eurozone performance, the events happening beyond the Mediterranean’s navel…. they’re aeons away from reality. Once you land in the island of milk & honey it’s time warp time and all that noise is lost in translation. Joseph Muscat’s election team has a new buzzword… 1996’s Hofra is 2012’s Instability. Sure, economic instability is happening far, far away and trickles down to us in the form of) budget tweaking but we also have political instability don’t we?

Which brings me to the greatest show on earth after the big bang (pace Jovanotti). Franco Debono is a colleague of mine in more ways than one. I too am an Old Aloysian (a year younger than Franco’s) and I too am a law graduate (same class of ‘99). Don’t ask me for my school or university report. In the first instance I was busy being the Aloysian equivalent of Just William – splitting my time between detention room duties and crazy dares as to who would get the grade closest to zero in our spot tests. At university I preferred to concentrate on the extra-curricular buzz of student politics while getting just enough results to have a degree of sorts conferred on me. Experience has taught me that in both cases my time was well spent. Anyway, as Franco would probably never say, this is not about me.

Franco Debono
I had thought of using this last article of mine (see conclusion) to write an open letter to Franco. I would appeal to the sense of disciplined logic that our Jesuit education imparted upon us (Serio et Constanter) and to the sense of social justice that might have trickled into our system at philosophy of law lectures. I would have appealed for a sense of perspective that has long been lost in the heat of the events that are unfolding before us. I would have shown a sense of solidarity with Franco in so far as a number of the causes he claims to champion are concerned.

Yes Franco, there are a few among us who understand the compelling need for change. We understand the incremental amount of damage that the bipartisan system, rules and methods are causing to the development and maturity of our country. I have long claimed through my blog that the PLPN are a huge handicap to open competition, transparent exchange of ideas and to the emancipation from our insular mentality. Franco you might have come to the same conclusion from within the system.

Then something went wrong. You probably got caught up in the vortex of twisted checks and balances that the system kicks on when it’s very own survival is threatened. And you did not help either. I would not be the first one to criticise your methor. Was it panic? Was it an inability to prevent yourself from becoming another politician caught in the rut? Was it an impatience with the rules of the system that insist that everybody wait his turn? Whatever happened forced you to switch to becoming a nervous contradiction – drowning your original crusade in a storm of tantrums, nervous reactions and inconsistencies. That is the picture people have of you now – even those applauding you only do so because of the enormous window of opportunism (sic) that you have thrown wide open for them.

Franco, we share certain convictions about the changes needed in our political system. Yes, even some fundamental constitutional changes might require discussing and implementing. Our similarity stops there. I may salute you for what seemed like the early courage that you displayed when you challenged the establishment. What I cannot salute is the manner in which you seem intent on undoing your achievement noisily, nervously and with an inexplicable unabashed sense of self-aggrandisement. The principles that you originally claimed to espouse have been watered down by your need to constantly focus attention on yourself – forgetting the fundamental tenet of a politician’s guide: that he is there to serve and be judged.

What’s left unwritten
There, I would have written that and more. I would conclude appealing to Franco’s sense of justice that should be enough to tell him that forcing an election now is the most irrational and counterproductive act he could ever commit. An election needs parties with a program for the next difficult years ahead. Muscat’s labour is aeons away from any coherent plan beyond the all important “getting into power” bit. Gonzi’s PN is still learning it’s lessons from the errors committed in 2008 and that ironically rewarded it with an extended government by coalition. My bet is that my appeal would have been superfluous. By now it is clear to me that come Thursday Franco will abstain on Labour’s motion if only to extend his current nervous honeymoon with the dizzy heights of power.

That is why this is not an open letter to Franco. I have written more about this in J’accuse – www.akkuza.com – particularly the two posts entitled “That Constitutional Question” and “Windows of Opportunism”. More of course will be added to the blog and this is where I break a sad bit of news for you, the reader. In the coming weeks and months if you feel the need to see what the J’accuse take on things is you will only be able to do so on the blog.

Closing Time
Yes. This is the end of the J’accuse series of articles on the Malta Independent on Sunday. I have decided to concentrate on the blogging side and take my ideas and crazy writing back to the blog where they started. I probably miss writing the weekly column much more than you will miss reading it. In any case it has been a great ride and I would like to thank my fellow adventurer Bertu who has prepared the last two toons for this series.

In this country that loves speculation and gossip I must rush to add that this decision of mine is in agreement with the Independent editors – I am merely taking the opportunity of a time of stock taking to refocus on the online blog that remains the primary mode of expression and promises to be an important actor in the coming months. So don’t forget to add www.akkuza.com to your bookmarks (if you hadn’t done so already) and to subscribe to the mail updates.

I hope that it’s been as pleasant for you to read this column as it has been for me to write it. Thank you all for your patience and custom. See you on the net.

Last one out, switch off the lights.

www.akkuza.com is Malta’s longest running quality blog. Since the 10th March 2005 provocative thinking worth reading. www.bertoons.com contains a full collection of the illustrations that have brought you a smile on Sunday over the last few years. P.S. The honeymoon was great – thank you to all the well-wishers.

The Statue of Liberty turned 125 last Friday. Back in 1896, the French government donated the statue to the people of America and “Liberty” soon became an iconic symbol and gateway to the land of opportunity for thousands of migrants that reached the shores of the United States in the last century. Events closer to home this week made me wonder whether we should have our own statue in Malta. Actually, make that two statues − you know how it is in this country − you need to have a black and a white side to every opinion… so you probably will need two statues too.

