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J'accuse : The Beat Goes On (That's Rich)

Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain

We don’t miss a beat do we? (Bang) The firework ‘factory’ explosion shook the island of Calypso to its foundations and in the end six people lost their lives. (Oompa-oompa) In a display of insensitivity that not only beggars belief but shoots it in the head from close range with a high-calibre pistol, the festivities in the village of Xaghra celebrating Our Lady of Victories went ahead as planned. (Ka-ching) One of the reasons we were given for this victory (triumph) of insanity was that the firework factory was a private one and only a supplier of processed chemicals to the feast – besides, why fritter away more money than had already gone up in smoke?

You’d be forgiven for thinking that Xaghra is to Gharb as Selawik (Alaska, USA) is to Mararikulam (Kerala, India). (Kaboom). The beat went on nevertheless and as the week rolled by the nation heard that a whole branch of a family tree had been summarily dismembered thanks to yet another supply of jeux de feu (gioco di fuoco – the archaic Italian and French terms for firework translated to Maltese as gig-gi-fogu) going wrong.

The beat went on all right, as the mediatic revelry of reporting broke new ground with the scramble for the best amateur video of the moment of the explosion. The drama was brought home as emphatically as possible, and the bombastic seriousness with which village festas were hitherto treated suffered a momentary lapse of favour with the general public. (Incidentally, like last week, this weeks’ article comes with suggested listening – Charles Camilleri’s Malta Suite – Village Festa). That temporary moment of anger at the futile loss of lives and the toying with public safety that is so evidently part of everyday life on the island is always intriguing to follow – if only for the volatility it displays until the next earth-quaking, window-shattering, child-frightening mother of all explosions reminds us that on this rock even a “remote factory” means your backyard. (Boom)

Charleston was once the rage, uh huh

Our representatives and legislators have not missed a beat either. Messages of condolence are now as much of a part of Normality Inc. as young men playing with dangerous explosives in tank tops (known in jargon as “wife-beaters”) and flip-flops. I am quite sure that these messages of condolence now come in a pre-drafted variety complete with blanks to fill. (Ta-ta-ra-ta-ta). It sounds cynical, I know, but it looks like we have begun to think of fireworks, firework factories and the like in the same manner as the US intervention in Afghanistan. There is collateral damage, there are civilian casualties and we keep sending our young troops to the front-line – some of them never come back and die the death of “heroes” for a greater cause.

What bollocks. What bullshit. What a load of absolute crap. I’m sorry, but if the idea of young men (and women) toying with their lives (ghan-namur, boom boom) does not make your blood boil with anger then you are about as sensitive and sensible as a Xaghra Feast Committee member. (Oompa-oompa). If you fail, for just one minute, to notice that it is not just the lives of these volunteers of doom that are endangered but also those of the community in the immediate surroundings, then you must be as intellectually blind as a brainless ocelot (damp squib). I know it’s as cliché as “l-innu marc” but it’s a fact that seems to fail to penetrate the mind of even the most upright politicians.

Enter Michael Falzon (Labour MP) with his comments on a moratorium on production. Such a moratorium, the learned member tells us, would be “stupid” and “irresponsible”. The legal representative of the Malta Pyrotechnics Association (Boom, Bang, Du-dum) reasons that (a) it would only drive such production underground (one would assume that he means that this time the firework producers would be working underground instead of lying horizontally post-blast) and (b) once the moratorium is over, production would only occur more frenetically than ever thus endangering more people. (Drumroll followed by explosion of petards).

In the words of the crazed tennis player, we can only reply: “You cannot be serious!” Since when does the threat of illegal behaviour prove that strict legal measures are useless? Are we not to assume that the moratorium would be used to tighten regulations, to finally realise that the proliferation of firework factories on a tiny speck in the sea is not exactly kosher, to (hopefully) restrict it to one very tightly regulated affair manned by experts? Does Michael Falzon (and the Nationalist counterparts who probably thanked the God of explosives that he is taking the flak) realise that a moratorium is not simply a pause for breath?

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History has turned the page, u-huh

It just won’t work will it? Not the moratorium. The general idea of persuading the island of “Saints and Fireworks” that the time might have come to switch from pyrotechnics to some other, safer variety that bears in mind the constraints in terms of space and safety. I am a huge fan of son et lumière and am prepared to bet that the first village that switches to an eco-friendly, human-friendly experience of a display of lighting timed to music will provide the best example to the rest of the community. Sure – an elaborate light system to light up the jewels that are our many churches and piazzas will cost money and will develop over time, but even Our Lady would tell you of its many positive advantages if she could. To begin with, the system does not go up in smoke every year and can be built upon rather than starting from scratch.

