The Rules of Engagement

Peppi Azzopardi saw fit to celebrate the 500th episode of Xarabank with a US-style debate between the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition. The edifying celebration of the 500 steps towards Malta’s “Xarabanikification” would come to an end after a couple of hours of partisan attrition with Where’s Everybody’s veteran presenter asking the audience for a round of applause (capcipa) for Malta’s politicians. The X-factor was complete.

Some wisecracks on the social networks claimed that the “capcipa” they had in mind for our politicians would not be as cordial as Peppi’s invitation – a rather conventional semi-joke from the xarabankified masses adept at the schizophrenic balancing act of wanton complaint and partisan support. But then it had to be so. This Xarabankified nation had a sort of coming of age on Friday night and, as the court jester Joe Bondi(n) dutifully pointed out, much water has passed under the bridge since the early dawn of Xarabank’s quest to bring the Maltese grapevine and bar chat into everybody’s home.

Our Bishop was a young Dominican, Lawrence Gonzi was the secretary-general of the Nationalist Party, Joseph Muscat was a budding reporter with Super One TV and Malta was still far from its latest ambition of joining the European elite crowd. Then came Xarabank and the process of Xarabankification. Unlike his colleagues at Where’s Everybody, Peppi gives off a scent of benign intent to tackle the major issues of the nation from the political equivalent of the lowest common denominator.

While the Bondipluses of this world thrive on exploiting ignorance and on the feebly disguised manipulation of supposed investigative journalism, Peppi built a welcoming platform that gives a voice to the good, the bad and (very often) the embarrassing face of what we are.

Long before the Internet exposed one of Malta’s faces – warts and all – Peppi’s Xarabank was doing a brilliant job of such an exposé himself. I’ve stopped being negative about Xarabank and Xarabankification. We cannot – must not – expect Hard Talk on TVM. We will probably never see a Michael Parkinson or a Jeremy Paxman gracing our TV screens trying to squeeze from the politicians the answers for which all the “middle-class” has been waiting with eager anticipation. Still – our compliments to Peppi and crew for their 500. Like it or hate it, Xarabank is an institution in our little microcosm.

Rocks

Joseph and Lawrence battled it out before the eager rent-a-crowds who must have been torn between the love for their leaders and the free-for-all sandwich and drink routine kindly provided by (Insert Ad Here) Caterers after the show. Speaking of rhetoric would be an injustice to the orators of past and present, from classical Cicero to modern Obama. On one side of the exchange we had the petulant upstart firing allegations and figures while shape-shifting like a play dough morph. For someone with a PhD in an arcane art related somewhat to economies, Joseph has a remarkable ability to switch from percentages to whole numbers and vice-versa to make his doom-laden speeches sound everso terrifying.

Anybody outside the world of the young Turks polluting the social network with regurgitations from their dear leaders could see how Joseph loves to use the cheap trick of switching denominations whenever it suits him. Sixty-eight thousand people paying no tax becomes four out of 10 earning less than 3,000 Maltese liri. Why Maltese liri? Because the sum multiplied by two point four something would sound too big a wage, wouldn’t it? In case Joseph’s conversion to EU suitability has not been fully upgraded (Joseph Muscat 7 – what political theory do you want to espouse today?) our currency is euros and no longer Maltese liri.

Joseph refused to fall into the blatant trap laid by Lawrence who insisted on setting the standard expected from Joseph’s party as “ta’ Partit Socjalista”. Every time Lawrence mentioned the word “socjalista” you could feel Muscat rubbing his virtual photo-shopped stubble (courtesy of www.therealbudget.com – where Joseph Muscat transmogrifies into Joseph Calleja). Lawrence knows full well how much Joseph’s party is investing in revising its image. Muscat was dying to explain how his is no longer a socialist movement but a progressive moderate one – which we have learnt is a euphemism for “opportunistic bandwagon movement”. But Joseph could not let Lawrence dictate the tempo, could he?

Rings

So we got the circular discussion, in which everyone under the sun yells his point of view from his context and his perspective. And Joseph has a huge problem here. His marketing gimmick is backfiring. This whole reinvention of Labour process is jarring at every step. Let me explain. Count the number of times Joseph tried to stress “id-differenza ta’ bejnietna” (the difference between us). Do you know what that difference is? He is claiming that, unlike GonziPN, MuscatPL can shoulder the burden of past mistakes. Can it? Does it?

While pointing fingers at Gonzi for having implemented the obvious (that’s a J’accuse copyright by the way) with regard to minimum wage, Muscat went on to claim that other PN achievements are the fruit of Labour’s labour. I smelt this one coming from the 5th of October “revisiting labour” conference. Believe me Joseph when I say that that kind of talk will jar with the less volatile of floaters and have them running for safety from upstarts trying to sell the idea that tertiary education is a Mintoffian heritage. Your minions might tweet your quotes on Facebook like some Latter Day Believers, but very few people who lived through “L-Ghoxrin Punt” will believe the lie.

