The Ugly Dress Rehearsal

They’re electing representatives of the people in a number of councils tomorrow. From Zebbug (Gozo) to Sliema (Malta) the voters who will bother to take a stroll to the polling booth will be electing a group of people who are supposedly best placed to manage the needs of their locality. That is the principle behind the process of administrative devolution that began in 1993 with the setting up of the local council system.  It’s almost twenty years now and the Kunsilli are ingrained in our political system of representation – for good or for bad – and ever since Labour’s rethink about participation in local politics they have also been a microcosm of our wider political field.

Ever since the times of Cicero, electoral campaigns for the municipium  were a hotly contested affair. As the wikipedia article will tell you the ultimate right for a citizen is the right to vote (civitas optimo iure) – something to be treasured above all. Ugly electoral campaigns are also not something new and notions of slander, corruption and dirty politics on the eve of elections were not exactly invented by the PLPN crowd. Nothing new under the sun there. So what to expect from tomorrow’s vote?

Well, the result per se, should technically not have a meaning beyond enabling us to understand whether our cives have become more intelligent with the use of their ultimate power. At the end of the day the municipal council that is elected in each locality will have an effect on the lives of its citizens via the decisions it takes. It should be obvious to anyone who stops to think for a moment that the ultimate consideration therefore when casting one’s vote is the competence and potential of the candidate. To summarise it more succinctly: It is not WHO is behind the candidate but rather WHO HE IS and WHAT HE STANDS FOR. 

And that is where we start to get complicated. Down on the ground, where it counts, I have no reason to suspect that every candidate contesting the elections and committing his or her time for a few years of civic duty has plans and ideas for the running of his locality. Even better I am sure that in the absolute majority of cases the interest is borne by a love of the locality and a desire to improve it or bring out the best in it. That is after all what the council election is about. All this happens behind the elaborate facade that is the involvement of the major political parties and it is not helped by the fact that this set of elections is the last official public scrutiny before the next general elections.

So we get the ugly dress rehearsal. Once again signs will be read where there are none. For the umpteenth time Labour will make a song and dance about winning local elections when in opposition. It’s not like we have not already been there. It is an exercise in collective dis-education.  Why? Because your criteria when voting for local representatives should be the competence of the candidates and not whether you are exercising your vote to send a message to the Prime Minister. If you are stupid enough to waste the great prerogative that you have to choose the best local representatives because you’d rather be sending some message to the PN government then your idea of how democracy works is seriously flawed.

Labour could not help itself though. Thanks to Franco Debono’s antics it was duped into campaign mode at what turns out to be a very early stage and is now desperately trying to keep the election mode going as much as possible. That is why although we are speaking about local councils and performance the national media is full of arrows and stabs aimed at the heart of “GonziPN”. And then there was the whole RecordingsGate. First Joanna Gonzi then Julian Galea then Gonzi again were caught on tape – unsurprisingly all the candidates were from Cyrus Engerer’s Sliema council. The public heard PN candidates utter the obvious – our inbred tribal hatred was suddenly there for all to see. The PN countered with a few clips of its own – giving the usual suspects pride of place in its counter-information exercise.

The relevance this had for Local Council politics was that it reinforced the idea that PLPN still do not bother to screen candidates to check their suitability for public office. Did we need the recordings to find that out? There is a paucity of political potential already as it is and the recordings only threw the truth into everybody’s face. From Mosta to Sliema the signs of an illness in our system were already evident. As for dress rehearsals for an election we saw the two behemoths unashamedly re-engage in slander and mud-slinging politics where content is relegated to the footnotes of a manifesto. There it was – a race to uncover the sleaziest candidate, long-forgotten criminal records unveiled and more. What should have been a legitimate exercise of democratic checks-and-balances became a witch-hunt.

Then came Muscat’s Iron Lady performance. As others have pointed out it was obvious were Muscat got his Assisian inspiration from. The Labour leader would have fared much better had he memorised another great line from the movie: It used to be about trying to do something, now it’s all about trying to be someone. And that really hits the nail on the head. With the politics of taste that were inaugurated early this century substance makes way for charades, for strutting and for many words that cannot be backed by thoughts and ideas. Values have been thrown out of the window and marketing and imagery is all the vogue.

