Unmeritocracy, Undemocracy

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So it turns out that Mario Philip Azzopardi is not the most congenial person to work with. And that, it seems, is putting it mildly. It is ironic that of all the “meritocratic” appointments under the present government it is Azzopardi who joins the magisterial nominees in the eye of the storm(s) currently being whipped up. Azzopardi proudly boasts of being the man behind the infamous “I’m not sorry pa, I’m voting Labour” campaign that epitomises the drivel that was sold by Muscat’s campaign team before the election.  Muscat’s Labour was sold as an all-encompassing movement that would radicalise politics in Malta and take the heavy burden of nationalist arrogance and mismanagement off the Maltese people. The (man who thinks he is) Obama from Bahrija managed to pull off the biggest trick with a sufficient amount of people having swallowed his well packaged drivel hook, line and sinker.

Almost three years of Taghna Lkoll government later the masks have completely washed off (might have been the ice bucket challenge) and any pretence that this government harbours any values that relate to anything remotely resembling meritocracy (one of the trumpet calls of the campaign) have been dispelled. The crisis of this government is in fact first and foremost based around its abject failure to hold up the one principle that shone above all during the campaign : meritocracy.

The arts community is now up in arms because the man appointed as V18 artistic director has reached the limit of yellow cards. In an article in the Times today we find the very dangerous allegation that Azzopardi flaunted his political links in order to pressure artists into collaborating with him. Does it stop with Azzopardi? Of course not. He cannot be made the scapegoat of a virus that has been injected into the whole fabric of our institutional make-up. Take the issue of “persons of trust” for example. Only a couple of days ago our PM was happy-tweeting the fact that the employment rate in Malta was such that 18 persons a day have found employment under this government – of which 80% are in the private sector. Which might sound good but it also carries the interesting fact that under Muscat 4 people a day have been appointed to the public service.

Every week. While Michelle Muscat burns an inordinately ridiculous amount of diesel, and while Joseph Muscat cashes in 144 euros for renting his valueless Alfa to himself, 28 new employees join our government’s wage bill. Most of those, it goes without saying, are employed as “persons of trust” – a twisted interpretation of constitutional principles that is only there to justify one simple point: You Have to Be Labour to Be Trusted. I’m sorry pa.

Does it stop there? Hell not it doesn’t. This week the leader of the Opposition tweeted that the ball is now in the President’s court with regards to the nomination of Farrugia Frendo as a magistrate. New doubts have been raised (and echoed) from different quarters – retired judges, the dean of the law faculty and the Chamber of Advocates as to the eligibility of Farrugia Frendo for the post. Since Justice Minister Owen Bonnici insists on going ahead with the nomination anyway without consulting the Commission for Administration of Justice Busuttil has reasoned that the only guarantor of the consitution that is left is the President. All this is happening when we were supposed to be facing a monumental and uplifting reform in the justice sector – pivotal among which was an improved method of judicial appointment.

Instead of the promised reform we risk a patchwork re-evaluation based on knee-jerk reactions that are in their turn fruit of the current set of circumstances. The judicial reform cannot be the result of such a knee-jerk reaction. Especially not the reform of judicial appointments. A well-thought out reform has to fit in to the general fabric of constitutional discourse – that very discourse that has long been tainted by partisan rivalry and hijacked by hapless interventions that deprive it of all form of objectivity.

The lack of meritocracy is in fact the virus that has terminally poisoned this government and with it the it has gone on and poisoned the very institutional and constitutional fabric of the state. Democracy is in danger. I say these words not with the lightness of the kind that is normally around when campaign slogans are coined. Democracy is really in danger when what is unfolding before us is a general legal and political remake of the institutional fabric but one that is in the hand of power-serving, power-loving and power-hungry incompetents. This kind of reform that has gone by monikers such as Second Republic or Constitutional Change and that was supposedly heralded with the arrival of the Taghna Lkoll Politics is one that is only dedicated to as much self-preservation as possible for as long as possible by a select  circle of individuals who found themselves at the centre of society through a series of coincidental events.

It is dangerous. It is the triumph of ignorance and greed. It is happening right here, right now.

