I’ve got a running series of posts in the blog that goes by the name of “I.M. Jack”. The title came around as a bit of a spoofy nod to the rotund columnist who graces the pages of a rival paper every Saturday. Every time I blog an “I.M. Jack” post it’s more of a round-up of different stories that serendipitously find themselves sharing the same post and limelight. I normally do that out of expediency and to save myself from posting a series of mini-posts, and also because by the time the third “I.M. Jack” got out I sort of got used to the little “round-up” idea possibilities that it afforded.
So yes, this week’s effort comes to you in a disjointed, I.M. Jack-ish sort of way, that is it can be read in little snippets or (for the well-trained in J’accuse loghorrea) all in one go. The quality of the articles, incidentally, should be improving exponentially (modestly speaking of course) as the cold weather begins to bitch-slap the Grand Duchy earlier than usual. Like Terry Pratchett’s golems and trolls, I tend to function more sharply as the weather begins to get colder. (Speaking of Pratchett, do get your hands on his latest novel I Shall Wear Midnight – it rocks). Let us then begin the I.M. Jack tour.
On the dignity of Parliament
Is it just me or is Parliament really becoming government’s bitch? I know, I know, I should be more reverent towards the hallowed institution that is fundamental to our very democracy but hey, if our very own representatives seem to be having a tough time understanding the importance of their roles, I don’t see why we should bother – right? Austin Gatt usually figures high on my list of valid politicians in this country of ours but he took the lead in the dismissal of the request for hearing of witnesses in the PAC on some wobbly excuse that the Auditor General had already carried out much of the hearing.
Bollocks. Even the kind of papers that do not usually lend themselves easily to government criticism carried harsh editorials condemning the lacklustre sense of wanton disrespect that everybody under the sun could read into the happenings at the PAC. We did not even have to fight off the temptation to be balanced and to apportion a fair share of criticism to the Labourite side of the benches by questioning their constant nagging and moral convictions. The message Austin et al were sending was plain – they refused to submit the BWSC process to a parliamentary level of scrutiny that is normal in most parliamentary democracies. The words of Franco Debono come back to haunt the mind now – the dignity of Parliament is being seriously diluted and something must be done quickly to repristinate a good working order.
On money
It is not just our sense of democracy that is being put into serious question. This week, EU leaders sat around a table somewhere in Luxembourg and agreed to revise the rules on budget deficit. Meanwhile, in the House of Commons in London, George Osborne delivered a budget that was described as a “historic attempt to turn around the juggernaut of state public spending”. The Daily Mail headlined Man Who Rolled Back The State on Friday, as the Con-Dem coalition embarked on a programme that would savage benefits, axe jobs, slash budgets and attempt to reverse 60 years of public spending.
An interesting article in the International Herald Tribune took in these latest European reforms at both EU and national level and questioned whether the Keynesian formula has been ditched once and for all. European governments no longer seem to believe that the solution to the recession is to pump more money into the economy and let the economy fix itself. Probably this has much to do with the distrust in the key power centres of the economy and how they seem to have brought about this recession themselves with their unethical way of thinking.
So yes, capitalism as we know it is in a bit of a fix. Which is when the loony left goes out on the streets and begins to whine. Fairness, as they know it, is about to go terribly wrong and the welfare state in which money seems to grow on trees for those who qualify for the big safety net in the sky is suddenly shrinking before their very eyes. Which is why we have angry men in streets preparing to raise barricades and fight with the riot police. Like the money will come flying from the sky once the capitalist monster is dealt the final deathblow. Go figure. Baroness Thatcher was hospitalised this week so she was saved the horror of having to see reminders of the age of her iron hand when minors and other representatives of the leftist workforce took to the streets.
On values and relativism
Maltese relativism is back with a twist. The House of Lords (UK) this week opened up a new world in the universe of marriage law by accepting the validity of a prenup. That’s short for prenuptial contract and has been the stuff of movies and murder stories across the pond for quite a while, but it may surprise you that its legal validity is very much a novelty this side of the Atlantic. What a prenup does is that it stipulates what will happen in the unfortunate eventuality that a happy couple that is about to engage in lawful matrimony should somehow fall out.
It’s a divorce settlement signed when things are still rosy, when the amours are still love struck and when altruistic lovey-doveyiness still pervades the inner sanctum of the quasi-conjugal unit. It takes advantage of the goodwill of the parties to pre-draft and establish what can still be considered to be an amicable settlement as to the division of all property. Thusly, later, when the better half is reaching for the short and curlies armed with a knife, and it is clear that it will not be death that will “us part” but rather the manifest impossibility of future cohabitation, the couple will find that the prenup they signed in what must seem another life will come into force and the pre-ordained division of assets as per prenup will take place without too much acrimonious battling.