With our politicians busy playing along the weary scripts and jumping from one pleasant bandwagon to the next in the hope of boosting their already bloated caricatures on this stage we have only a huge dramatic performance to look forward to come next national elections. For now we have been regaled with some very ugly scenes that made for a horrible dress rehearsal. 

But let us not forget that there cannot be a play or a charade without an audience. It brings me back to the intelligent use of the vote. It’s not, as many may think, simply an appeal to vote for alternattiva demokratika. It’s a much wider appeal for the citizen to finally live up to this immense responsibility and make the right choices. Look through the candidates. Look at them beyond the colours they represent and seriously ask yourself what you can see them doing six months down the line that can improve the state of your community. Accept any other criterion beyond that and you are making a fool of yourself. 

And as a fool, you might as well join the other pagliacci on stage….

Vesti la giubba,
e la faccia infarina.
La gente paga, e rider vuole qua.
E se Arlecchin t’invola Colombina,
ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà!
Tramuta in lazzi lo spasmo ed il pianto
in una smorfia il singhiozzo e ‘l dolor, Ah!

Ridi, Pagliaccio,
sul tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol, che t’avvelena il cor!

 

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The Frontier Psychiatrist

Given that it is hard to keep up with the emptiness that is offered from our political milieu two days before a set of local council elections campaign, given also that I do not have the time required to set up a proper SHTF satirical video in Blobb style, given that there are two days till the jamboree of posts celebrating the  sevenversary of this blog and finally given that I have a post in draft that has been waiting to come out;

Given all that and more I though of just posting this video as a prequel to the actual post that is a summary of what we have seen in this campaign for the local councils (the actual post will be called “The Ugly Dress Rehearsal”. Don’t ask why I chose this particular one. Or at least don’t ask me. Do your research.

 

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Immigrants & Refugees (Utopia)

Anniversaries are also a time to look back at what we have done. I’ve decided to pull a series of posts from J’accuse’s past into a new rubrique called “Retro J’accuse”. This first one remains a topical issue. It deals with the way we treat immigrants in our country and was prompted by a Sunday Times of Malta editorial that, how can I put it, was not exactly brilliant. From March 27 2006 – here’s Immigrants & Refugees:

Imagine a day not very far from this one. Imagine that you have packed your suitcase with the absolutely necessary and that you are in line to get onto a plane out of the country. The country that is now called Ave Melita (yes they would probably name it something that stupid) is no longer your home. The government’s latest policy is called “Min ma joghgbux jitlaq” and you have taken one of the last places available in this scheme and you are heading to a new life into another country that you will have to call home – away from the sun, sea and Xarabank that you loved so much.

You could not stay. Your conscience did not allow you to stay silent infront of measures like “Malta tal-Maltin (suwed barra)” and the latest one called “Dissoluzzjoni tal-Ordni tal-Gizwiti”. You collected your papers from the Centru Nazzjonali tal-Purifikazzjoni, the former Jesuit College in Birkirkara, and sped with haste to the airport with tears in your eyes. Your stomach still has to be emptied on a regular basis as you adjust to the new reality and you see the same empty, desperate look in the fellow passengers of this forced abortion of nationals. You still cannot bring yourself to explain what has happened in your country and why you have to leave it so fast. But you have no time to do so. You have to begin to adjust to the new country.

The new country is not like those Mediterranean pits that were reserved for the boat people. Like them, it knew you were coming. Unlike them it did not reserve a hastily built slum for you to call as home. You live in a former army barrack but your tiny room has running water, electricity and there is even a communications and technology room for all immigrants to keep contact with the world. Morale is low – no one wanted to be here. The authorities try to be accomodating and to relieve the greatest troubles. They create a scheme for economic support. Different jobs in the local market are made available. Unlike the Mediterranean nightmares that you used to read about you are to be allowed to scrape away a little earning in order to be self-sufficient and be able to hope for brighter days.

When you venture out into the street , the locals are understanding. Although your complexion is very much like those of the terrorists who bombed and targeted their nation with violent attacks at train stations and on buses, very few make the quick and illogical assumption that you could be of the same ilk. You are offered lifts to work. You join the local carpool and although you are not working as the University Professor that you were in Malta, your life as a shoe salesman in this little town allows you to live with dignity even though your career and dreams have been put on hold.