 

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Hyenas among the jackals

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It might be old news by now – I know, blogging has not been regular to put it mildly – but the visit by Le Iene to Malta still merits some attention and this for a number of reasons. I am an irregular follower of the program  because the Mediaset channels are not so easily available in Luxembourg but I do find the idea behind the show (for it is a show) interesting and worthy of encouragement. Inspired by Tarantino’s heroes in Reservoir Dogs Le Iene go about town doing some dirty investigative works on projects that they choose to follow. These are supposedly bits of news and scoops that the mainstream media has either shied away from naturally or it deals with them with a self-imposed omerta’. It helps to bear in mind that the manner in which a matter or issue is presented by Le Iene is the result of heavy editing – the kind of editing in which the findings that they set out to ascertain play a heavy part.

It’s all A.O.K when the troupe sets out on a mission to uncover waste of public funds in Italy – I remember a particularly cutting service about a fully equipped hospital built in Puglia that simply never opened its doors. It even had operating theatres complete with machinery. The problem is that Le Iene’s stories can be heavily one-sided… and the Malta piece was definitely one of those cases. Having been told by an Italian entrepreneur that “il governo maltese” is refusing to pay some hard-earned cash and that as a result of this a number of “lavoratori” risk being put on the dole, Le Iene saw your typical plot unfold. Here was the opptorunity to play big balls with the big balls in a neighbouring country. The anti-capitalist, anti-big government poor poor unpaid workers story was their type of fodder – better still if some nationalistic element could be thrown into the fold free of charge.

When you’re dealing with a store like this, they’re insured up the ass. They’re not supposed to give you any resistance whatsoever. If you get a customer, or an employee, who thinks he’s Charles Bronson, take the butt of your gun and smash their nose in. Everybody jumps. He falls down screaming, blood squirts out of his nose, nobody says fucking shit after that. You might get some bitch talk shit to you, but give her a look like you’re gonna smash her face next, watch her shut the fuck up. Now if it’s a manager, that’s a different story. Managers know better than to fuck around, so if you get one that’s giving you static, he probably thinks he’s a real cowboy, so you gotta break that son of a bitch in two. If you wanna know something and he won’t tell you, cut off one of his fingers. The little one. Then tell him his thumb’s next. After that he’ll tell you if he wears ladies underwear. … I’m hungry. Let’s get a taco. (Harvey Keitel as Mr. White in Reservoir Dogs).

They don’t cut off anybody’s fingers on the Italian show. They do a lot of sticking in the middle with you though. As in they turn up unannounced, they shove a microphone (not a gun) into your face, feed you the very loaded question and then sit back and watch you squirm. It’s normally a done deal. Faced with the high percentage of corrupt politicians and criminal involvement in Italy the grass is never missing from their usual pastures. It sounded like it would be more of the same when we heard Filiberti plead his case before Piano’s ostentatiously magnificent supertecture. 3 million euro of debts and no payments since the change of government. Hold up. “Since the change of government”? Why would an Italian businessman desperate to get his money back risk rubbing the current government the wrong way by adding the partisan element? Let’s face it he had no reason at all to do so. But he did.

Let me be clear. I now speak with the benefit of hindsight and having seen the video released by (I believe) Zrinzo Azzopardi that shows fuller parts of the interview that were left out by Le Iene. It turned out that the lack of payments was the result of something much more complicated and that Filiberti had not told the full story of the extent of the problems and who was not paying what. We did not even need to wait for Zrinzo’s video though. The Iene clip left one huge question hanging over the whole issue. Where were the courts in all this? Why had Filiberti not pursued anyone for lack of payment? Le Iene was not the right place to get his pound of flesh if he felt so deserving of it. There are the courts of law for that.

So yes, to put it short, the Iene line in this particular program was rather tenuous. We did get to see however a very embarrassing performance by the prime minister of a sovereign nation. Stopped on his way to some black tie event in St Julian’s, our Prime Minister’s performance went through various stages. We first had the glow of recognition – the sad man faced with a paparazzo style moment prepared to bask in the limelight like the four year old called on stage in panto. It segued into a moment of excess familiarity while still lulled into a sense of false security – years of experience as a heckling irritating journalist seem to have vanished from Joseph Muscat’s repertoire. He was caught unawares much like a consummate amateur betraying the fact that his love of the limelight will trump common sense anytime.

