J'accuse: Astrid Vella and the Price of Fish

This article and accompanying Bertoon appeared in yesterday’s edition of The Malta Independent on Sunday.

Mediterranean stock

I often worry that I will someday lose my mediterranean toughness – that capability to withstand extreme heat conditions with relaxed nonchalance, as well as the thick-skinned resistance to high levels of UV radiation (perceived – not real: do not try this at home or on the beach: use sunscreen). Extended living abroad might be beneficial to one’s cultural improvement but it could also have detrimental effects on your health.

There’s no doubt that my general get-up has still not been sufficiently altered to the point of qualifying for the dubious category of Aryan übermensch (I could easily get away with the identity of an Iranian dissident for example), but my general capability to obtain an honest-to-god tan and not sweat like a pig when exposed to temperatures above 28 degrees has been severely tested of late.

This week’s stay on the island has provided the latest slap in the face to my received perception of being of mediterranean mixed-breed stock (the purest you can get) when I succumbed to the travails, aches and pains of what is vulgarly called a chest cold soon after landing on the beloved shores of the island. My being a Grade A hypochondriac visiting an island bang in the middle of the spread of a swine flu pandemic did not help matters any further. With my family doctor out of order I was forced to err on the side of caution (as per governmental instructions) and request the presence of a doctor from the Gzira Health Centre at my domus in order to verify that I had not become another number in the Swine Flu Pandemic.

I take this opportunity to thank Dr RX (that’s the signature on the prescription – I never got to know his name) for braving the sweltering heat and facing the extreme driving and parking conditions of midday traffic in Paceville (plus two flights of stairs) to confirm that this hypochondriac was only suffering the effects of a very, very irritating chest cold. Apologies for the trip Dr X but if it is of any consolation, I am still very much under the bloody weather a couple of days later.

Solitary confinement

Air-conditioning and fans are no consolation when you are stuck inside while on holiday. Of course there are ancillary benefits like the extremely amusing episodes when I kept being haunted by a personality who I shall call Y. It turns out that Y was the previous occupant of the apartment I now own. Actually it is two occupants back – I bought my apartment from someone who is now back in Australia, having had enough of Maltese summers and the grating noise of a Paceville perpetually in development (ah rookies).

First I had the visit from some deliverer of fines. I had no knowledge of the existence of this particular form of gentleman since their profession did not exist when I left the island five years ago. He queried me as to the whereabouts of Y since apparently the person is still (for some departments) registered on my address.

Speaking from the dizzy heights of a second floor balcony, I dispatched the herald of governmental levies to yonder place, comfortable in the knowledge that no such person exists within the walls of my block of flats. Undaunted and unabashed, aforementioned herald deposited said fines in my letter box and left without so much as an adieu. Y remained uninformed of any procedures against his or her person and I was burdened with other people’s property by an ignorant deliverer. No angel Gabriel for sure.

Later on in the day, a ring on the intercom and a knock on the door meant that I was interrupted from my viewing of the second series of The Big Bang Theory by an emissary of the Department of Public Health, who was (apparently) responding to a complaint regarding drainage systems in my block of apartments – more particularly my very own. It turned out that the complaint had been registered by none other than Y, who had omitted to mention the intermittent change of abode (five years back please note) and which therefore led to the emissary turning up at my door rather than at the actual locus of the problem.

It seemed that I would be facing yet another dutiful servant of civil society who insisted on double checking the drains in any case, even though this was an evident case of interpositio loci without any shred of doubt. Bemused, I allowed the emissary a swift perusal of the bowels and entrails of the sixties building that are my flats. It was only then that the emissary opted for the more plausible option of attempting to identify the current place of abode of the actual complainer. The visit turned out to be useful because I am now in full possession of the address of Y and also intend to pass it on to the Saint Julian’s police since it seems that they too have made it a habit of passing by every now and then in an attempt to contact Y for reasons that I’d rather not know.

Shifts in authority

Staying inside meant following more news than I had intended to originally. I did manage to creep out of the house every now and then but more of that later. One bit of news that will not exactly go away quickly is the Mepa reform and the attribution of further powers to Dr Gonzi. I had already remarked on this last Sunday and it seems that others have picked up on the alarming element of the arrogating of powers to one individual no matter how saintly – perceived or otherwise. When these powers relate to one of the most traumatic areas in our recent political and environmental history there is all the more reason to ring alarum bells in abundance.

Writing in this paper’s Thursday edition, a columnist suggested that the Astrid Vella ruckus is to blame for the democratic faux pas that is the Mepa reform. Most observers seem to agree that the Mepa reform as it stands is a huge mistake insofar as the solution is seen as being the transfer of more powers to an omnipotent Office of the Prime Minister. We have all read the reverential la-di-dah that the complaint is not about the person of Lawrence Gonzi but about the wrongful attribution of powers to the Office. I am not too sure that even Lawrence Gonzi could pass the test – the ring of power is damaging to everyone –- even the most good-willing Frodo of the political community.