I know, I know – this is as utopian an idea as the regulation of political party financing. That too is another area where the grim reality of the network of trading in influences is only acknowledged every now and then by the regular voter before he or she switches off and back to the partisan mentality. We saw a glimpse of recognition with the firework factory problem itself. Party MPs’ hands were tied and it was obvious to many that their reluctance to take action was directly linked to the fact that the very people engaging in the “namur” (hobby) of fireworks and explosives are the same people who fund the individual campaigns for election to Parliament. They are the same campaigns that either go undeclared or end with false oaths that they have not overstepped the spending limit.

Alternattiva Demokratika has not failed to gain political mileage from the issue by accusing the two parties of insensitivity and of forming an “alliance of death”. There goes the bombastic wartime lingo all over again (you must forgive AD for engaging in superlatives in most of their attempts to attract the unwilling attention of the blinkered populace). It may be hard to picture Lawrence and Joseph as some latter day Ahmadinejad and Kim Jong Il but there is a point to be made here.

The grocery store’s the supermart, uh huh

Over at J’accuse we have been pressing the alarm bells for almost six years now. Recently we have enjoyed the eminent company of Franco Debono (PN MP) and Leo Brincat (PL MP) in the call for transparency of party funding. It is a core, basic element in the functioning of a democracy – that parties are transparent about their ties and dependencies. In a damascene conversion, fellow columnist Caruana Galizia seems to have finally realised this most basic of democratic realities and penned an interesting article last Thursday about the negative side of party financing. Confoundingly, Caruana Galizia ended her article with an accusation directed primarily towards Joseph Muscat – as though he is ultimately responsible for the introduction of new legislation on funding.

Funny, I thought that the business of government was to govern and that right now the government was composed of PN MPs. Funny, when last election I urged people to vote for the third choice as a direct message to the two parties that continue to ignore basic democratic precepts of representation, I was subjected to a barrage of attacks branding me (and other J’accuse readers) as “irresponsible” for even risking the possibility of Alfred Sant governing the country. Funny, the reason for that barrage seemed to be that we can only count on PN legislators for responsible legislation. Funny, but the AD argument on the need for more transparency at the time seems to come back and haunt the very “pragmatic” naysayers of the past. The AD tune does not sound so dissonant does it? A plague on both your houses, indeed.

In actual fact, we don’t need Joseph Muscat’s Labour to implement new transparency rules. Lawrence Gonzi’s PN, elected so responsibly in order to avoid the dangers and pitfalls of that monster Sant and Labour (wasn’t that the description?) has the majority he needs to get the law into place. It’s that government born out of the partisan rules that were writ to exclude third voices as much as possible and provide the relative majority with the power to enact laws for the good of the nation. They shouldn’t miss a beat. They should simply look at valid voices like that of Franco Debono, who has been yelling loudly for the dignity of Parliament, the transparency of funding and proper democratic representation.

Boys keep chasing girls to get a kiss

But they will miss that beat. There will always be an excuse not to introduce much needed legislation that affects the representation and government of the people. The intricate power web and dealing in interests is too well spun to be dismantled so easily. This is not some big conspiracy theory about powerful men sitting in a room. It is an idea that has spread through usage and custom. An idea that patronage, sponsorship and monetary support exchanged for political favours is the way to advance in the corridors of power. An idea that favours and obligations trump democratic representation and loyalty. An idea that the bipartisan machine is fed with the money of the favoured and it feeds them back with the regulations they require.

Ideas spread faster than actions and before you know it the notion of favours, backhanders and trading in influences has pervaded our political culture at all levels and is considered as normal. That is the sad truth about this country. Firework factories too close to “civilian” buildings for comfort but we barely blink and the beat will go on as it always has. The idea settles in our minds and we think that men in flip-flops handling dangerous explosives is normal. We will barely flinch four months from now when sweet nothing happens again. And who do we have to blame? Mike Briguglio was subtle last week when he said: “You have your vote. Use it.” I prefer the words by V (in “V for Vendetta” by the Wachowski Brothers): “Well, certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look in a mirror.”

And the beat goes on, yes, the beat goes on

I type this article on the 11th of September – 9/11 for Americans. The world news is stuck on the US commemoration of events nine years ago. A bigot pastor somewhere in the US has hit the headlines for his ridiculous idea of burning a book that is holy to millions of people across the world. This has sparked reactions as far off Afghanistan and Pakistan and condemnations from the civilised world. It’s not as simple as good versus evil and there are many factors to consider (media coverage is one of them), but sometimes you do have to wonder how much more damage can be done in the name of God and his Saints.

My deepest condolences to the President and Prime Minister for their loss. It’s been a week of unhappy coincidences for fathers of politicians (David Cameron). I would also like to take this opportunity to wish a good and peaceful Eid el-Fitr to all Muslim readers.

www.akkuza.com’s beat goes on. It wasn’t Buddy Rich originally but Sonny and Cher — yes the headings were from that song… will you manage to get it out of your head?

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J'accuse: Dying Myths

Dr Rowan Williams PC, DPhil, DD, FBA the 104th...
Image via Wikipedia

Number One: God

It’s been one hell of a myth-busting week, one of the groundbreaking variety. It all began with the revelation (this time not in Patmos) that Stephen Hawking’s new book includes the following bold assertion: “Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing. Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist. It is not necessary to invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe going.” (For a dramatic touch read to this last paragraph while playing Mendelssohn’s And Then Shall Your Light Break Forth).