I will gloss over the embarrassing exchange that is not fit for any statesman since much has been said about that already. Muscat ended his interview by dumping the troupe onto the next sacrificial lamb – in this case Zrinzo Azzopardi, who was made to bear the brunt of Le Iene’s biased line as well as he could. The rest became an exercise of patriotic spamming all over the internet as the nation split between defenders of the faith (don’t touch my country) and those who would rather applaud a faulty interview so long as tomatoes are thrown at the current government’s face.

Once the charade was over and the hyenas had long forgotten the carcass they had attempted to chew on, we were left with the usual jackals. Those who have now been hovering around whatever is left of the kill. It doesn’t matter though, so long as we get to wear the black tie and pay a quarter of a million euros for tasteless art in Castille Square I guess we are doing fine.

 

“clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you.”

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The wrong sort of talisman

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Steel at the Orpheum

That night at the Orpheum Joseph Muscat had gathered the party diehards into a mental and physical fortress. The theatre named after a Greek mythical figure who had ended up dealing with the god of the underworld had a talismanic hold on the hardcore labourites. This was Macina-style territory where the sun of the dear departed leader Dom Mintoff had shone many a time in order to rally the troops with the feel good invincible rays factor.

All this was sorely needed after Labour had taken a not so metaphorical bashing with the forced dismissal of Michael Falzon – the latest in a series of cabinet casualties. The whole Labour philosophy – an elaborate web of promises about meritocracy, transparency and collective wealth – was once again in danger of being uncovered as being the web of lies that it really is turning out to be.

So Muscat needed to rally the troops. Morale would inevitably have been down. Even the most blinkered of diehards and flag-waving troopers could have sniffed the new bombs of insecurity that were beginning to weaken the bastions of blind faith that had been so patiently constructed throughout the Taghna Lkoll election campaign. During that campaign Michael Falzon had famously (and weirdly for that campaign we could also say incongruously) let out his “Fejn huma l-iljuni?” (Where are the Lions?) speech. Montekristo they all answered – not really. This time Falzon was part of the problem. How best to solve it?

Well. Magritte came to the rescue. Muscat chose to inject a botox-cannon of talismanic fervour to the flaying bastions of belief. Ceci n’est pas un politicien corrompu! (This is not a corrupt politician). He brought down the stage by hailing the very politicians who have until now borne the brunt of the effects of the fading make-up of Labour politics. Take one good look at Euridyce, Muscat yelled, here is Manuel Mallia, here is Michael Falzon, these are men above men, these are your soldiers of steel.

Astounding really. Mallia and Falzon were dragged from the muddy pits of political incompetence and limbo to the dizzy heights of Feigned Olympic Glory there to meet that other great soldier of steel – Cyrus Engerer, yes, the very one who was found guilty of crimes that Minister Owen Bonnici would later in the week describe as heinous and disgusting – revenge porn.

While the net effects of his blatant ignoring of any kind of good governance are still to hit Muscat and his band of high flying rhetoricians, the Supreme Leader of Spin (sorry, the Salesman) prefers to hang on to the old trick of rhetoric that is probably only good for the red-eyed accolytes who actually bother to go to the Orpheum. Holding up disgraced politicians as soldiers of steel is nothing other than a retrenching in the unconstitutional ways of hapless governance. The lack of institutional respect, the disdain for a proper system of rule of law, the incredible ability to ignore all semblance of separation of powers – they are all part of the death ride on which this Labour government  is taking the nation.

Having struck a pact with the lords of the underworld Muscat is hoping to get away quickly but is still unable to resist glancing back over his shoulders and taking one look at Euridyce. At this rate he will have little hope of success.

Silk in Pieta’

Speaking of the wrong sort of talisman. While Muscat was engrossed in selling his talismanic soldiers of steel at the Orpheum, PN’s Busuttil had a golden opportunity to sit back and watch Muscat’s party choke on its own doings. Which is why I was surprised and dismayed to see the clip of Busuttil waving some old party ‘kerchief claiming that it was of a historical value and that he would keep it in his office to remind him of the party’s history and his supporters’ fervour.

Now I must admit that to me political party memorabilia – whichever party it is – is tantamount to anathema. At most I can appreciate it in a kitsch collector’s sort of way or in the sort of artistic and historic interest I may take in blasons, symbols and mottos. I cannot stand, abide, tolerate, stomach, suffer or put up with any form of memorabilia waving that represents the blind fervor that I mentioned earlier. Flag waving and flag touting party supporters are the worst kind of demographic when it comes to assessing politics. There is no processing going on in their minds other than “we have to win, the others have to lose” – victory being the ultimate purpose itself.

