Prima Giulio, Dopo Giulio

Ai primi degl’anni novanta facevo le mie prime incursioni nel mondo della politica. Un attività decente nella gioventù del partito democristiano maltese (ufficialmente ed anacronisticamente Partito Nazionalista) andò a combinarsi con una fame di informazione nutrita da settimanali politici stampati e rubriche politiche in TV. La notte si passava con un misto di satira e i discorsi lunghi quando ancora Maurizio Costanzo si faceva intendere e rispettare dagli studi di Roma. Arrivavo alla vigilia di Mani Pulite e Tangentopoli con un regime stretto di Panorama, Smemoranda e una pazzesca dipendenza sulle vignette di Forattini. Fù la fine di un era con tanto di Craxi, di Spadolini, di De Mita e di Amato. La PSI, la PRI, la PLI e la PSDI e sopratutto e sopratutti la DC.

Io scoprivo i saggi di di Rafael Caldera e mi interrogavo su Don Sturzo, mentre d’avanti agl’occhi si scopriva un palcoscenico di un sistema politico corrotto, marcio e malsano. Era ancor’ prima che scendesse in campo quell’altro a cambiare ancora una volta il volto (ma non la pratica) della politica e dei politici. Cominciavano a piovere mandati e gli sforzi della vecchia politica di salvarsi dal dragone sputarabbia togato furono presso che inutili. Da li in poi arriverebbe la fine della Prima Repubblica con tanti saluti e tromboni festeggianti per il Cavaliere che avanza.

Il 1992, cinquecento anni dopo la scoperta dell’America, significa anche l’ultimo anno per Giulio Andreotti in un ruolo di governo. E lui il nano gigante che lascia cadere la sua ombra pesante sulla democrazia cristiana italiana. Nel bene o nel male è lui la storia lunga quanto quella di una repubblica fatta di mille governi, miliardi di misteri e tanti ma tanti inciuci. Una figura difficile da capire nei pezzi, odiata nell’intero. Sarà un caso del destino che Giulio sceglie di andare nell’altro mondo meno di un mese dopo che si è spenta la Donna di Ferro. Ho sentito degl’amici socialisti dire che adesso marciranno insieme all’inferno – dato sempre che il diavolo non riconosca un a posizione privilegiata ai suoi vecchi amici.

Andreotti non fù per me un esempio di politica democristiana. Non ho avuto il tempo di seguire i suoi passi o le sue battaglie. Dal sistema “Camillo e Peppone” nella quale si schierava con gl’Americani contro la minaccia comunista alle sue relazioni misteriose con mafia e chiesa Andreotti non desta molta simpatia. Il personaggio gobbo e sempre in riflessione diventa più grande (ma molto più) della persona – anche di quella politica. Alla fine dopo di lui crolla la DC – mai recuperata e molto frammentata dopo l’uragano Tangentopoli. Vent’anni dopo quest’ultima comparsa muore ma suscità ancora tanta rabbia, tanta amarezza.

Rimane una delle icone degl’anni ottanta. Quei politici distaccati che gestivano tutto negl’interessi del paese ma anche per altri interessi meno puliti. Sono poco le lezioni che ci può lasciare Giulio in questa fase di politica dell’antipolitica. Ci resta solo da vedere se i suoi eredi – quelli della Seconda Repubblica avevano cosi tanta ragione o se hanno solo confermato che siamo tutti umani di una pezza – avari per il potere, corruttibili e senza possibilità di salvezza.

 

 

Facebook Comments Box

Parties crossing the threshold of faith

If René Descartes and Anselm of Canterbury met in a fictitious room in some other dimension we cannot be sure what the resulting conversation would be. Provided they overcome linguistic difficulties of sorts (but heck, if we create the fictitious room we can create a Douglas Adams Babel Fish – or they could just both revert to Latin, simples) there is a high probability that at some point they might bring up the two maxims with which they are closely associated. For every “Cogito, ergo sum” shot by René we would have a “credo ut intelligam” from Anselm. Then again they might end up talking about something else altogether – like for example whether the fact that they were together in a fictitious room was proof enough of the existence of a God.