Hawking has not managed to completely dispense with the figure in the sky completely as many a Dawkins would undoubtedly prefer, but he has got quite damningly (in a Dantesque sense) close by asserting that the figure in the sky was not a determining element in what many religions term “the moment of creation”. “God the Innocent Bystander as the universe sparked into life” is definitely not going to go down well with many a deist on this earth – let alone the Monsignor Gouders of this island who are still putting forward the complex and highly relevant (and Dantesque) notion of classification of sins applicable to politicians performing their civic duty.

It was refreshing to read the reaction of senior members of the religious community in the UK. From Rowan Williams (Archbishop of Canterbury) to Lord Sacks (Chief Rabbi), the argument ran on familiar and (from my point of view) very comforting lines. Sacks summarised it beautifully in the simple but eloquent phrase: “Science is about explanation. Religion is about interpretation.” There you go – quod erat demonstrandum and all that. It threw me back to the days of yore when I was quizzed by Brother Mifsud (a brother of the learnéd Jesuit variety) as to whether or not I believed in the sun and that it would rise the next day. My unequivocal “yes” would earn me a harsh slap on the head and a (confusing at the time) explanation that you cannot believe in something that can be proved – such as the very sun shining through the window.

Belief, by definition, requires an act of faith. Whatever has been proved no longer requires belief. And that is where Hawking, Dawkins and all the rest will find that the new brick wall is to be raised. As the Archbishop of Canterbury put it, “Belief in God is not about plugging a gap in explaining how one thing relates to another within the Universe. It is the belief that there is an intelligent agent on whose activity everything ultimately depends for its existence.” Hawking may spend valuable time and energy telling believers that nobody really threw the switch (it was automatic) only to be dismissed with the phrase: “Yes, but who put the switch there?” He just has to thank God (or his lucky stars) that we live in the time of Benedict XVI not Urban VIII and there is little chance of his being summoned to the Ratzing-court for a forced recanting of his ideas.

Deep down, most religions do not even care or need to care about proof that there is a god. Religion works with or without such proof – like Schrödinger’s cat opening the box is not the whole point of the experiment. It’s not that hard to reconcile oneself with this new reality of mutual exclusion. Science is built on proofs and has no place for leaps of faith, or as French mathematician LaPlace best put it in answer to Napoleon’s question on why he made no mention of God in his works of astronomy “I have no need for that hypothesis”. The inverse is true in the case of faith as the Tourist from Tarsus once defined it: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.” See? Everybody’s happy. Except maybe Schrödinger’s cat.

Number Two: Those infallible Americans (and Brits)

On 31 August the number of US troops in Iraq was down to 50,000, as promised by newly elected President Obama 20 months before. Obama might still be in time to save the face of the world giant by stage-managing a strategic withdrawal (though it will definitely not be called that) from the zone of combat/stable democracy. Tune into any documentary on the US time in Iraq and you will be convinced that the stay has been anything but a success. The US joins a long list of world powers that have understood that the Middle East is nobody’s playground. Next Afghanistan.

George Bush’s partner in crime for Iraq has been busy publishing his memoirs, and although he might have expressed a tad bit of regret for whatever pushed him to invade Saddam’s jolly land in conjunction with his bumbling cousin across the ocean, he has less regrets closer to home. Blair has joined the list of clairvoyants who were apparently very confident that Brown’s term in power would be quite a cock-up of an affair. Insofar as myth spinning is concerned, the business of memoirs seems to be quite the ticket. Follow Jesus Blair (you’d be excused to thinking he’s the new Messiah) on his peripatetic attempts to save the world, the UK or the nearest local council, and you will be left with little doubt as to why the man abandoned the Protestant fold and marched straight into the comforting arms of Catholicism in a much publicised move towards the end of his tenure.

Meanwhile, in Westminster, a senior minister of the Tory-Dem coalition is rather angry at the gossip and spin culture perpetrated by the media and blogging world over the past few weeks. William Hague is in a bit of a fix because of persistent and undying rumours of his being gay (and of consequently having favoured gay partners) that have persecuted him since his entry into the world of politics. The great Tory orator is not new to PR slips but this time the story seems to be a conjecture of the whisper corridors that plague politicians and public figures. Apparently, Hague had opted to share a twin hotel room with an aide of his on one of his travels. That, and the close relationship he seems to have enjoyed with this young man, seems to have attracted the paparazzi moths to the limelight.

The aide had to resign from an advisory post earlier this week and only on Thursday, Hague’s wife had to break the silence on a very private aspect of the life of the couple in order to clear any niggling doubts as to the sexuality of the politician. It is always despicable when spin-monsters cut and slash into the private lives of politicians just for the sake of it and without any concrete proof. Hague has become disillusioned with political life, but then again he might come out of this saga in a stronger position.