There is no nobility, no value, no reason behind fanatic affiliation of political parties. That we have developed a large core of party-blind voters in this country is no boon. That party politics is full of the kind of fanaticism that should only find its place on terraces in sporting grounds (and hopefully with a sporting behaviour that goes along) has long been part of the problem of our local political scenario. “Blue till I die” makes little sense outside Manchester or Cardiff (when the oriental bosses are away).

It is for this reason that I cannot imagine what went through Busuttil’s head when he chose to sing the praises of the (purported to be) 100-year old handkerchief/flag  and laud the fanatic fervour of the supporter who had donated this talisman to him. I would see no problem with Busuttil having had a quiet word in private with this supporter, thanking him or her for his/her donation and promising to hold it in his travelbag as a good luck charm of sorts. In private though.

This is not a crime of the calling Mallia, Falzon and Engerer Soldiers of Steel levels. It is still a faux pas on some levels.

Given the state of the government, Busuttil and his party have a duty towards the electorate : that of concentrating on the construction and development of the new form of politics that has until now eluded us as a nation. It is a politics that is based on a pact of trust, on governance, on institutional respect and on rational debate. There is no place for the maduma, the silk handkerchief and the glorifying of the fanatical supporter in that equation.

Shed those talismans Simon, before it is too late. Otherwise you might paint yourself into a corner and find yourself having an Orpheum moment too.

Trust me, that cannot be good. No matter how much he smiles.

 

(Illustration: Ancient Roman talisman found in Germany. Not sure if they’d call it a soldier of steel… but it’s pretty close).

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Saving Daphne’s Privates

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Gaffarena Gate has been the black hole of news and information over the past week or so. Anything else newsworthy was sucked into the vortex of the spinning black hole of Falzon’s resignation, Muscat’s double-speak on governance and the n-th celebration of disgraced politicians by a Labour mass meeting. Patriots and pork only just made it past the all-enveloping scandal and this was probably due more  to the ridiculous stunts performed by the defenders of bigilla and zalzett than to any real newsworthiness. Even the Times descended into silly land asking the haplessly controversial question whether persons of a particular religion should be allowed to congregate and play.

Meanwhile in a law court not so far, far away a very important bit of jurisprudence was in the making. In the court presided by the impeccable Magistrate Depasquale, Minister Konrad Mizzi was desperate to prove that he had cause for grievance against blogger (for ’tis in this vest that she hath been summonsed)  Daphne Caruana Galizia. Such cause for grievance had been filed under Malta’s much maligned, misused and abused libel laws – those that have criminal consequences, so to speak. Caruana Galizia had written about some supposed/alleged fling between Minister Conrad Mizzi and one of his minions involving, among other allegations, an exchange of kisses in public. Minister Mizzi could only but cry “lie” at this serious allegation that would, if proven true,  amount to an extra-marital flirtation by said Minister. Hence the law-suit. So far so good.

We were informed, through the medium of the press, that in the sitting of January 18th, the line taken by Mizzi’s lawyers was a rather unorthodox one. Messers Mifsud Bonnici (Aaron) and Lia (Pawlu) were insisting that Caruana Galizia reveal the source of the libellous information. And here lies the problem. Not just for Mme Caruana Galizia but for every single citizen of the island of pork-guzzling patriots and martyred ex-Parliamentary Secretaries. You see, Caruana Galizia was sticking to the age old  universal protection afforded to journalists with regard to their sources. She was not obliged at law, she argued, to reveal her sources for her journalistic work. True. Very true.

The only problem was that the legal team for Minister Mizzi of the government that championed the protection of whistleblowers among many other things decided to become incredibly narrow and literal minded in their application of the law. Shylock was after his pound of flesh. The reasoning put forward by the lawyer who has been touted as the next Chief Justice of the land (pray note that this also means that he would chair the Constitutional Court, guardian of all things holy) was that since the blog in which Daphne writes can not be registered under the Press Act then surely Daphne Caruana Galizia is not acting as a journalist whenever she writes in her blog. Which would mean of course that her sources – who she has called moles, spies and other names through the lifespan of her blog – would be afforded no protection.