Leaving René and Anselm to their conversation, we could take a quick look at the Maltese political scene from a philosophical and sociological point of view. This blog’s fate is irreversibly linked with the “PLPN paradigm and theory” that links the hegemonic performance and presence of the two monoliths of Maltese politics to a general degradation of quality and value in political thought. The latest step in the evolution of Maltese politics – the Taghna Lkoll/Joseph Muscat phenomenon – has opened a new chapter in this saga and I’d like to think that it is one that confirms the general trend of dilution in quality.

In a way we are witnessing a delayed confirmation of sorts of the Fukuyama “End of History” notion that however takes into account new circumstances such as the forced abdication of ideological trends in favour of populist scenarios. Not only was the political game rigged to confirm the careerist mechanisms of the few (witness the semi-failure of the M5S in Italy to usurp the throne from the old system) but it managed to adapt further by eliminating any qualms of rigorous policy and adopting il qualunquismo (populist ideas that please everyone and everything).

Revolutions whether Orange, Silk or Arab seem to have only served to change the actors but not the methodology. Potestas omnia corrumpit? Not only. Do not forget the concurrent revolution in systems of communication – the massive power of tweets, facebook and direct marketing. The irony is that the democratisation of the media has been accompanied by a post-9/11 adaptation of Orwellian Newspeak – witness the shift of the hegemony to the new methods of delivery – and the consequent blatant violation of data protection and rights in the local scenario.

The most shocking aspect of this all was not the adaptation of the hegemonic forces to the new ways of promotion, nor was their unabashed abandonment of principled policy in favour of pragmatic manoeuvring. What shocked was the unquestioning acceptance of their methods by the larger part of the population. “Jiena nemmen f’Joseph ghax iwettaq dak li jwieghed” (I believe in Joseph because he delivers what he promises”) went one of the pre-electoral ads. Even if we were to cast aside the blatant fallacy that was underlined by the fact that Joseph had hitherto never had any occasion to deliver anything we are still left with an important groundbreaking statement – one of belief. Faith.

“I believe in Joseph”. Sure the vocabulary was not new to the Maltese political scene that linguistically crosses the borders of emotions (pain, suffering, glory, guidance, shepherding) but this time there was an even deeper pronouncement of faith. The profession of faith was transformed into a mantra – the Taghna Lkoll – of words, words and more words. Meanwhile Joseph divested the party of its very essence – this was no longer a party, it was a movement. If you believed in Joseph then you were part of the movement and this would include apostates from the other big religion in the country.

The party had transformed itself into a sect of unquestioning believers attracted on the back of various emotional baits such as anger, promises of merit, undeliverable plans of solving the energy dilemma as well as individualised packages such as free for all for hunters or those crazy campaign moments when tablets were promised to all. If you needed proof of this you had to wait no longer than 50 days from the movement’s ascension to power. Gone was the meritocracy, the promises on energy were teetering and amended while the true cost of bandwagon promises began to be seen as in the case of the hunting farce (and Galdes’ infamous loophole jibe). Did the acolytes protest? Hell no. At least this government was not the previous one. It could commit the same indecencies, it could vote itself more expensive costs but so long as it was not the devil incarnate as announced by Joseph in his book then it was AOK.

It’s dangerous, this sect business is. It is far, far worse than a political party abusing of its relative majority to create a wider gap from the people. Meanwhile on the other side of the dichotomy there do not seem to be signs of an abating of the trend towards relative nullity. Sure, the pomp and circumstance of Nationalist camaraderie was respected through and through in the leadership election and the “look no backstabs” performance might have gone down well with the general public still finding it hard to digest the Franco Debono indigestion. Still though, was so much politeness and mutual deference really necessary? (L-aqwa li “well behaved”).