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Number Three: Those Magnificent Men in the PLPN

Michael Briguglio penned a good article this week (Sliema: Reaping what was sown) and it appears in J’accuse (www.akkuza.com) with his kind permission. Mike begins his article by stating that “the last local council elections were a clear example of how, at times, factors that have little to do with political vision influence electoral results”, and ends with a clear exhortation to the voter “if you want change, vote for it”. It would be stupid of me, or of anyone, not to read Mike’s invitation as a class bit of promotion for the party he chairs, but there is much more to this line of reasoning than simple a third litigant enjoying the ills afflicting the two behemoths.

Whether it is PL, PN or AD (or any other “political party” as defined under the Local Councils Act) presenting lists of candidates for your perusal and selection in local council elections, we have long laboured under the impression that such candidates have been selected by way of their being the best people to put into effect their party’s programmes and policies at local level. I am not one of those trigger-happy people who feel that the current spate of scandals vindicates Alfred Sant’s idea that political parties should keep out of local politics – far from it. I strongly believe (in a scientific and not in a religious manner) that a well thought out structure in a political party system that backs candidates in different localities can only enhance participative democracy and not degrade it.

That however is the ideal standard (why does that phrase remind me of toilets?). Ideally, party politics pervades the local level by bringing the administrative competence, the structural continuity and the value based commitment. Factually, as Mike has been ready to point out, party politics seems to be importing the rotten mentality that has been nurtured through years of practice of stagnant bi-partisanism. Power for the sake of power and not of service, cutthroat and inbred competition within the corridors of the same party and unregulated financing and sponsorship can only carry on for so long before exploding in the perpetrators face.

DimechGate and its cousins have shown the voting public the ugly side of voting through blind faith. Interviews carried out by internet papers among the Sliema population brought up two ugly truths (caveat lector: the interviews do not constitute a scientific survey): First it became clear that Nikki Dimech was elected mainly on the strength of the guarantees of a hidden saint or sponsor, which, combined with the PN nihil obstat assured the voters of a winning horse. Secondly, and more astonishingly, few, if none, of the interviewed had any idea of the mayor-elect Joanna Gonzi. It is a surprise mainly because someone, somewhere must have voted her in too – and with a number of votes inferior only to Nikki Dimech among those obtained on the Nationalist list.

Sliema is only one example of many voting through faith and not reason, as is the norm. It may no longer be only faith in the parties themselves but also in the complex system of saints and sponsors that is a throwback to the times of Cicero’s Rome. DimechGate will not provoke the kind of cleansing that a tangentopoli could have. PLPN have found a quick exit door via the washing of hands and responsibility. In a way they could do not other than ostracise the erring members of their wide net of candidates – true. On the other hand, we could ask questions of the structure backing the elected candidates once in place. Could a hypothetical council member who has been approached with a bung/suggestion for corruption resort to a party structure for support?

Are lawyers at hand to deal with such situations? Simple training and advice could create a sense of responsibility and awareness among elected councillors. This is where the role of party structures is desirable. A party could provide trained councillors – trained to face different situations at council level. Have our parties abdicated this side of their responsibility? Worse still, are parties too well entwined with potential providers of bungs (sponsors and donors in politically correct parlance) to be able to prevent their corrupting the local levels of our politics? In other words, does the infamous JS list extend to the local level or are other similar lists being refined at a lower level?

Number Four: ‘La Vecchia Signora’

I promised myself that should Juventus purchase Marco Borriello towards the end of the summer window, I would put my faith in the bianconeri in abeyance for a year at least. Although the transfer fell through I still have to be convinced that Juve are worth following this year – the insistence on the Italian label and on no brain to give the team some form of tempo is a formula for tears.

www.akkuza.com has resumed the discussion on impeachment and local politics. It’s never been a matter of faith.

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J'accuse : Lying in State

The Maltese narrative has lost one of its most famous personalities since Independence: Guido de Marco – lawyer, politician and professor – is with us no more and the state’s sons and daughters rightly mourn the passing away of one of their most respected brothers. I am not one for writing moving obituaries, particularly of the kind considered to be delectable (and politically correct) among us Maltese. Fear not though, this is not a prelude to some horrible piece of disrespect by this writer but rather a shying away from the clichéd echoes of prefabricated sashaying of respects.

I found last Friday’s editorial in the Independent (“Guido and all our past”) a perfect description of Guido the man beyond Guido the collector of honorifics and titles. It was, in fact, the appreciation of Guido the man – outside of his ‘cursus honororum’ – that struck the right chords for the natural non-conformist in me. I too share an admiration for what Guido the man built through his love for the law, his amiable personality and his perennial road of discovery for the middle ground preferably through what he came to describe as the politics of persuasion. It was this man – a man who I did not know well enough – who probably was “perhaps too big for this country”.