This week we had the Independence Day celebrations. It had not been hard to predict that the build-up of news about Malta’s valiant efforts in assisting our Libyan brothers was aimed at boosting the feel-good factor that is normally associated with the 21st September speeches from the podia at il-Fosos. The event came and went, and the PN leaders duly delivered. We had a new message: “Pride”. We should be proud to form part of this nation that against all adversity has assisted the injured and wounded in Libya. In one evening’s speech, the six-month long hesitation whether or not to back the rebels was washed away. The image of the injured Shwegya became the 21st century equivalent of the proud Maltese helping the shipwrecked Saint Paul.

They tell me that our prized tapestries are being restored in Belgium right now. In the past, tapestries were used to tell the story of some national epic or narrative. They would boost the pride of the tapestry owners – sometimes free cities of the merchant north. Our political writers with a strong PLPN bias weave our modern day histories into special tapestries. Only this time the actors did not quite fit the bill. While the yarn of “proud and charitable” Malta was being spun in some places, the acts of the citizens elsewhere told a very different story. Two stories actually … a black one and a white one that should earn us the two statues I mentioned earlier.

The black − No to injured Libyans

The first sabotage attempt at undermining GonziPN’s efforts to weave a new heroic story into the tapestry of our PLPN history books came from an unexpected source. The (very Christian) spokesperson of Malta’s Union of Nurses (and Midwives) complained that Mater Dei has enough on its hands as it is and does not need to play nurse to any injured Libyans. Paul Pace, head of the MUMN told the government that “bigger countries with more facilities should address such problems”. Boom goes GonziPN’s plans of a proud nation humbly serving the weak and the injured. Bang goes any semblance of pride. Incidentally, don’t hold your breath for a Joseph Muscat position on this mess by the way. It’ll be more like a free vote − otherwise he’ll either have to criticise MUMN (read votes) for their tunnel vision or he’ll have to criticise Gonzi’s plans thus losing cred on his “I love New Libya” mantra.

As for the proud nation sticking its neck out for others, the best source to tap the pulse of the nation remains the online comment boards. Here is a Ms Maria Vella writing in The Times: “Let us stop being all politically correct and call a spade a spade! Mr Pace did not beat around the bush and stated the situation as it is. We have enough Maltese patients (who pay taxes and contribute towards the running of this hospital) waiting for treatment, in corridors or at home, or even worse sent home because of lack of space but we find place and resources to treat foreigners. Whilst my sympathies go to the injured Libyans, charity should begin at home!” Now there’s a thought Mr Prime Minister. A sympathy card to Libya and that’s that. Where’s Tonio Borg when you need him? So the first statue, possibly at the entrance to Grand Harbour should be pointing our unwanted immigrants back home. Let’s call him Charity. I can picture the colossus standing with the two faces of hypocrisy as his outstretched hand ends in a finger pointing out to sea. In his other hand he sports a colander and a flag of the nation he calls home.

The white − yes to rich magnates

The second sabotage attempt comes from an unexpected source. Writing in The Times of Malta, property developer and estate agent Frank Salt describes the new conditions for obtaining a residency in Malta as “a large hammer being used to crack a delicate egg”. Apparently, the new conditions for your average Russian euro-burner to settle down in Malta are “very complicated, extraordinarily expensive, virtually prohibitive” − dixit Frank. It seems that the developers’ apple cart has been upset:

Here’s Mr Salt’s angry question: “Was it sensible for the authorities to continue to allow new building developments specifically targeted at potential new foreign buyers, to sprout up all over our Islands, when they knew that they were about to unload this bombshell, that would and could, and no doubt will, upset the whole apple cart?”

And the property developers are angry. They’re angry at the government that encouraged them to develop land to sell it off to non-EU citizens (not injured Libyans mind you… for that we have Mater Dei) and then came up with these conditions. Here’s Frank being Frank again: “Today, the local property industry first works its backside off promoting Malta as a safe, inexpensive and pleasant place in which foreigners and their families can come and live in peace. Then, when the market gets off its feet, quality developments are built, foreign residents, permanent and temporary come to Malta to see whether they would like to live here… bang… once again it is time to mess things up.” Bang indeed.

Finally, there is the music for the environmentalist’s ear: “Now we have to see how we are going to sell the hundreds of properties that are currently on the market and those hundreds more that have new permits to build.”

I’ve got an idea for Frank if he doesn’t mind me telling him. I’m thinking that our developers could sell some of that space to … lemme see… a Qatari developer who could then invest some of his money into … hmm… a hospital.

There would be some divine justice in that wouldn’t there? An exclusive hospital built to service the wounded and injured from the Arab Spring. The developers would get their money. The nurses would get their break from the influx in Mater Dei and the government would sell this off as some smart move. Lovely no?

While he’s at it, our Qatari developer could also sponsor the second statue. This one stands across the harbour from Charity welcoming visitors with arms wide open. At his foot stand a giant-sized cash register and piggy bank. Preferably, “Opportunity” (for thusly I have named him) will be richly dressed, complete with top hat as a wannabe Mr Moneybags.

The Pride of Lions

Forget my grandiose statue building plans and just think for one moment about the realities of this island. On the one hand we have our political establishment living in an alternative world where Malta “proudly welcomed” sixteen (16) wounded Libyans. (This is, by the way, the same Malta that welcomed hundreds of thousands of injured from the Crimean War and the battlefields of World War I (the Gallipoli and Salonika campaigns) without batting an eyelid.)