The eagerness of the nationalist milieu to anoint a leader with as little acrimony as possible does not bode well. “We are all behind Simon” is not necessarily a good thing given that in more ways than one Simon Busuttil remains a virgin to local politics barring his stuttering performances in the last general election. The early signs of a “solution” within the PN fold stinks very much of the sectarian option that Labour has so successfully adopted. Less critique and more monolothic acceptance seems to be the order of the day – allowing parties to spout nonsense wrapped and packaged in propagandistic bling.

If the PN really does go the PL way then we have the two parties finally crossing the threshold of faith. Less cogito and much more credo. The Maltese have a saying “iwiegħed l-ilma jiżfen“(literally “to promise dancing water” best translated as “to promise the moon”).

Our parties have long shifted to promises of moons and dancing waters. The danger is that instead of questioning them and their policies more and more of us are preferring to believe.

Amen.

 

Facebook Comments Box

The Knot

We have been away and will be for some time yet. It’s a special time in the J’accuse family. The younger J’accuse – who is as similar to J’accuse as night is to day – will be tying the knot this weekend. He may be Malta’s topmost podologist (just kidding, no ethical issues involved here – just a dig at other “indispensable” professionals) but he remains the younger brother. It’s been hectic, it’s still hectic as is wont to happen in the J’accuse household. It would have been better had the weather been more clement in the run up but hey… fingers crossed for Sunday.

Meanwhile bear with us for the absence for a while longer and allow me to use this, Malta’s longest running blog (with wedding hiatuses), to wish the bro and his lovely wife-to-be all the best.

Facebook Comments Box

Guernica revisited

The other day I was browsing the news on my phone when I came across an item about a series of bombings around Irak and Afghanistan. I remember thinking how this kind of news has become so frequent as to become almost unnoticeable. My first idea of news is in the early eighties when the bulletins would be dotted with IRA bombings, kidnappings and hijacks. Post 9/11 terrorism had not come into being yet and you still had the tangible feeling of people losing their lives – of humans engaged in suffering and misery inflicted upon them by lesser beings – but by humans nonetheless. The Habibiya bombings were just a flicker on the news ticker. By the time the full information was gathered thirty-one people had lost their lives in a series of bombings in the Middle East and many more were injured.

Sports bulletins were not stopped, nation’s leaders were not rushing to express their condolences with the victims of these attacks or solidarity with a nation that was once again pregnant with mourning relatives. Most of all, the item barely made it to the top of news bulletins or front pages across the world.

Then came Boston.

Comparisons are odious and this is not intended to compare for there is no comparison that holds ground with the suffering and misery inflicted by loss of life or grievous injury. An injured human is an injured human – whether he is running a marathon, watching a marathon, on a boat in the middle of the Mediterranean or shopping in a market near Tikrit. A dead human is a dead human – whatever the cause of death may be and no matter if the death was caused in the name of some ‘greater cause’ or due to mere madness.

But the Boston marathon lies in the heart of a United States that still tries to be a melting pot of sorts. People from all over the world aggregated to the town of freedom and tea parties to celebrate life in a sporting fashion. Some twisted minds who deserve the worst of Dante’s circles in hell planned and plotted for bombs to explode at the moment when the largest number of runners are crossing the line. It’s ugly. It’s vile. And the world yelled “Enough” in angry indignation. Which is all good for the par. Every one of these dead runners or spectators (three at the moment of typing) and every one of the persons who had to have their limb amputated, must be mourned and showered with all the compassion and help they may need.

They must be helped because we are human and because we like to believe that our kind is capable of thinking as a society that cares. In equal measure must the perpetrators be found and eradicated. Yes. Eradicated.

But Boston also showed the two-faced approach to emotions. Almost daily the world observes tragedies such as what happened in that fair American city. Yet while Boston will enjoy more than its fair share of attention, events such as the bombings in Irak get relegated to second, third or even nth place. This is not a competition mind you, nobody would vie for top billing on the tragedy headlines. It does say much about our perception of the world. For much as I would like to give the news conglomerates and journalists (as well as their customers and clients – the reader, viewer and listener) the benefit of the doubt you do get a nagging feeling that some lives are more important than others.