For I am sure that Guido must have carried his enthusiasm and love for society from his early forays into student politics over half a century ago and that he bore this throughout his magnificent career. The closest I could get to Guido was as my criminal law lecturer as he patiently broke down the principal tenets of criminal law phrase by phrase, principle by principle in that calm but deep voice and in that slightly irritable Italianate twist. “Italianate” might usually be better used to describe a style of architecture and not to qualify an accent that emphasises and complements the Latin side of our Arabic language but that too was Guido – using the parts of speech and tricks of the art of oration as building blocks to drive his persuasive truths home. In his hands, even an obvious statement could become the unravelling of a mysterious truth hitherto unknown.

La contrattazione dolosa

I will never forget Guido’s description of the elements of proof in a criminal case as the ‘pillars that hold up the arches of truth’. The reason for this particular memory is a short anecdote from my time as a law student. It was the ‘oral season’ some time in 1996 when football had gone home and students gathered around a hastily assembled TV screen in the CCT building watching some football match from the European finals in anticipation of being called to the next room for the oral part of the examination (all the while hoping that they will be able to recall Carrara’s definition of theft before slipping into naming Italy’s first XI).

Orals would proceed late into the day – oblivious to the more important goings on in the world of sport – and I think I remember a colleague of mine turning up for his oral examination in tears right after England’s elimination so it must have been late in June. Anyway, the moment I was called in to the dreaded room I tried to put all footballing thoughts behind me and concentrated on the task at hand. Prof. de Marco (for that was his guise that day) sat before me along with two other examiners and immediately tried to put this nervous student at ease with a warm welcoming smile.

The usual pleasantries over, Profs got to give the parting shot and he asked me to describe the importance of the elements of proof and evidence in criminal proceedings. It was that usual feeling of having won the lottery for I could still see Profs pacing up and down the lecture theatre delivering his explanation on the “pillars that hold up the arches of truth” full of metaphors and parallels that drove the idea home. Just before I launched into the same detailed description I had heard in class, Profs’ mobile phone rang and he politely excused himself and moved to the back of the room to treat what undoubtedly must have been a more important matter than a third year student’s recollection on the importance of evidence.

Di cosa altrui

So I launched into this whole metaphorical description when all the while the platform before me lay bereft of the most crucial and understanding of listeners. The remaining examiners tolerated me to speak on for a while as their jaws fell further towards the ground. At one point the chain-smoker of the examiners decided to put a stop to what he evidently considered to be a load of waffle (the robotic examiner nodded in consent) and decided to remind me that this was Criminal Law not Classic Architecture. All the while, the only person to whom my side references to columns and artistry could have made sense was still lost in conversation with his back towards me and only returned at the end of this curt admonishment.

By then I had lost my nerve and even failed to hang on to the safety net thrown at me when I was asked to define homicide and blurted out a memorised definition of theft instead. Guido looked at me with a mixture of pity and consternation, probably wondering what had happened during his short absence and how I had descended to such depths of criminal misery. The rest of the oral is a blur of squirming out of the deep pit I had allowed myself to be drawn into, but the biggest lesson I learnt from it was that the art of metaphors and oration is one thing and cannot be hastily copied by any Johnny-come-lately especially under the duress of an oral examination.

Fatta invito domino

Last Friday’s The Malta Independent editorial described Guido’s passing away as “leaving a gaping hole in our national consciousness”. Guido will not only be remembered by that gathering of acolytes who are as common to our political landscape as are backhanders and nepotism but he will be remembered by a whole nation that is still coming to terms with the concepts of justice and liberty that embodied the very struggle of which he was one of the memorable leaders.

The man that was probably too big for his nation embodied a set of values that you could clearly agree or disagree with. There was no shuffling of feet and hesitant murmuring of the dithering student under examination – there was instead a clear assertion and sense of purpose. It is not by chance that Prof. Guido de Marco was the man who submitted Malta’s application to the European Union in the full understanding that our place was at the heart of the European Community.

The “gaping hole” in our national consciousness is also reflected in the gaping vacuum among the new generation of politicians unable to follow in the giant steps of their state-forming predecessors. Clarity of values has been slowly and gradually supplanted with the opportunistic waving of flags, and the vocational side of political service has all but disappeared. It is a telling truth that one of Guido’s most quoted phrases these days is the one where he thanked the Maltese people for allowing him to serve them for 40 years. Service: a sadly maligned word that has lost its former glory in this world of ambition and egoistic fervour.

Con l’animo di farne lucro

Farewell then dear Professor. When the emotions have calmed and the memories have been sifted you will surely still be remembered as a great man and a great politician. You chose an awkward time to leave us Guido (not that you had much say I presume). As the calm of Santa Maria weekend approached, this island of constant oxymorons threw another of its irrequietous tantrums with another explosion that from above might have seemed to be a last salute to your memory. It was an explosion that reminded us that we will never learn and that this stable democracy might probably do with some strong leadership. One that every once in a while lays down the law for the good of the people – no matter how much they might grumble and whinge.