Which is a load of hogwash of course. A load of hogwash that would only find place in Kafka’s novels or in the best of Soviet theatres and kangaroo courts. But this is Malta in the time of Joseph Muscat and a very very weird interpretation of the law and legal rights (The government has just gone and sued itself in a case so don’t even dare challenging this assertion).

Let’s go step by step.

1. She is not a journalist

You may not agree with the woman. You may find her blog to be the result of a particularly efficient network that collates information and disseminates it in a selective Wikileaks manner. You may, like me, find her automatic negative reaction to anything Gozitan particularly distasteful. You may think all these things and more but to insist that Daphne Caruana Galizia – even when restricted to the blogging hat of Daphne Caruana Galizia – is not a journalist is complete and utter hogwash. In the year 2000, the Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe drafted a recommendation signed by most of its member states with regard to the protection of journalists from disclosing their sources. (Full name – Recommendation No. R (2000) 7  of the Committee of Ministers to member states on the right of journalists not to disclose their sources of information). Here’s the definition section of the Recommendation:

Definitions

For the purposes of this Recommendation:

a. the term “journalist” means any natural or legal person who is regularly or professionally engaged in the collection and dissemination of information to the public via any means of mass communication;

b. the term “information” means any statement of fact, opinion or idea in the form of text, sound and/or picture;

c. the term “source” means any person who provides information to a journalist;

d. the term “information identifying a source” means, as far as this is likely to lead to the identification of a source:

i. the name and personal data as well as voice and image of a source,

ii. the factual circumstances of acquiring information from a source by a journalist,

iii. the unpublished content of the information provided by a source to a journalist, and

iv. personal data of journalists and their employers related to their professional work.

It fits nicely does it not? We have not even begun to look at the jurisprudence of the Strasbourg Court (Goodwin anyone?) or the European Charter of Rights. The recommendation is already clear enough about how far the protection should go. It is not restricted to some state defined numerus clausus such as a list of “approved journalists” under the Press Act. Any natural or legal person. Regularly engaged in the collection and dissemination of information. To the public. Via any means of mass communication. I don’t know about you but it is pretty clear to me that Daphne’s blog falls fair and square within this definition and that would make Daphne a journalist even when she is limited to blogging on the Running Commentary.

2. She has to disclose the source

What is this obsession about the source anyway? It is in fact the most dangerous part of the case being built by Mifsud Bonnici and Lia. Don’t be mistaken because there are no scruples here. We all know that Daphne Caruana Galizia is prepared to go all the way to defend her right to publish information in blog form. Blog and be damned she will. Aaron Mifsud Bonnici knows it, Pawlu Lia knows it and most of all Konrad Mizzi knows it. The very public obnoxious shake up here is not directed at Caruana Galizia but at any potential source. What after all is the use of getting the accused in the libel case to give up the source of the information? Very little really. Except that Mizzi and his team do not care about anything other than putting the fear of god into anyone who might in the future be made to think twice about whether or not to send one of those quickly snapped photos of yet another politicians’ misdemeanors.

Whether a Minister chooses to have an extra-marital fling is a debatable piece of news that can be used in various ways. As any Monica Lewinsky, Lord Boothby or John Profumo might vouch, sexual affairs and politicians rarely are just that. More often than not they have repercussions of a constitutional nature and any self-respecting journalist in his right mind would want to investigate and report.

Sources are paramount for Daphne’s kind of blog that is less pundit and more reportage thanks to a long list of willing suppliers of information that end up being a very informal but well-connected network. Muscat’s men know that the effects of this network can be lethal. Which is why in this case they are not really going for the journalist and editor of the blog. They want to get to the source. They want to put an end to the network of informants and to do so they are prepared to attempt to get the courts of the land to apply a very dangerous and literal-minded precedent.

To conclude. The journalistic profession has not had a good last two decades. When more than two-thirds of the people who get their bread and butter from some form of journalistic work are inextricably linked with the major political parties you tend to get a withering of the power of the fourth estate – one of the important pillars of a democratic society. The lack of respect towards the profession was never more blatant than in moments when journalist credentials were handed out to anybody that the parties needed for a particular stunt. Remember JPO bearing a PN press card in order to harass Alfred Sant in his crocodile tears phase?