It gets worse. The whole budget debate is pinned, according to Joseph, on the fact that Gonzi did not feel the people’s pains. I’ve written elsewhere about the

stomach-churning absurdity that the use of the term “wegghat” (loosely translated to “pains”) causes among people used to intelligent political discourse but that’s not the biggest problem. As the Prime Minister repeated time and time again, the international approval of the Maltese government’s financial management nullified Muscat’s irritable complaints instantly. Muscat only makes matters worse when he feigns ignorance of the international context and plants his head firmly into electoral promises made before the storm. I was reminded of the “stipendji shah” ruckus I had to face 11 odd years ago with the likes of Simone Cini and Joseph Muscat repeating the phrase ad nauseam and ignoring the new developments and reforms.

Promises, promises

Joseph Muscat spoke of a fundamentally different vision of the economy between himself and Lawrence Gonzi. And we believed him. We believed him because in the battle of the metaphors between the dad postponing the vacation due to adverse economic conditions and the umbrella in case of rain, the wise daddy won hands down. Because there’s a limit to how far Joseph can shift between acknowledging the existence of an international crisis and suddenly pushing for the removal of taxes within the same half-an-hour.

We believed Joseph because he is essentially still advocating a specific international theory of economic recovery when the world around him has very obviously ditched it. I am referring here to the Keynesian model of spending your way to recovery by putting more money into people’s pockets. Our young PhD wannabe Prime Minister does not seem to have any time to notice that everywhere else this model is being ditched (has he no time for The Economist or Financial Times? – I recommend an iPad with the Zinio app for Christmas). Lawrence tried to remind him. The international reports tried to point out that the Nationalist government’s way forward is sound – especially insofar as managing deficits and employment is concerned. But no. Joseph is busy playing on the “wegghat tal-poplu” and harping on ARMS Ltd (a cock-up true enough, but miles away from being a governmental crisis).

In case Joseph tries to deny his affection for basic Keynesianism, here are his words on Xarabank: “il-flus jigu billi titfa’ iktar flus tan-nies fl-ekonomija”. (“More money comes from throwing more of the people’s money into the economy.”) The bottom line is that in one fell programme the average floater’s approval rating of Joseph Muscat should have shifted from “curious” to “alarming”. The danger is that we are heading for the next election with Muscat fast moving into the seat vacated by Sant – and an election result by default.

New Romance

Those of us who hoped for “change” two years ago are now resigned to more of the same. No matter how much you cannot stand the arrogant hypocrisy of the PN on matters social such as divorce. No matter how much you cannot stomach the haphazard policies on transport, e-development, gambling, construction, the environment and more. No matter all that. Your first priority come next election will be electing a leader in whose hands you can trust the economy. What the country needs is a PN-AD coalition. What it will get is another government by default.

There I’ve said it – the C-word that combines Nationalist economic coolness and pragmatism with Alternattiva’s progressive vision on social rights and environmental awareness. We will not of course have a PN-AD coalition because the rules of engagement are such (as I have repeated ad nauseam) that make an election a zero-sum game of either/or.

Expect another relative majority for PN if voters are wise enough to see through Muscat’s scantily assembled revisionist marketing. Expect a rudderless government as an alternative that threatens to stagnate any hope of recovery so long as the “middle-class” dream of affording air-conditioners, free electricity and tax-free cars to cruise along the coast road on Sunday. You think that’s sad? Don’t ask who is to blame? You know the J’accuse answer.

Such is the level of hypnotic blindness of the average complainer that the only way they could look at the end of the Chris Said saga was as a sort of government-law court conspiracy. No matter that there was as much proof of perjury as there is stubble on Joseph Muscat’s chin in the real world. No. To them the disgrace was that the court case was heard with urgency and that Chris Said was found not guilty. That is the sad truth about modern politics. The lie travels around the world before the truth even has time to put its boots on. With Facebookers repeating the lies and half-truths and with the absence of proper intelligent debate, we can only sit back and wonder what saint we should be thanking for having survived until now.

La Serenissima

Last weekend I was in the Venetian Republic. OK it was Italy but being the historic romantic that I am I will forever dream of the Serene Republic with her double-crossing doges and mercantile spread from the Dalmatian coasts to Accre and Jaffa. The Queen of the Adriatic Sea is a marvel to behold, though I must admit that it does have its rough ways with tourists (thank God us Maltese are polyglots). The growth of a lagoon island into a major power to be reckoned with was attributable to the Venetian ability to read the signs of the times and invest in the right partners. That a city that rarely surpassed 400,000 souls could command such control is a marvel in itself.

St Mark’s Square and basilica offer a tangible testimony of this power with riches and relics plundered from afar. From the four horses atop the basilica (originally owned by Constantinople) to the columns stolen from a fort in the Middle East, the Venetians and their Doges used economic might and an early form of maritime supremacy to fund the building of what is surely one of the most beautiful cities on earth.

I chose this city with its unforgettable scenery to propose to my better half last weekend. After a splendid evening at La Fenice with Donizetti’s Elisir D’Amour (fabulous performance with a particularly grand Nemorino) and a little romantic interlude on the canals, I got a positive response for my very traditional request on bended knee. Incredible no? Who would have said that even J’accuse has a heart!

www.akkuza.com is coming to terms with the life engaged. We can finally explain the last few weeks of distraction – we were romantically occupied preparing for the big surprise.

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