You left at a moment when the very branches of this democracy are being shaken to their ends. It is a moment when local councillors of all shades are learning that politics is actually a matter of service and not a business for gain and pleasure. It is a moment that cries out for innovators and visionaries to replenish the dying souls of the centres of ideology in this country of ours, when the very party in which you proudly obtained most of your achievements is very evidently subject to a struggle for a new updated identity.

We are at odds with ourselves on many matters Profs, still scandalised by streakers long past midnight when most of us are in bed while we choose to close our eyes to the many obscenities that happen in front of our noses. We attempt to attract all of Europe’s greatest gamblers to our virtual home while raging against the gambling machines in our villages. We marry and we separate, as has happened from the beginning of time, but some of us still believe that divorce will bring on some new Armageddon.

Carrara

As yet we still have not got an effigy of Guido cast in carrara marble somewhere on the islands. There will probably be a time when such a statue will be erected by admirers of this most respected of Maltese sons. We do not have to wait for this to happen though in order to be able to remember the heritage left behind by il-Profs. The subtitles in this article are a homage to the criminal law lectures he delivered (architecture and all). Read together, they form the classic definition of theft by the Italian author Carrara. (The wrongful removal of an object, done without the consent of the owner, with the intention to make a profit thereof).

It’s going to be a sombre Santa Maria weekend, at least that’s what it looks like from here. We might profit of this quiet as a moment of much needed reflection as the nation takes time to mourn the loss of one of its respected sons. Farewell Guido, we are honoured to have had such a great servant among us.

www.akkuza.com is in ferragosto mode. Blogging is sporadic from here till September.

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J'accuse : Overnight Bags

It’s that time of the year when the arrival of the weekend heralds the packing of the overnight bag and a trip to some destination within driving distance of the Grand Duchy. It also means that the quality of the articles submitted to the Indy suffers from a telegraphic transformation as it is well nigh impossible to maintain a steady flow of coherent thought at about the same time as the mind wanders in parallel with what the encyclopaedia of the world has to throw at us.

Put briefly, the normal source of inspiration for the weekly J’accuse fare comes about as a not too summarised précis of the events populating the Internet of the previous week. At this time of the year, when the walking shoes are put on, we also add an extra set of feelers and listen to what the rest of the world is offering beneath its sun-kissed (hopefully) skies. For example, while the TV in some drive-by motel might announce record figures at the Edinburgh Fringe, and thus remind us that Art is more than alive and kicking in the more rational parts of the world, we prefer to sample this first hand by going out and about.

Walk through the cathedrals of illumination that are the bookstores in Blighty and you only stop for a minute to question whether that feeling of weirdness ever existed before getting your hands on a compendium of erotic literature that spans the centuries (The Collected Erotica – 2000 years of erotic literature available online at Waterstones) and pay for it at the check-out counter without feeling like you have violated a myriad laws of the state. “Life is easy abroad,” they will tell us Luxembourgers and Bruxellars with a wry smile. “You have no business reminding us how sad and oppressed the people of Malta are” they will say as they admonish us with much pointing of fingers and many a jealous gaze.

Intransigence

Funny how summer tends to bring out a regular parade of individuals intent on negating the attachment to Malta of their fellow countrymen simply because we do not have Malta as our one place of fixed abode at the moment. Apparently, we are no longer to be called expats but transfrontaliers or something of the sort. The phenomenon is not new on the continent; a Frenchman who commutes to Luxembourg for work will always consider himself to be a Frenchman rather than anything else and will be more worried about the advances (or otherwise) of Brother Sarkozy than in the intrigues of Juncker’s Luxembourg.

We are, however, the brigade that exists outremer (overseas) and that regularly pours articles of concerned disdain about the mishandling and mismanagement of our country. Our unbiased judgement (by national standards) is more often than not mistaken as some form of intellectual snobbishness since we can afford to stand aloof – far enough that we do not even need to peg our noses to avoid the stink. Woe betide mollycuddled (sorry Raphael, I like this version more – another jaccusism) expatriate tax-avoiders should they type even one word to criticise the goings on in the land of Milk and Honey.

Tired of the PLPN rant, I resolved to use the eighth month of the year for mental regeneneration in the hope that new ideas replace the mantra of old. No more Fear and Loathing in Valletta for us. In the meantime we notice, without any trace of humility, that the blog “e-volution” has been a partial catalyst to some form of mediatic development that was previously untraceable. Paul Borg Olivier will choose his boat trips more carefully next time around and he will do so because – notwithstanding all cynicism and conspiracy theories – such trips no longer go unnoticed.

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Emancipation

Last week I criticised the Front Against Censorship for its choice of medium for protesting against the current state of the freedom of expression. The reaction to my criticism has prompted much of this article this week. I stand by my original statement – not with any intention of discouraging the young lads (ah, how I yearn for the folly of youth) from their task, but rather to urge them into more proactive action. Bring the Fringe to the streets of Malta. Fill space with ideas and darkness with light. The protest is not just a means in itself, it could become the very expression that the Front are rightly reclaiming.