If not more important, then more relevant to others. The onlooker at a marathon is not as distant as the “oriental” at a souk who gets blown to smithereens while buying her vegetables for the daily pot. The message that this sends out is that these people are “different”. That very message of difference that we had all nixed when Huntington came around with his clash of civilisations business. It could not happen we thought. We are all human and humans and their rights are universal.

The irony of the Boston attacks was that they occurred during a marathon. The concept of a marathon began after the battle of Marathon in 490 BC after the united city states on the peninsula beat the invading Persians at Marathon (with Pheidippides running the distance to Athens to announce victory). The battle itself would have been seen as a clash between two great civilisations – the lords of the earth versus an association of free states. The temptation to succumb to this kind of rhetoric might be great but in the end it is humankind that suffers – not democracies or authoritarian regimes – but the man in the street… jogging, shopping or simply minding his own business.

Every so often we get a new version of Guernica painted directly onto the canvas of our collective memories. We are reminded once again of the pain and suffering that a human can and will inflict on another human. We are reminded of the ugliness of our nature and of the fine line that divides this exalted race of ours from animal-like behaviour and of what a struggle it is to be and remain “civilised”.

May their souls rest in peace and may the victims of humankind everywhere be vindicated by what will hopefully be an increased awareness about ourselves and who we really are.

 

Facebook Comments Box

Il-partiġjan

Hemm hu l-emblema tal-vojt. L-epitomija tan-non-sens. Il-partiġjan tipiku. Hip, hip, ħu go fik!

Hemm hu. Magna orwelljana ta’ non sequitur u ċapċip fieragħ, mass meeting solo ta slogans irrilevanti, baħar ta’ bnadar bħanan go moħħu jixxejru ghal logħba li lanqas midalja ma tagħtih.

Hemm hu. Ħsiebu bħal għama jdamdam bil-goff mal-parapetti u l-wesgħat ta’ din l-art ħelwa bil-vujtaġni tar-riflessjonijiet tiegħu “politiċi” jvenvnu vagament mal-kuriduri wesgħin tal-antikamera ta’ moħħu.

Hemm hu. Jispara kwalunkwiżmi inkoerenti mdellka b’kazzati immani bir-ritmu ossessiv u ossessjonat ta’ min għalih ir-rebħa fuq l-ieħor biss tgħodd u “xalazobbi mir-raġuni” għax it-tkaxkira hija ir-raġuni u x’jitnejjek jekk wara kollox r-raġuni ħadet l-ikbar tkaxkira.

Hemm hu. Jadula, jadura u jilgħaq qiegħ is-saqajn tal-mexxejja u rgħajja illi skontu se jindukraw merħlithom għall ikbar glorja, jimmasturba mentalment u jittama li jmiss talanqas il-vixxri interni tal-allat ta’ partitu u jdellikhom ma wiċċu għax ma jistħoqqlux li jidħlu taħt is-saqaf tiegħu iżda jlissnu biss kelma waħda u jaħlef li jiblagħha sa’ l-għoqda.

Hemm hu. Sikofanti psikotiku serf tal-bidla mwiegħda li se tkun tiegħu ukoll, lest li jissielet fuq quddiem għal ġieħ pajjiżu indipendenti, repubblikan u ħieles, lest li jarma barrikadi u jkun fuq nett fit-taqbida mal-għadu jilgħeġ bir-rgħawa f’ħalqu kontra kull tip ta’ korruzzjoni u klikkek (basta ma jkunux il-korruzzjoni u klikkek tagħna għax f’dak il-każ ma jgħoddx.. wara kollox biddilna).