On the other hand, the talk on the street and on the web boards is anything but this charitable and proud nation. When we are not busy kicking up a fuss about the foreigners taking up space in our hospitals (don’t bleed on my soil), we are complaining that new laws do not allow money-spending magnates to set up residence on our rock (please let them come bleed euros here).

It’s normally Joseph Muscat’s job to blame Dr Gonzi for everything under the sun (including tsunamis and world economic crisis). I’d just simply say that our political establishment are getting the “proud” citizens they have nurtured and that they deserve. What you reap is what you sow. Maybe the time has come to wake up.

www.akkuza.com is hoping to survive this weekend of bachelor partying. If all goes well we’ll be back online Monday – as proud as peacocks. This article appeared in the J’accuse column of yesterday’s edition of The Malta Independent on Sunday.

* Image – a “welcome” poster for “foreigners” received in my postbox from the “friendly” (thankfully a minority) side of Luxembourg… tolerance is all around us

Papillon is the name of a 1969 novel written by Frenchman Henri Charrière. The (allegedly) autobiographical novel tells of Charrière’s extraordinary saga at the hands of the French criminal justice system between 1931 and 1945 after he had been condemned to a period of hard labour on Devil’s Island as a punishment for murder. Charrière’s character in the book is called “Papillon” − the French for butterfly − because of the butterfly tattoo he had on his chest. The papillon is also a symbol of the freedom that this prisoner constantly craved.

Cinema buffs will have surely watched the 1973 movie starring Steve McQueen as Papillon. The book itself was an international sensation and caused a furore in France since Charrière’s story exposed the harsh brutality of the French justice system and the inhumanity of pre-war incarceration policies. Attempts were made to discredit the veracity of Charrière’s adventures, and articles and books were written to kill the more colourful of Charrière’s stories. Papillon, if one were to take his word for it, had suffered the ignominy of inhuman conditions and isolation. His different attempts to escape and obtain the freedom that he believed he deserved involved audacious contraptions and life-threatening situations but his book served at least to unmask the hideous conditions in the French penal system.

This could be heaven, this could be hell

Freedom. It was not the auburn Scot with face daubed in blue that spoke the word but a dark skinned Ivorian speaking to a Times of Malta journalist who was trying to discover the reason for the Safi riots. Freedom. It’s a strong word with a very strong meaning. The Hollywood speech reserved for Mel Gibson in Braveheart is simply about humankind’s love of freedom and its willingness to lay down everything else in order to obtain it. The anonymous Ivorian did not speak from a high horse (metaphorically and physically) when he explained the reasons behind what have been dubbed the “riots” in Safi.

The men and women condemned by our 18-month detention policy are reduced to becoming inhuman wrecks pacing up and down the dirty corridors of Malta’s own Gulag probably wondering what other cruel fate can be thrown at them. It is one thing being a criminal, like Papillon, and still succumbing to the very natural urge to escape and spread your wings. It is another to have escaped the miseries and trials and tribulations of a war-torn country and to find yourself in a Mediterranean concentration camp under the August sun. Freedom. Not 5-star food, not 5-star accomodation, just freedom − and the right to be treated as a human being. Yet, what most people saw was not a genuine cry for freedom. They saw guests misbehaving.

Bring your alibis

Fellow blogger Andrew Azzopardi has taken the cause of the Safi inmates (for inmates they are) to heart. His blog has been constantly updated with photos from inside the camp documenting the hideous conditions. Other recent members of the blogosphere like Norman Vella picked on the ugly response of the dark side of this nation. I blogged about this in the post “What paradise?” in which I wondered whether this nation of ours has so much to be feel indignant about. It had been a truly disgusting week of reactions in the comment boxes.

I picked on a Facebook comment by divorce guru Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando in the What paradise? post. “Illegal immigrants among us have to understand that they are guests in our country and they should behave accordingly,” quoth Mr Divorce. My first reaction was to comment right under his post and wonder whether the immigrants aren’t doing just that − behaving accordingly. You know, when in Rome…

JPO was voicing an ugly popular sentiment that keeps resurfacing. It gets worse when there are calls to “send them back home” or when the comments incite actual violence against the “guests”. The pink corner of the blogosphere also picked up (should I say “filched” because we stumbled on the same post? The law of petty schoolgirl thinking would seem to imply so − hey I saw it first!) on the JPO comment and condemned the crassness of it all.

Pink champagne on ice

I don’t just mention the other blogs to point out the varied nature of the blogosphere’s reaction to the goings on. The blogs, the blogosphere and the mainstream media comment boards are one way of gauging our reactions to the main events in our lives. They also provide another testing ground. They are a microcosmic reflection of the manner in which our society operates: with its little battlegrounds for prima donnas, with the pushing and shoving for cornering tiny markets and perceived centres of power, and with the constant battle in which the loudest, noisiest and most lewdly entertaining tends to win the public’s baying approval. Welcome to the 21st century Colosseum.

It is the world where a refined pen and mastery of English can be used to churn out filth and fabricate character assassinations day in day out. It is a world where − posing through the guise of bluff and plagiarism − budding politicians and faux intellectuals win their fawning corner of the crowd by selling their repackaged gospel to the malleable masses. It is a world that has spawned the quick judgement, the guillotine jury and the fast-track condemnation based on taste. This world has fed on Malta’s particular adaptation of the global ideological vacuum as nurtured by the PLPN mentality. It is not a world of discussion but of antagonism where, in the words of the philosopher Slavoj Zizek “(the people) express an authentic rage which is not able to transform itself into a positive programme of socio-political change”.