Then one day a local radical paper falls into your hands. Your eyes cannot believe what they see. They seem to have caught up with you. Those bungling buffoons who were in power in Malta seem to have found a foothold even in this welcoming state, here is what they say:

“Surely, there are ways of keeping them busy and alleviating their boredom. For example, they should help, in their own interest, to keep toilets clean. Also, could not some scheme of putting them to work on public cleaning projects, under strict supervision, and for a small allowance, improve things? There are many jobs they could be given – God knows the island needs a massive sprucing up! The scheme could start with a few small groups, and eventually expanded. Naturally it must be ensured that at the end of their day’s work, they return to “base”.” source

 

In this new country you had been allowed to find a job through an Immigrant Job Assistance scheme. In Malta they wanted to turn immigrants into Chain Gangs. Desperate beings who had reached the lowest of the turningpoints in their life, who had abandoned their family and the little social sustenance they had in the hope of a new life would be used to spruce up the island under strict supervision.

You discard the paper and turn on the TV in your room – the one you just bought with the money put aside from your first two months’ salary.

They will be everywhere. The intolerant, the coocooned as well as the well-meaning bumblers. You remember that massacres in India and Africa under the colonial regime were prompted by well-meaning actions of the Evangelical communities who intended to civilise the misbelieving miscreants. And you begin to notice how some things never change. How difficult it is to achieve genuine tolerance based on brotherly love and not the tolerance that relies on looking down a snobbish nose into the eyes of the tolerated, and humiliated human being?

This just cannot be real.


****

Note: The extract in quotes is taken from the editorial of the Sunday Times of Malta – 26th March 2006. It refers to the illegal immigrants and refugees who were bundled into housing under atrocious conditions and is a partial reaction to the new uproar created by a visit of European Parliament inspectors who were among the first outsiders to be allowed by the democratic Republic of Malta to inspect the conditions. The visit had prompted escapes from detention by immigrants eager to show their plight to the visiting MEPS (and who cares how they got to know about the visit? Why should they not know about it?). Following the escapes, police in Floriana were seen stopping anyone who is black while passers by called for a all immigrants to be rounded up and burnt in a square.

It is possible that the above summary is as biased as it could get. But even the possibility that it is one tenth of the truth makes me feel ashamed that I am Maltese.

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Have I Got News for You

I have recently been getting a creeping feeling that I am the only person in the world that listens to certain Maltese radio stations. It’s not just that, because I also think that they only operate when I tune in and stop speaking/playing music the moment I switch station. How do I know it? Easy. Because the DJ speaks to ME. Just me. It’s either that or his or her grammar is limited to the second person singular.

How else to explain phrases like “Se indoqqlok id-diska l-ġdida ta’ Beyonce”? or “Għandna premju għalik li qed tisma bħalissa”? It’s irritating. I know, given the benefit of internet streaming radios why the hell am I torturing myself with Bay Radio’s Breakfast with Drew when I could be listening to RTL, RTBF Classic 21, or London’s Heart or even Waikiki Radio? It’s just that every now and then I do feel like listening to a morning drive show from home and possibly catch up with the news on the hour. So I have to submit to being spoken to directly by a DJ and I begin to worry whether he can see me getting dressed in my bedroom. Rather invasive isn’t it this language business?

And that’s not all. I have an aversion to the conversion of the pronunciation of placenames to English. How does Birkirkara get to be pronounced Bear-Kuhr-Kah-Rah? And Imrieħel suddenly becomes Emm-ray-hell. Is it cool? Does it make the place sound more cosmopolitan? What’s the deal? Why?

So please Mr DJ. I don’t know you. I am not on first name terms with you and do return to using the plural. If not for the sake of imagining an audience that numbers more than one then just think of me as the King – the one who deserves a royal plural. Whatever you do, the English “accent” (especially some conjured up cross-mix of brummie/eastender) was never, ever intended to be applied to the sweet arabic sounds of Maltese.

(This post is being republished to test WordPress to Facebook handling of comments.)