Hemm hu. Jiddistingwi bejn “tajjeb” u “ħażin” bil-kejl tat-tfal fil-playground, bil-metru tas-sapporter ġewwa ta’ Qali (min hu Missierkom?), bil-użin tal-irrabbjat ikkonsmat bil-kilba għat-tpattija u biż-żerriegħa tad-diżilluż u tal-oppress u batut li xebgħu jgħidulu li missha inktibet ukoll fuq il-karta ta’ identita jew tnaqqxet bl-inka ittatwata qrib qalbu.

Hemm hu. Eternament insodisfatt. Eternament espert. Eternament ifittex dik il-Valhalla tal-carcade, dak l-Eliżju tal-mass meeting, dak l-estasi ta’ folla/merħla li għal mument titwaħħad bi ħsieb uniku ta’ “rebħa fuq l-għadu” anki fejn għadu mhux suppost hemm għax “tagħna lkoll”.

Hemm hu. Għal dak il-mument jitwaħħad mal-bqija u jemmen (għax irid jemmen) li din is-saga tiegħu ukoll u li dak li se jinkiseb se jinkiseb għalih u għal uliedu u għal ulied uliedu… din ir-rebħa tagħhom ukoll.

Imbagħad wara li jkun twaħħad bid-dagħdiha tal-gost, bil-ferħ tar-rebħa, bl-estasi tat-tkaxkira li tassolvi kull inkoerenza u taħfer kull għoxxata li tkun intqalet…

Imbagħad wara li l-ħoss tal-aħħar carcade ikun intefa’ u wara li tagħna lkoll ikun sar il-gvern, u l-bidla tibda (?)…

Imbagħad forsi fis-solitudni ta’ kamartu fejn ma hemmx bżonn iktar jilbes il-maskla tal-fanatiku diżilluż u ma hemmx bżonn jiggranfa fil-vojt biex jiġġustifika fidi fiergħa…

Imbagħad forsi… waħdu jistaqsi bejnu u bejn ruħu… Għaliex?

Sal-mass meeting li jmiss.

Facebook Comments Box

Monkeys and salary caps

The first thing that you must know is that to a capuchin monkey a grape is much more valuable than a cucumber. It will work (perform a task) for the price of a cucumber but given the choice it would prefer working for a grape. Grapes, in capuchin monkey world, are more valuable than cucumber – a higher salary so to speak. So what do you think would happen if you had two capuchin monkeys in adjacent cages and you started off by rewarding each of them a morsel of cucumber when they performed the same task? Well, so long as you did so they would each happily perform and consume.

Frans de Waal – a Dutch primatologist and ethologist – set up just such an experiment. For the next step though he decided to reward the monkeys unequally. While one monkey received a “promotion” in salary terms (a grape) the other was given a cucumber once again for the very same task. The moment the “underpaid” monkey noticed that it had received a salary of lesser quality for performing the same task it went berserk (see video).

This experiment goes toward demonstrating that even in the animal world there is a sense of justice and equality. In the words of Frans de Waal the angry monkey came up with his equivalent of “the Wall Street” protests – complete with angry rattling of cage and throwing of unwanted foodstuff. What I do not know is whether de Waal went on to experiment rewarding monkeys differently for different tasks and whether a capuchin monkey would still get angry if the other monkey being paid a better salary was performing a more difficult task.

The monkeys seem to get it though. Same task requires same pay. It’s only fair. Would they appreciate the fact that a technical job in which a monkey is specialised and successful merits a better salary and reward? In the human world the system of salaries generally observes that kind of rule and barring communist and socialist systems the more successful and capable you are or the more specialised your service the more is your salary reward. Unless of course, as I said, you are brought up with the chip-on-the-shoulder socialist mentality and the only solution you can see is the wielding of the all-equalling socialist scythe : equal pay for everyone no matter their competence. A sort of il-paga tagħna lkoll.

You only get monkeys if you pay peanuts and even the monkeys are learning fast that peanuts are not always the best pay around.

 

Check out The paradox of fairness on The New Statesman

Facebook Comments Box