The House of Lords hath ruled that such prenups will always apply unless they are manifestly unfair (leave it to the men of law to argue whether charm by fatal attraction could sufficiently qualify as having succumbed under sexual duress). Meanwhile, back in Malta (and back is the operative word here) we are still facing the discombobulating farce of wondering whether or not to introduce divorce by popular suffrage. As I said last week, this is a result of our testicle-less politicians (sanscouillistes) wanting to hide behind the “will of the people”. What next? A referendum on Income Tax? I wonder how that one will go.
Then, as fellow columnist Caruana Galizia pointed out on Thursday, there was the blatant contradiction between on the one hand all the disquisitions as to the morality of voting for divorce and on the other hand, the facility with which some parliamentary committee had no qualms in proposing the freezing of embryos. Climb up walls? We do that… every five years. All we needed was the LGBT movement complaining about the prohibition of IVF accessibility for gay couples. Sure – this country is having problems coming to terms with the idea of divorce but it will have no problems with little Capslock (I’m sure someone, somewhere has that name) being raised by mummy and … mummy. (The ghost of Beppe shudders).
On the strong arm of the law
The next time you are angry with someone and your anger leads you to the uncontrollable urge to punch that person, just remember one thing: it comes at a price. And if you can afford €100 then go ahead and do your Mohammed Ali. That is the going rate for a punch, as the man who assaulted the CABS officer discovered. Not that expensive, is it? As for letting loose with a gun on officers of the law and putting their life in manifest danger (vide HSBC hold-up and shootout) – that still does not disqualify you from bail.
Sarcasm aside – it is pissing off isn’t it? I mean, what the hell? Personally, I am not of the very physical kind and my best weapon in a punch up is my wit that sends one three-letter word to the brain: RUN. So if ever I risk being on the receiving end of someone’s clenched fist, I would like to think that there is also a sufficient disincentive in the form of a legal deterrent that will allow me to bargain my way out of such fury without having to resort to the Coward’s Gentlemanly Exit. It should be so for any law-abiding citizen, who would prefer not to have to calculate at which point throwing a punch or two towards the rabid bully could constitute valid self-defence (assuming he has a punch or two he can throw). The news from the Law Courts is not promising in this respect.
Traitors and idols
When some members of the black and white community of which I form part labelled Zlatan Ibrahimovic a gypsy whore, I tended to turn a blind eye and deaf ear and glossed over the possibility of tut-tutting such unsporting behaviour. I despised the lanky, self-pompous oaf all the more for leaving Juventus bang in the middle of what is now evidently a frame up to play for the saddest of teams ever to have disgraced Italian football grounds. When he actually moved on to another team a few complaints later, I did not shed a tear of sympathy for his latest dumped girlfriend but confirmed my earlier suspicions that here we were seeing the epitome of modern footballing greed. He’s moved on again (go figure) and is still worthless when it comes to crucial games on the European football stage but I’m not here to talk about Zlatan.
It’s the Rooney saga that really lit up more red lights as to the general decline of the gentlemanly side of football. Where are the Ryan Giggs, the Francesco Tottis, the Rauls, the Maldinis – and above all the Alessandro Del Pieros – in modern football? The word mercenary does not even begin to explain the spirit of today’s breed of men of the leather ball. No matter that by the time I finished typing this article Wayne has signed a new, improved contract keeping him at United, as predicted solely by Luciano Moggi when everybody else was betting on his next destination. No matter that he has been appeased with some beefing up of the contract.
What I would like to know is how the little Scouser will walk into that changing room and face his “team-mates” from Giggs to Nani to Bebe to Fletcher without being overcome by a sense of shame. Forget fidelity to the club, forget respect for the supporters, forget gratitude to a coach who fathered him. What jarred most in the Rooney saga was the ease with which he could bad-mouth his fellow team-mates by going public and basically claiming that they are not good enough to play with him. It’s stuff that makes you sick and I seriously doubt how easily Rooney can win back the respect he blew away over two crazy days in October.
Milos Krasic, Juventus’ latest idol, is a step back out of this world of mercenaries. I was not sure whether his determination to join Juventus should be taken seriously but the stories coming from Torino day after day show an old-fashioned, dedicated footballer who is in love with his new environment and determined to show the kind of attachment to a club that is sadly becoming rarer and rarer. He has one captain he can look up to who has broken all kinds of records and won all sorts of trophies. Last Sunday he broke one of the latest barriers, reaching the great Boniperti’s goal-tally in the Campionato. He turns 36 next month but we could be lucky enough to see him in action for some time yet.
Grazie Alex.