Separation of powers, checks and balances and independent, arms-length authorities are all woven into an intricate framework of legal structures in order to guarantee what is known in legal parlance as “the rule of law”. The whole point of the rule of law is to eliminate “arbitrariness” or “bias” when the law is applied. JPO’s Mistra, the caravan people, the boathouses and now Bahrija should have taught us huge lessons about politicians and arbitrariness. We should have, by now, been consolidating a set of authorities structured to guarantee an absence of arbitrariness as close to absolute as is humanly possible. Instead “In Gonzi We Trust” (Do we?). Anyone who is unable to see the dangers of this premise is either blind or stupid. Or both.

So the government attempts to fulfil a promise of reform and takes it a step forward – not just reform but also a switch in the base of authority. A faux pas indeed. And who gets the blame? Why of course… Astrid Vella. All this because Astrid and the group of well-intending but bungling individuals who sign under the name of FAA have been making enough noise to get under the press radar in what would otherwise be called a “silly season”. Since Astrid asked for the Prime Minister to take action then it is definitely Astrid’s fault that the PN government chose the slippery path to a gradual refutation of the basic tenets of the rule of law.

The price of fish

Or so they want us to believe. But the truth is that Astrid Vella has about as much to do with this kind of reform of Mepa as she has with the price of fish. I am neither a supporter nor a detractor of the FAA and its cavalleresque attempts. True, some of the aforementioned attempts may be misguided and some may be well-aimed, but the point remains that if the rules of the game were just right and the proper arbiters were in place there would be enough space for NGOs, political parties and also individuals in the debate and development of the island.

Instead of arbiters we get arbitrariness. The referee might be ok-ish now (I’m not saying he is) but he could turn into a nightmare come election time when letters of promises are sent to various interested parties. Blaming Astrid Vella for the result can mean that we think that our government is weak enough to determine the shape of a major reform on the basis of the position of one NGO – and that is already very worrying. Alternatively, it could just be another attempt of getting one back at Astrid for the St John saga, in which case we are just facing another petty battle of sorts which is best ignored.

The wider picture is that of a gradual disintegration of the tenets of rule of law in favour of PLPN inspired anarchy. Yes, I insist on blaming the system as a whole that will eventually allow both parties to sweep the latest election expenses for MEPs issue under the carpet and show us what respect they have for the rule of law. Astrid Vella and her fund-raising for petty libel cases may be under the scrutiny of some watchdogs but not many seem to be asking how some MEPs can put their hand on their heart and swear on oath of having stuck to the electoral limits.

In the early post WWI era, famed cartoonist David Low devised a brilliant allegorical creation to characterise Lloyd George’s government between 1918 and 1922. It was a two-headed donkey that came to symbolise its absence of “pride of ancestry or hope of posterity”. Failing to learn from the lessons of history or attempting to blame politically active entities (whether they are right or wrong) might soon turn Gonzi’s government into a 21st century equivalent.

In these times when we question the tenets of “personalism” as against those of “liberalism”, we might as well be reminded that whatever the case we remain servants of the law in order that we may be free.

Big Bang conclusions

The week came and went and I spent most of it confined. When I did venture out I visited Piano’s plans (twice) and I stood in awe and loved every bit of them. I have a question to whoever is involved with the one-hour documentary at the entrance: Why not put it up for sale or make it available online? (if it is already, I apologise in advance). It’s a lovely documentary but it is a rather hot room without ventilation so I doubt many people will be able to sit right through it.

Anyways, my guess is that the finished product will be something that will make us stand proud and glad to have engaged Mr Piano. I love the subterranean galleries, the use of space and the ideas behind the projection screens of the opera house. While in Valletta I visited the Gozitan embassy, aka Jubilee Bar, and noted satisfactorily that Anthony & Co. are still weaving the same culinary magic in the kitchen. In Paceville I discovered a little corner of Sicily where heavenly delights accompany proper coffee (Dolce Sicilia) – I already know I’ll miss this coffee when I go back to the lands of the north and to the coffee best described (by a Roman friend) as piscia di cammello.

I’m going to try to steal a late afternoon swim at Riviera before heading off to the Jazz festival to watch fellow émigrés Oliver and Alison perform. I’ll be reporting back from the rainy Duchy next week. Sahha (and I mean it!)

Jacques snivelled all week at http://www.akkuza.com that is now also optimised for iPhone readers. Thankfully, viruses of the bacterial kind are not-transferable over the ether so do pop in and visit.