We are programmed to receive

The riots in London, the indignados in Spain and the Jasmine Revolution in North Africa. We tried, maybe wrongly, to find a common element (do check out www.re-vu.org for a couple of good articles analysing the riots). Zizek, the philosopher I mentioned earlier, has penned a brilliant article himself called “Shoplifters of the World Unite” in which he notes the ideological political predicament we live in: “A society which celebrates choice but in which the only available alternative to enforced democratic consensus is a blind acting out.” “What is the point of our celebrated freedom of choice,” asks Zizek, “when the only choice is between playing by the rules and (self-) destructive violence?”

In our tiny microcosm we might be looking at the Safi “riots” from the wrong angle. JPO’s concept of “guests” implies that we are somehow better off than the Ivorian who is craving freedom and who can only vent his anger and frustration by lighting a fire in the compound. What that image fails to consider and factor into the context is the fact that the post-ideological vacuum is the predicament of a whole island of cynics. Liberals and conservatives alike seem to be unable to face the fact that there is a value vacuum that is slowly transforming into our cage. Relativism and poverty of values is leading to our becoming prisoners in our own home.

We are all just prisoners here, of our own device

Which is why I asked the question “What paradise?” this week. The rioter in Safi wants freedom from his prison. But is the world beyond the confines of Safi’s walls a free world? Papillon, the prisoner of an outdated penal system ended up wandering from one prison island to another before finally obtaining his freedom in Venezuela. In this day and age it is not just four walls that can constitute a prison but also mental barriers built on a vacuum devoid of reference points and an absence of clear socio-political goals.

The Ivorian and his fellows at Safi might still be in time to realise that beyond their four walls lies a larger prison populated by hypocrites and false moralists. This news might come as slim consolation for the Safi inmates but the least we can do is notice that guests and hosts alike might be in desperate need of a plan to work towards a better life. Otherwise we will end up living the song… where we can check out anytime we like, but we can never leave.

The Duchy beckons

It’s been a hectic two weeks of rushing around (and a bit of idyllic epicurean delight). The heat is really stifling and it’s a wonder that anything gets done. I have a note of sympathy for fellow lawyers who are obliged by the ridiculous rules of convention to trudge to Valletta wearing suits in 35 degrees of heat. How long before we notice that this weather requires its own dress code?

Food-wise, I’ve enjoyed terrific meals from the succulent rib eye served consistently at Sliema’s weather toss’d pitch to the delicious seafood on offer at il-Pulena in Marsalforn (three thumbs up again Godwin). It would be a shame not to mention Qbajjar Restaurant’s great BBQ Wednesday night while a big thank you to the blokes at Badass Burgers for remembering the gluten-challenged among us. I’ve tried Arriva, I’ve caught the ferries and I have only one thing to say: “move bloody back”. What is it with idiots who plonk themselves half way up the bus aisle thus giving the impression of a bus that is full? I leave the island with mixed impressions: it’s definitely a cleaner Malta (the effort on the beaches merits a standing ovation) but there’s an angry, cynical interior that is letting itself be harnessed by the most harmful of forces. It’s that interior that can be jarring and render life unpleasant.

All you need is a thick skin, plenty of sun block and a daily dose of J’accuse. Which is what you will get in the post-vacation weeks to come.

www.akkuza.com has quoted from Slavoj Zizek’s “Shoplifters of the world unite” (google it for the free version). Papillon (the movie) released in 1973 features Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffmann. Blogs mentioned in this article can be accessed freely on the Internet. Don’t believe all that you read. Remember: Just ask. Subs courtesy of the Eagles’ Hotel California.

Although a baby’s first teeth usually develop while still in the womb, they actually start to emerge through the gums when the baby is around six months old. We call this process teething. According to the NHS online guide, early teething should not cause a baby any problems – unless it affects feeding, in which case it sucks (or rather literally, it doesn’t).

We’ve heard the phrase “teething problems” used many a time this week of course thanks to Arriva’s bungled arrival into the world of Maltese gemgem, political intrigue and hot suns that would melt even the most defiant revolutionary spirit. I’ll put forward an early caveat (warning) here: yes, I still live in Luxembourg and I have not had the opportunity to try out the system myself so I am speaking purely from an outside point of view – probably by the time I savour the pleasure of an air-conditioned bus trip to Għadira in August it will be a different kettle of fish.

Incisors

The confusion of the first few days of service cannot really all be dismissed as ‘teething problems’. Once you remove the (by now) 70 renegade bus drivers from the equation you still end up with a number of extremely disappointing facts. They range from the obvious (shelters from the sun) to the technically avoidable (ticket machines going loco) to the downright silly (bus size problems on certain routes – Balluta Hill) and to the profanely inept (bad planning of certain routes: including prime suspect Bisazza Street, Mrabat Street and more).

I am aware of the fact that I subconsciously keep trying to give Arriva a break – maybe that stems from having experienced efficient bus systems across Europe that are similar to the plans on paper in Malta. There does however seem to be a gaping absence of ‘local input’ in the planning part. Either that, or the locals involved in the planning were as apt for the job as Hitler would be as a kindergarten assistant in Jerusalem. Is it another case of the ‘ċuċ Malti’? I doubt it. Arriva must know by now that Malta’s transport system is neither that of Athens nor of Berlin or Strasbourg. I am convinced that they are engaging in a lot of listening at this point: taking note of all the tweaks that are needed to mother this baby out of the teething trouble it has. My hopes are still pinned on an eventual success for the company.