The profession needs to win back respect and it can only do so by performing its duty of investigating and monitoring the powers of the nation without letting them interfere. It also deserves all forms of protection from any institutional assault such as this one being orchestrated by Konrad Mizzi.

It is not Daphne Caruana Galizia who is in danger. It is an important cog in the machinery of a democracy and it is the citizens of the democracy who have a right to access all forms of information and weigh it on their own account. For all our sake and for all that we stand for, Daphne’s privates must be saved.

“They’re talking about things of which they don’t have the slightest understanding, anyway. It’s only because of their stupidity that they’re able to be so sure of themselves.”
― Franz Kafka, The Trial

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The Arab Mosque of Msida

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Somehow it does not have the same appeal as the “American University of Malta” does it? It’s Arab, not American, it’s a Mosque, not a University, and its Msida… as in, since when does Msida have more appeal other than being a huge roundabout adorned by a garish monument and kiosks?  There still seems to be a more tangible and realistic demand for the Arab Mosque of Msida than for the ultra-fictitious American University of Malta. It may be because the latter is neither American nor a University and is only sited in Malta because the great salesman of Castille was conned into prostituting virgin land to a construction specialist from the Emirates. The former is required because there are quite a number of practicing muslims who have no place to gather for prayer.

When Germany started to feel the weight of the large influx of refugees from Syria and around, questions started to be asked of the neighbouring Gulf states and whether they too would be prepared to take some of the millions of displaced people. Saudi Arabia’s reply was curious. They would not take the refugees themselves but offered to help Germany integrate the muslims. By building mosques. In Germany.

Of course this was before the nightmare situation of the New Years’ Eve groping sessions from Cologne to Bielfeld to Hamburg. Even so, the Saudi proposal was met with disdain as it brought to life themonstrous menace  of a cultural invasion. Mosques are not exactly the top priority for building projects in Europe right now. Which is probably why France’s mosques held an open day on Saturday in order to allow non-muslims to see how they were really places meant for prayer and peace. Islam, the religion of submission  to the will of God (inshallah) is all about peace (salaam), they said.

Back to Malta. Some nutter with no idea of PR decided that the best thing for the muslim community to do in these times of high sensistivity and sensibility where cliches are shot as rapidly as a kalashnikov in the wrong hands was to organise an open air prayer meeting – of the kind Angelik does – in full view. The idea was to show how the muslims in Malta did not have enough places of prayer – the Paola mosque was not enough and using a garage to congregate is considered illegal.

Some questions do need to be asked though. The muslim community has grown considerably and there is probably a justified demand for a new place of prayer. Our constitution safeguards and respects the right of other religions and the freedom to worship is one of the fundamental rights that are recognised. The question of whether a new mosque is needed should be examined in this light – outside of the panic and fear-mongering linked with recent international events. It is not about us and them either. We are either a nation that is selling passports by the hundreds (and it has been made abundantly clear what creed and nationality are the major targets for this campaign) or we are not. These are Maltese citizens who happen to be muslim that need catering for.

Much fuss was made when it was suggested that the new Sadeen Not-So American and not so University of ODZonqor might require a mosque of its own given its target of 3,500 students. It’s not so funny now is it? The Slovaks have questionably closed their borders to anybody who is muslim – no muslim refugees. This questionable decision is not an option here. We are dutibound to look hard into our constitution and our core values and understand that a new mosque is necessary in order to guarantee worshiping rights to some of our citizens.

What is funny, or interesting, is that neither the developers of this land nor some new shady business partner from the Gulf have made contact with this government of plentiful opportunity in order to market a new deal. As I said in the beginning the Arab Mosque of Msida (or wherever the government might decide to sell land) is never going to be an attractive option. Which is a pity really, because at the end of the day the building of a mosque as a place for congregation for the muslim citizens of the land would actually be a clear sign that Malta’s constitutional values are strong and alive – that in this country you are free to worship so long as you respect others and respect the core values of the community.

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Pardon their Frenċ

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The Għarb Local Council have gone all hot under the collar about what they call “allegations” made by Katie Holmes, mother of convicted Welshman Daniel Holmes. In yet another appeal to have Daniel’s punishment shortened from the draconian 10 years, Katie Holmes mentioned the fact that the man considered by many to be holy and known as Frenċ tal-Għarb had also used cannabis to cure people. Well, it turns out that hell knows no fury like a Local Council who deems that its Holy Man hath been scorned. The representatives of the tiny (and beautiful) Gozitan village whose name means “The West” resort to threatening Katie Holmes with a case of defamation/libel. In their mind it was the most they could do short of issuing a challenge in the village pjazza at the stroke of the midday bell.