The Internet is a wonderful medium of empowerment and expression. It is still, I believe, an unknown factor in Maltese social life and politics. We have still to see what the numbers are behind the equations – what is a “popular website”? , “What can we consider to be the maximum threshold for a Maltese website in terms of hits?” “how net literate are we?”. New battle lines are being drawn on the ether as Google controversially toys with the concept of “internet neutrality”. After its bumpy honeymoon with the Chinese giant, Google still seems to be hungry for power that ill befits its slogan of “Do no evil”.

Books

No overnight bag would be complete without a book to accompany you on the journey. I still have not got used to the e-book reader thanks to the hundreds of snags afforded by proprietary rights so I still depend on the printed word. I’m stocking up on a mixture of classics this summer – books I should have read long ago. From On the Road (Kerouac) to Kafka’s Castle through to a gigantic compendium on the history of Christianity. The best catch of the week has to be Thucydides’ History – an illustrated bumper hardback that is a veritable time machine into the days of our forefathers.

When I tire of the books, I switch to photography and editing – a new, very amateurish hobby of mine. Books and cameras will accompany me on any journey. During that journey I will sample the goods and delicacies of the lands I visit – like the memorable Winston Churchill burger I once washed down in Chaucer’s Canterbury. It was a home-made burger with all the right spices coated in sweet onions and a lovely capping of melted Stilton. As rudely pleasant as the Wife of Bath (God bade us for to ‘wexe’ and ‘multiplye’).

Art cannot die because if art dies then mankind is dead. It accompanies us to the depths of the earth. This expression business has really stuck in my head more than any other issue that has been in the headlines in Malta recently. It is a sad situation at the moment because it is a sad reflection on a country with so much potential that can only be wasted thanks to our trend for internecine warfare and jealous ideals. Frankly, I’m switching off the thinking cap for the next few weeks as I absorb, absorb, absorb.

For the world has so much to offer. If we’re prepared to listen that is.

www.akkuza.com is sort of packing its bags every weekend this summer. Join us in the interim and check out our views. As we type, publisher Chris Gruppetta has guest posted about what he thinks is the next big step in the freedom of expression saga. Gesundheit.

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J'accuse : Nolens Volens

Art is not dead. The Front Against Censorship (FAC) may parade along Republic Street in a make-believe funeral, along with the usual suspects and hanger-on politicians, proclaiming that Art with a capital “A” is henceforth to be considered defunct and that the muses shall muse no more. They may paint the words “Art is dead” along the length of the coffin carried solemnly to the beat of the drums and the roar of the megaphone, but what they profess is a lie.

Art is not dead. It is alive and kicking in all its forms – from the amateur to the mediocre to the professionally entertaining. Whether it is to be seen prostituting itself in exchange for monetary tokens of appreciation, or whether it spontaneously erupts from the pen, the voice or the flash of one who has just been visited by the aforementioned muses, it continues in its existence quite happily and oblivious to all the fuss being made about its very own death.

Last week’s procession of the dozens (I am guilty of not attending but not for the same reasons as John Attard Montalto MEP) only contributed to the general theatrical air surrounding the whole issue of “censorship v expression” and risked becoming another caricature in the running saga. The Front has come up with a list of instances when art and expression have supposedly been on the wrong end of the long arm of the law. They range from the banning of biblical figures during carnival to various photo shoots being called off (remember the model in a cemetery?) to the infamous instances of Realtà and Stitching.

It’s now official – the Front has become a full-fledged whingeing member of this molly-cuddled pseudo-democracy. Theirs is not a reaction of artists angered by risible instances of conservative hypocrisy but the reaction of brainwashed citizens who actually believe that a coffin and a couple of megaphones is what it takes to get the dominant elements of our society to wake up and smell the coffee. In this country, where counter-culture translates into simply being a normal 21st century cosmopolitan person, our “artists” have chosen to abdicate their responsibilities.

‘Opera morta’

I shall not pretend for one moment to be able to define art. What I do believe is that in times of societal poverty and intellectual blandness, society sub-consciously depends on its reserve of artists and intellectuals for inspiration for change. Rarely has society welcomed artists and intellectuals with open arms – rather, it has more often than not kicked them down and attempted to silence them. On the other hand, those artists who have been trampled upon and shunned did not congregate in the middle of the main thoroughfares of Europe to protest “It’s not fair” but preferred to use their art to expose the hypocrisy of their very persecutors. Action. Reaction.

Not in Malta though. My suggested choice of action for the artistic fraternity would have been a self-imposed nationwide moratorium on the arts. No more plays by actors, no more songs to be sung and no more paintings to be exhibited (continue in this vein). A silent veil would be drawn over the whole works as the supposed audience is starved of such outlets of expression. For if the Civil Court – when assessing a play from the point of view of a reasonable man – is unable to grasp concepts such as suspension of reality, metaphors and the very essence of representative art, then it is not art that is dead but the very spectators that have slipped into some sort ofpermanent coma.