Canines

One thing I cannot really accept is Austin Gatt’s position in the whole saga. We are at pains as a people to distinguish between the responsibilities of a ministry and those of a private company that has embarked on a huge project. Gatt’s ministry might be responsible for having chosen Arriva out of a number of tenderers but after that it should be Maltese Public Expectation vs The Boys from Arriva. Gatt does not help by speaking as though he was the CEO of Arriva (vide the driver sacking business) but neither does the mentality that we have been groomed to have: that any service is ultimately given to us by government. We find it hard to understand that a faulty ticket machine is a problem we should track down to some incompetence within Arriva and not in Austin Gatt’s ministry.

I do not say this to defend Austin Gatt or his ministerial minions who have suddenly vanished from sight unable to take the flak for the bad planning. I say this because what we have on balance is a national transport grid: something that would benefit everybody by being efficient – and not just Austin’s men. We all have a duty to scrutinise Arriva’s performance as much as we have a social duty to collaborate with the company and help it through its teething problems where justified. At the end of the day Gatt and his men may push the button on penalty clauses, (just as Arriva was eager to get compensation for the Bisazza Street gaffe), but an efficient transport system is not built on penalty clauses alone.

Molars

It is part of the inevitable course of 21st century Maltese politics that party positions are created by default. The divorce issue gave us a Labour position built by default. Labour never pronounced itself in favour or against divorce. It just defined what it was not: in this case Labour’s position was that it had no party position. The ploy worked for the man in the street who now sees Joseph’s team as the champions of progressive nothingness and is happier for it. We may soon see the same business with Arriva. Joseph’s team will nurture the discontent of the public on this issue. What we will not know is whether Labour’s team are proposing a return to the old Xarabanks or whether they too would be trying to solve Arriva’s teething problems if they take up Austin’s ministerial job.

As things stand Labour need not take a position but will still win sympathy from people who want something different from the status quo. How that will solve the problems of the shelters, the bendy buses, the ticketing machines and the unruly drivers is anyone’s guess. We’ve seen it all before in the VAT-CET saga haven’t we? Same; same but different. The crisis of representation is doomed to continue and trust you me: the teething problems in this case are gargantuan. Blessed are the oblivious for they will vote PLPN and be satisfied.

Got Milk?

Francis Zammit-Dimech penned an interesting article this week in the Times (Vision of a changing nation). In it he distanced himself from the ‘conservative’ vs ‘liberal’ approaches within the PN and made a case for a modern party based on a mosaic structure glued together by values such as the common good and human dignity. It might be a working solution that challenges the clumsily assembled ‘umbrella party’ visions and ‘new liberals’ a-la-Frank Psaila. There is a case to be made here especially if the likes of Zammit-Dimech can manage to convince the party that Christian-Democrats can and will feel comfortable legislating in favour of minority rights based on the common good and human dignity.

We will need to wait and see whether this line can be elaborated further. The parliamentary legislative track record seems to still be confused and is based more on interest-based legislation than clear guiding principles. Even in the seemingly frivolous – such as alcohol sales regulation and that of entertainment – there seems to be an intellectual and ideological dishonesty and hypocrisy at work. How else do you explain that village festas have been given a carte-blanche regarding alcohol sales while a concert organiser has to adhere to strict conditions and pay an exorbitant fee as a guarantee in order to organise his event? This is a simple but effective example of the inconsistencies that are the order of the day when umbrella-parties feeding off conflicting networks try to please the world.

Ironically, the more ‘avant-garde’ (wankellectual if you like) part of the nation seems to be the one sacrificed on a regular basis. Which is why we get censorship problems and why 21st century social habits are still out-lawed (as in not legalised) in our nation. When they do try to find some balls and legislate (see for example cohabitation) they get it all so damningly wrong (not making it available for persons who were previously married).

First Ladies

Ever since Lady Di’s tragic death in 1997 we have witnessed the concept of public grief develop into a hideously impersonal theatrical show pumped up by the media and fed by the big brother syndrome that afflicts the general public. We are not the first generation to suffer from this morbid concern with the remembrance of the deceased that so often smacks of lack of real respect. The Victorians were notoriously fixated with their complicated rules for mourning and dealing with death that culminated with the huge confusion on how exactly to go about the funeral arrangements when the great Queen herself joined her beloved Albert in the sky.

Public outpourings of sentiment tend to become cringe-worthy after a while when it is blatantly obvious that the act of condolence has become automatic rather than genuine. When people start to fall over themselves in a race for the dramatic we slip into the theatrical and the hyperbolic, quickly losing every sense of decorum. In my book this smacks of disrespect to the recently departed. We have not reached the stage of the ancient Romans who would hire mourners to wail and scratch themselves behind the funeral procession but we are risking losing any sense of social decorum by following this folly that is public mourning in the 21st century.

I never met and did not know Mrs Fenech-Adami. She passed away within a day of Betty Ford, the wife of former US President Gerald Ford. Obviously I did not know Mrs Ford either. On a human level I can only offer my sincere condolences to the families of the departed. They are the ones who will feel the biggest emptiness as a dear beloved leaves them for another world.

On a public level I can appreciate the two very different first ladies of two very different nations. Betty Ford was a political animal through and through. She is remembered as a woman who battled for civil rights – pressing for abortion rights and women’s rights during her husband’s presidential period. She never shied from the public view and used her position to push political objectives she believed in. She will be most remembered for her personal fight against drug and alcohol abuse. After having confronted the demons herself in her own private life she transformed the battle into a public one – opening the now famous Betty Ford Centre in California and pressing for further awareness on the issue of drug and alcohol abuse.