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Polidano can, if he thinks he can

There’s a story in today’s Times about how MEPA has stopped illegal works being carried out by property developer Polidano. The work in question was being carried out in the gardens of a number of Balzan townhouses that are protected. It’s the usual story, you would say, but what really sets alarm bells ringing are phrases such as:

“(…) Mr Polidano had repeatedly applied to knock down four historic townhouses in the village core to build six terraced houses with swimming pools instead.”

Repeatedly? Forgive my stupidity but can I ask a simple question: Can he do that? What is the point of a permit application system if it is not exhaustive? You apply and you either get or don’t get a permit. I would guess that that should be that. Apparently it isn’t. If someone like Mr Polidano does not like the outcome of his application then he can keep on trying until maybe somebody changes his mind – and then he will get permission to bulldoze 300-year old townhouses to build his swimming pool projects in Balzan.

If there ever was a massive WTF then this is it. Here is my hastily constructed timeline based on the facts in the article:

March 2003 – permission requested for alterations to facade etc  – REFUSED

May 2004 – appeals in relation to refusal – REFUSED

December 2005 – application to transform two town houses into 43 apartments and 121 car underground park (while preserving facades) – REFUSED

April 2007 – appeal in relation to Dec 05 application – REFUSED

July 2009 – asks board to reconsider decision – REFUSED

But some people don’t take no for an answer. Notwithstanding the Inter-style track record with MEPA Polidano’s bulldozers seem to have swung into action  and were busy within the protected gardens (see photos on Times report).

We are talking about gardens in townhouses in Balzan – an area famous for the citrus trees and more. We are talking about at least one of the houses having a historic value with Grandmaster De Rohan having used it as his country residence. I’d love to meet the architect who signs off these “projects” for Mr Polidano. What could be going through his or her mind when he is appending his or her name to such wanton destruction.

Worse still though is the attitude that Mr Polidano has with MEPA. Somehow you get the feeling that all the enforcement notices and orders to desist will not prevent the total destruction of the gardens in Balzan.

All the MEPA orders, and all the enforcement men will never be able to put Balzan together again. 

 

also from Flimkien ghal Ambjent Ahjar

 

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Hate crimes, Nationalist Candidates and PLPN Emos

The latest smart cookie from the constellation of Local Council Candidates has hit the news. This time it is Julian Galea – nationalist candidate for the Sliema Council – who has been lucky enough to have been caught on “secret tape” declaiming among other things his “phobia of Labourites” and boasting how his Labour-leaning employees earn less than Nationalist employees. This exposé could not come at a better time in order to expose the ridiculous idea behind “hate crimes”. You had Maltastar.com headlining this bit of news with a large sign saying “Stop Hating”.

It’s the DNA business all over again. One candidate or politician is caught expressing the thoughts that go through the heads of most fanatics of one of the two tribes any given day and suddenly we are all Padre Pios and discover our inner emos that are silently indignated by this offensive behaviour. How bloody typical.

Which is not in any way justifying what Julian Galea said. Julian Galea is your typical “anything goes” candidate like the Alexis Callouses (sic) of this world. He is a symptom of the abject inability of a party to shed its temptation to field as many candidates as possible without a proper screening. His “phobia” bullshit does not merit to be classified as a crime although we have a draft law that potentially will make it so. Incidentally with regards to the possibility of different pay for different political creeds we ALREADY have a law against that so no need for another one (and EU law enthusiasts will remember Defrenne vs Sabena). I vaguely suspect that he meant that Labourites are not high achievers and therefore end up on the lower end of the pay scale not that he pays on the basis of political allegiance – still, this does not make his talk any better or more palatable.

I too have a phobia. I have a phobia for stupid. It is a low threshold of tolerance and people like Julian Galea make my blood boil. So do the media manipulators who are now desperately trying to link his employment policy to GonziPN. Because it’s obvious isn’t it… if Julian Galea (I hadn’t heard of this geezer till today) thinks so then the PN must be endorsing this policy. But that is our politics. It has been for the past fifteen years now. Candidates not worth the poster their face is printed on, media frenzies of shit-stirring emptiness and a misguided appeal to values of convenience.

We are all emos now. It’s in our DNA.

 

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