A little aside here. By some twist of cosmic fate all this happened on the first anniversary of the Charlie Hebdo killings. You know the ones that I am talking about – the ones where the whole world asked itself whether a bunch of lame satirists had gone a step too far into “provoking” a bloody response from the fanatical and the ignorant. On a much lesser scale of cosmic importance I had also just blogged about the irrational and disproportionate reaction in Kyrgyzstan to a facebook post about a national dish.

Back to the West. The dramatis personae of this little farce makes raw material for a magical novel of the Garcia Marquez kind. We have the beleaguered mother of a man condemned by a hypocritical society to rot away in its prisons while former drug traffickers and conspirators hobnob with the leaders of the land. She could be pictured like the desperate Magdalene and Mary at the foot of the cross, heart torn apart by all the suffering caused to her son. Katie Holmes was hoping to inspire empathy with her story about the Gozitan faith healer and expert herbalist. Cannabis, she was saying, should not be seen in such a bad light in this country after all when it is so plain that some good can come out of it.

What of Frenċ? Well, I can tell you a bit about Frenċ the man and quasi-scientist. I have people in my family who, years before internet turned the world into a global village, had benefited from his healing “powers’. No marijuana was harmed in that particular feat since the stories I am told seem to have involved much more the power of conviction than anything else. Frenċ is known to have used herbs and plants endemic to the islands in order to help ailing visitors. That and a dose of Hail Marys and Our Fathers to be fair, but the latter part of the healing process are of little use in this story. We live in a world where we are oblivious to the fact that the ingredients in every medicinal we take find their origin in herbs.

You’d have to be an idiot though not to have heard of the medicinal effects of cannabis. It would be no surprise then were Frenċ to have prescribed its use to a suffering patient (that and a dose of Hail Marys of course). Cannabis just goes to be added to the long list of herbs and plants with beneficial properties such as chamomile (weariness, bowel inflammation), poppy (asthma, bronchitis, whooping cough), rosemary (headaches, epilepsy, circulation), sage (headaches, cough), primrose (rest, sedative) and lavender (fainting and nausea). Around Frenċ’s time on this earth, in London in 1916, Harrods were selling a kit described as “A Welcome Present for Friends at the Front” containing cocaine, morphine, syringes and needles. Also, heroin was sent to the soldiers in the trenches since it had the reputation of being particularly effective against tuberculosis and pneumonia.

So would Frenċ the man and herbalist (as against Frenċ the icon) have been so out of line had he really used cannabis as is alleged by Ms Holmes? Not really. At most he would have been a visionary and far ahead of his time.

Which brings me to the final actor in this dramatis personae. The Local Council. I cannot help but picture them as the Jewison portrayed the Sanhedrin in Jesus Christ Superstar. Standing on the scaffolding bare chested they pound their fists on the metal angry at the allegations and shit-stirring as they perceive it. “Must die must die this Jesus must die.”

There is no amount of WTFs that can be plastered outside their council door in order to emphasise the base stupidity of their actions. How on earth do they represent Frenċ in court anyway? Is this a class action? Did they ask themselves whether this is what Frenċ would have wanted? Again, from what I hear about the man he was blessed with an incredible amount of practicality and logic – which is probably what made him stand out so much in the first place. That such logic and intelligence was imbued with a heavy dose of humility must have been a great asset to the man. Such assets are alas lacking among the egregious members of the Gharb Local Council. They want their pound of flesh and they want it fast – all because it is alleged that Frenċ used the right herb to do the right thing.

Frenċ is Gozitan (ok, Maltese too) for Francis. Just like the Pope. You know, that man in Rome who is taking great strides in reconciling the church with the man in the street. He once said that a little mercy makes the world less cold and more just. If the councillors cannot find it in themselves to recognise the ridiculous nature of their actions and if they cannot realise that their quest is akin to that of any fanatic eager to exact his revenge upon anyone who they deem has insulted them, then and only then should they at least resort to being merciful and retract their pompous threats of libel and defamation action.

 

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