Mrs Fenech-Adami could not have been any more different. Her husband’s latest public intervention – when he controversially suggested that divorce was a matter of conscience – highlighted the distinction between ‘moral’ and ‘political’ decisions. Whether or not we agree with Eddie, the stamp of Fenech-Adami’s moral compass was clear to see and it helps us understand the public face of Mrs Fenech-Adami. It is clumsy of us to try to pigeon hole Mrs Fenech-Adami’s public life into a political box. Mrs Fenech-Adami was not political. She was a strong, principled woman with a solid catholic upbringing. From what I can see, that made her the pillar and reference point of her family. We can easily confuse principles and values with humility and ‘knowing her place’, but we would be doing her a great disservice.

I like to see Mrs Fenech-Adami as a moral rock built on the no-nonsense, principled approach that you might disagree with but cannot help but admire. It is with that memory that I offer my sincere condolences first and foremost to the Fenech-Adami family and secondly to the wider family that had gotten used to having someone like Mary as a reference point – in that latter case I can see no reason for anything other than pride.

www.akkuza.com would like to extend another note of sympathy and support in what has been a sad week for some of us. A huge hug goes out to Mark and his family after the loss of a young, vibrant sister, daughter and friend. “Oh heart, if one should say to you that the soul perishes like the body, answer that the flower withers, but the seed remains” (Khalil Gibran).

This is the J’acccuse column from the Malta Independent on Sunday of the 10th July 2011.

Related articles

• J’accuse : The Summer Plank (akkuza.com)
• I.M. Jack – the one with arriva (akkuza.com)
• J’accuse : Sophistry, Protagoras & San Ċipress (akkuza.com)
• Arriva wins National Transport Award (rail.co)

It’s not just George Soros who thinks that the ECB might have chosen an inappropriate time for hiking its interest rates. For a very egoistic reason, I was pretty miffed too. A hike in interest rates and a parallel sucker punch delivered to the cost of living in Luxembourg struck right at the moment when I had just moved house and ‘inaugurated’ a new mortgage. That’s some bad Karma all right. The ugly monster of inflation threatens to wreak further havoc on our lives in the short term but hey… it’s the economy, stupid.

While my ‘problems’ might be limited to a shift in figures behind a decimal point, there are others whose problems are related to the “Cost of Staying Alive” (COSA). “The what?” I hear you ask. The COSA is a raw and dangerous version of the cost of living where the line between scraping a living and sinking to the bottom of an ocean is measured in the units of faith, hope and desperation. While we rely on the number crunchers in Frankfurt to make things right, those who measure their daily travails on the COSA index will depend on a multitude of decision makers and opinion shapers that range from the highest politician to the lowest common voter.

Blame

One of the side effects of the Jasmine Revolution in North Africa has been a worrying reopening of the borders that had been so effectively ‘sealed’ in the past by the partners in crime of our political establishment. With the likes of Gaddafi concentrating on more pressing issues than the policing of their countries’ borders (the Cost of Blackmailing Index), it was inevitable that the Mediterranean would refill with the Boats of Hope that ferry the COSA people over to the lands of the free. In the end, the Mare Nostrum is less and less a sea of convergence and more and more a Stygian theatre where many souls are drawing their final check before leaving this world.

In Greek mythology, Styx was the underground river that had to be crossed to reach the underworld in the afterlife. ‘Styx’ meant hate and detestation and the Mediterranean theatre has increasingly featured scenes of backstabbing detestation and an unbrotherly inability to cooperate successfully in the face of troubles. This week we watched the drama unfold of a Malta – Italy blame game during which time the souls of many men, women and children were lost. A little further up north, Sarkozy’s France (the one that acted swiftly to save lives in Benghazi) was protesting vividly with Italy for its practice of issuing Schengen permits to the Tunisians who had fled their country’s ills.

By the time Sarkozy and Berlusconi had patched up their differences, it was on condition that EU aid to Tunisia would be conditional on the patrolling of its borders. Same old, same old. Then on Thursday we also had a historic first when the island of Lampedusa pulled off the best Malta Bus Driver impression and yelled “Full Up” on sighting a new boatload of immigrants. The brave men on patrol boat P61 had to chug back to Malta having been shown that even the centuries-old laws of the sea are now being flaunted in the name of egoistic bigotry.

There’s no place like home

The blame game is played out at the expense of values. There remains no real reference point. The basic unit of the Cost of Staying Alive Index is life itself but this value too can be diluted if one’s life starts outweighing another. Gozo Bishop Mario Grech has rightly sounded the warning signal on that count − going so far as having to warn that: “Had some birds been killed, much would, rightly, have been said, while, in this case so many people had died, and many people stayed silent”. It was a biblical moment − testified in the New Testament. I looked it up… Matthew 6:26: “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

Well even Jesus said so. Lately, both the big J and our heavenly Father are being unnecessarily inconvenienced on other matters. All the matters display our society’s continuous struggle to update its identity and feel comfortable with itself. Our politicians are engaged in another blame game on the divorce front − now it’s about lost votes. I’m still waiting for Joseph Muscat to shed some tears about the fact that the expat community still has to be shuttled to Malta instead of exercising its vote in an embassy or by post − what do the 2,800 have that we don’t?

While the politicians blame each other for the business of the dating of a writ and play up dubious constitutional disquisitions, the lost souls in this case are the ever increasing numbers of those who feel unrepresented by this farce. Then there was the AG’s appeal in the Realtà proceedings − I’ve stated elsewhere that the appeal itself will give us a necessary clarification on the state of the law on obscenity and pornography. Why the AG had to inconvenience any deities on this issue is rather baffling though.

Slovenly

Our national identity is in a period of great flux. How ingrained are the Catholic values of neighbourly love in our lives? When we look in the mirror do we really understand the image that we see? Which snapshot of our community is really us? Is it the police who defy the rules of logic and prohibit the sale of alcohol in a concert on some disproportionate pretext? Is it the hunters who plan to defy the Spring Hunting rules? Is it the spewers of hate on online billboards?

Is it the churchgoer who cannot digest the fact that the last words of a Nigerian soul on a sinking Boat of Hope were “Please Jesus Save Me”? Is it a politician who abuses the word “conscience” one time too many? Is it the political party that devotes more time to deception than to creative proposition?

What image represents the Maltese psyche? Can we sit down and write an essay portraying what goes on in an average Maltese man’s mind? Will we be comfortable with it? And in the end… will we end up in court defending the essay from the accusation of its being obscene and pornographic?

I’d ask God to help us but I’d like to think that Sunday is still his day of rest.

www.akkuza.com – expensive thoughts for a Sunday afternoon.

Between viruses and price hikes, I get the feeling that many people are approaching this period of resolutions and promises with a dampened spirit and weak will. The manner by which we calculate the passage of time has always meant that sometime around the period of 25 December (the ancient festival of Sol Invictus – the Undefeated Sun) we begin to prepare for the forthcoming new cycle. In the modern age this has also afforded us the ephemeral excuse of setting ourselves new goals with which to test our wills – the infamous New Year Resolutions.

I spent most of the period following the winter solstice in the eternal city of Rome and it was while traipsing around the palatine, somewhere close to the Domus Julia, that I felt the first signs of the influenza virus taking over my senses. For I am but human, of the male gender to boot, and everybody knows how susceptible males are to the ravaging damages of the influenza virus. Apparently it was not just me but much of Europe that was suffering the consequences of a particularly harsh attack of the bastard microbe.

Still, I got to learn new stuff while in Rome. My education would not result from the plethora of historical sites that dot the ancient city like a particularly harsh attack of the morbillivirus. Of course, they did provide an added value but my greatest lesson would come from a childhood friend who I was visiting in Rome. In between a gourmand festival at some Casale and some shopping (de rigueur) around the jam-packed vie (streets), we discussed the “whys” and “becauses” of life as in Gino Paoli’s famous song.

Accipio (accept)

My childhood friend has been my guide in Rome since I first went to visit him what seems like ages ago. He is a sworn son of the city and his allegiance to its very essence goes beyond the strongest sense of patriotism. Tattooed on one of his arms is the Latin maxim “Nihil difficile volenti” – nothing is difficult for the strong willed. During one of our myriad conversations that are the Roman equivalent of philosophy at the dinner table, he pointed out that I tend to get too hot under the collar and allow myself to be troubled by too many things.

“Your problem is that you are too smart. You cannot solve everything or change everything. We all pass through that phase. I have learnt to accept. If other people are content doing things the way they do them, then just learn to take a deep breath and accept the fact that it is their way.” I paraphrase a recollection that may be slightly blurred thanks to a few sips of Roman wine (or the ‘Centoerbe’ digestif) but the gist of what he said is there. For a moment I was stunned, almost offended. But then I understood.

It makes sense really. The ‘philosophy of acceptance’ does not mean giving up and resigning from the self-arrogated job of “agent of change” but it means accepting the ways of the world. Above all, as my friend would stress, the world can never be changed to be the way you would like it to be. This seems obvious, but most times it is not. Our constant struggle to mould everyone and everything into “how we think they or it should be” is reflected in our daily interaction. It underpins our Mediterranean style of politics, whether liberal or conservative. I am still wondering what best to do with this newly acquired insight but I have a feeling that it will have an effect of some sort on my forthcoming year.

Abeo (change)

In a way, we will have to accept many facts in 2011. We have to accept the fact that in its struggle against the monster (virtual or real?) that is the current economic crisis, the political machine will spout two answers: (1) “Austerity” is the answer given by those with their hands on the purse and (2) “Solidarity with the Poor” will be the answer of the ‘progressives’ in Opposition. Whether it is Cameron-Clegg vs Miliband or Gonzi vs Muscat, you will have to accept that these are the rules of the game for the coming months.

Faced with the rising price of the basic food basket (it’s not just Malta, you know) from bread to milk, from fuel to gas to water, the electorate will have some choices to make. It can accept that the situation demands austerity and strict management but it must also question whether the solutions offered by its politicians are genuine or knee-jerk populist. Many of us will have to accept an even greater factor than all of the above – and that is that when push comes to shove, the electorate tends to vote with its heart and not with its brain.

Nothing is difficult if you will it though. While we may learn to accept the ways of life more readily, and while we tame our more rebellious side in order to seem more balanced in our approach, there will always be those who try to achieve more. Take Thomas Cremona, the leukaemia survivor attempting the Transatlantic rowing challenge, or Sean MacGahern attempting the longest dive in open waters. Citius, altius, fortius (faster, higher, stronger) – we should also be able to accept that while most of us sit back and complain, there are a select few who are prepared to push beyond the accepted boundaries and set new standards.

On the Street Where You Live

The Romans of old had a Via Salaria (it’s still there, by the way) – it was the road that linked Rome to the port of Ascoli, where the precious salt pans lay. Salt was an expensive commodity then, and used as a currency and also as remuneration for soldiers – hence the word ‘salary’. I wonder whether, having accepted the whole farce that is the discussion on MP honoraria (a pay increase that is definitely mistimed but not unnecessary), we should change the name of Republic Street to ‘Via Honoraria’.

Whether ‘honour’ becomes a common currency in this day and age of bandwagon politics remains to be seen.

www.akkuza.com strongly recommends La Soffitta in Piazza Risorgimento for gluten-free food while in Rome.

This article appeared in the Malta Independent on Sunday on the 9th January 2011.

To those who have already broken their New Year resolution. To those who are still holding on. To those who are determined to save on electricity bills. To those who are reading this in the comfort of an electric stove. To those who will wait until the Three Kings have come before starting to put away their Christmas lights and decorations. To those for whom Christmas is another word for “humbug”. To those who woke up this morning still reeling with a mild hangover from two nights before. To those who have already been to Mass and read the papers by 10am.

To those who thronged outside the newsagents exchanging New Year greetings and wishing everyone all the best. To those who sent their offspring round the corner to pick up the paper. To those who picked up a couple of pastizzi or pastries on their way to the newsagents. To those who skipped breakfast to better enjoy mum’s Sunday roast and their share of the big feast leftovers. To those who love mustard with their turkey and to those who still have not had enough of the cranberry sauce. To those who forgot to wear red underwear on New Year’s Eve and to those who never understood how people could believe such crap.

To those who think carpe diem. To those who already have fixed appointments for the 15th of August in the afternoon. To those who live to work. To those who work to live. To those who will wear out more of their travelling shoes this year and to those for whom the piazza or the promenade is their oyster. To those who double park to rush to Maxims, Champs or Sphynx for their supply of cheesecakes. To those who prefer Muscat’s pizza drenched in cheese and oil as it spills onto their shirt while they munch and drive. To those who still favour Lollies Bar and its incredible “hobzabacon” (one word, if you please). To those who will grow up switching between ftira and sushi.

To those who like me have fallen for more of the Apple products over the last year. To those who will do so in the coming year. To the poor BR who still insist that “Apple is just about the status”. To the law class of ‘99 – it was a pleasure catching up with you again these holidays. To the Saint Benild ‘75ers who are still trying to arrange a get together after all these years. To the ones who no longer spend a penny on newspapers because it is all available online. To those who still love to thumb through the real thing. To the new graduates fresh from their buscades. To the illiterate of the 21st century. To the sad fact that the more time goes by the more it seems that even the illiterate can graduate.

To the mothers and fathers of mediocrity. To the Nationalists and Labourites who still think party politics is akin to football support. To the parliamentarians and to d’Hondt and his system. To the one-seat majority and the pure entertainment it provides. To Nikki Dimech, Paul Borg Olivier, Robert Arrigo and Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando… even better than the real thing. To Daphne Caruana Galizia, Magistrate Scerri Herrera, Robert Musumeci and the plate vendors in Bidnija. To our sorry pink press and the innumerable ways in which it gets the wrong stories even wronger. To our beleaguered police force. To the up and coming “politicians” from the two big stables.

To those who have thought “sod it, there may be money in that but I still have my pride”. To those who think with their own head. To those who find thinking with other people’s head more convenient. To the fence sitters. To those who still think that there is some hope in thinking different. To Gakbu Sfigho.

To Lawrence and Joseph and to George. To their consorts. To the Archbishop and Bishop. To the pro-divorce movement. To the pro-life movement. To those who want to save the animals. To those who want to save the birds. To those who want to save their right to express themselves. To all kinds of journalists from the most sincere to the most biased. To Lou Bondi. To Peppi and his crew. To the indefatigable Reno Bugeja and Dissett. To those who would definitely eat rabbit every day. To those who think it’s just a furry little defenceless animal. To those who insist Flyunfair is a cheap alternative. To those who would rather get what they pay for and fly Air Malta.

To the fellow columnists of this paper. To the colleagues in the “rival” Sundays. To the elves and trolls posting comments all over the place. To those of you who have read through every single one of last year’s J’accuse columns. To those who rightly insist it’s a tad too long for their taste. To the programmes that are already streamed online. To Tim Berners Lee for the window he created for expats to look into the goings on while away from home.

To Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando for once again being the most talked about personality and pulling off his second J’Accuse Personality of the Year. To the protagonists of Plategate and to Austin Powers Gatt for their respective second and third slots. To tweeters and facebookers for making this world a smaller place. To tweeters and facebookers for making the global village a tad bit more claustrophobic. To tea in the piazza with a view at Mellieha and to a stroll down Republic Street just before the shops close. To the Baywatch pensioners in Qbajjar and to the great service at Arkadia. To Kinnie and Twistees.

To another year of J’accuse and to David, Noel and Rupert for the quick exchanges every Friday. To Lara for all those Friday nights waiting for the article writing to be done. To all of you for bearing with this wankellectual nonsense churned out on a weekly basis. To the shorter articles starting from this week. To all that and more.

Wishing you all a magnificent 2011.

www.akkuza.com comes to you live from the Eternal City at the start of 2011 – our lucky year.

This article appeared in The Malta Independent on Sunday on the 2nd January 2011.

Image via Wikipedia

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.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Stephen Hawking: religious leaders dismiss ‘God not needed’ comments (telegraph.co.uk)
• Coverage of William Hague’s personal life is ‘contemptible’, says Alan Duncan (telegraph.co.uk)
• Leave Hague alone, media warned (mirror.co.uk)

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.

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”.