The FAC should not be angry at the “authorities” (even in their wide definition of the term that includes private art galleries) but should get busy urging artists to embark on a nationwide awareness campaign of what art is about and why it is an integral part of the soul of society. They should be provoking the man in the street to think himself out of the self-imposed rigidity and vacuum bubble. Rather than writing eulogies on Art’s tomb, they should be making the sorts of noises (or silences) that bring the current situation to everyone’s attention – using the very medium whose death they are supposed to be lamenting. My idea of a moratorium is only one way of making the right impact. When I bounced that idea off some friends they reacted typically: “Who would notice?” Would anyone notice that the artists have gone on strike? Is our situation that dire?

Willy-nilly

It all boils down to the “audience” or rather to the citizens that make up our Republic. They are citizens brought up on the Myth of Saint Paul, the Bedtime Story of Count Roger, the Saga of the Great Siege and the Narrative of Malta – Blitzed but Not Beaten. Our tiny nation has had its defining moments that were then cemented with the musical chair moments of Integration – Independence – Republic – Freedom – European Union Membership. We read the story line convinced that, like the Israelites, we too are the chosen people and that fate will inevitably look favourably upon us and that everyone and everything in the world will owe us a living because we are after all the islands where civilisation practically kicked off – how else would you explain the Neolithic temples?

Try to look back at the narrative again and introduce one new element – inevitability. Think of every step as having been inevitable – that it would have occurred with or without, and not thanks to, the inhabitants of the time. Saul of Tarsus or no Saul of Tarsus, we would still have had a couple of hundred years as a mostly Muslim people and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Roger was the last of many of Tancred’s sons scrambling for some territory, and although the story of the Great Siege would make for a lovely Guy Ritchie film it would not be the last of its kind.

There were similar perils to “Christendom” faced in Vienna and Buda, and the Ottomans only turned away because they got distracted elsewhere. Meanwhile “Christian” Europe – seeing another day and another Hail Mary thanks to the valiant Maltese (no doubt) – would soon be immersed in a fratricidal war that would render any effects of La Valette’s last stand hugely inconsequential (the Thirty Years War pitting Christian versus Christian).

The Malta-centric narrative is badly in need of a couple of blows to the stomach. Our political representatives have long feasted on our gullibility within this context and fed us more propagandistic drivel fit for the 20th century. I have once before drawn the opprobrium of die-hard Nationalists by stating that European membership was an inevitable obvious step for this country and we got there in spite of our political establishment and not thanks to any part of it. The PN was lucky enough to have a blind, incompetent adversary who believed (for an incredibly long time) that membership was anathema and thus could step into the shoes of supposed saviours of the nation – much like good old Dom had conned the other half of the nation into believing the Helsien joke a couple of decades before. In a normal, civilised and rational country, we would have been joining the EU without so much as a referendum. The equation was all too clear – out was not an option, it was a disaster.

Yet. Yet. Yet. Even in the most obvious of situations – a no-brainer – a large part of the population had to have the wool lifted from its eyes and had to be dragged unwillingly – nolens volens – along with the rest. Still I find the assertion of Nationalist flag-wavers that “dahhalnikom fl-Ewropa” (we put you into Europe) so pathetically absurd. Little do they know what a great part they had in almost getting us to miss this supposedly most obvious of targets. Sic transit gloria Melitae (Thus passes the glory of Malta).

Mules and asses

The latest “discussion” (should I say dialogue) on censorship and divorce has once again brought out the nolens volens element of Maltese society and of its most honourable representatives. You can imagine one great mass insisting as obstinately as possible on moving against the signs of the times: “because it has always been so”, “because those are our values and traditions”, “because God wants us to be his soldiers” and other such drivel. We are by nature a people who would have been ignored by history but who, through an incredible twist of geopolitical necessity, seem to always end up in the thick of some action or other (and manage to take the credit).

The fundamental right of expression and the civil right of divorce are a bit more complicated than the no-brainer of inevitable membership of a large economic and political union. This time, fate and destiny might not be so willing to lend a helping hand and we risk becoming the victims of our own obstinacy and our conservatism founded on myth. It is time to break the old narratives and rediscover our true likeness in order to better understand where we want to go next. It’s not going to be an easy task.

The tsk-tskers and tut-tutters in Balluta who turned on the bikini-clad lass like a mediaeval crowd of peasants minus the pitchforks exemplify the type of people who will have to be dragged nolens volens into the age of reason. Then there were those who harassed the prankster who had the audacity to pitch a deckchair on the hallowed ground of Saint George’s Square (The Times report claimed that some people hurled insults at him). There’s the huge mass of automatic voters who cancel each other out at the poll every five years, and then there’s plenty more where those came from so it will take more than a coffin ride through Republic Street to swing the balance away from their considerable (voting) clout.

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‘Eppur’ si muove’ (and yet it moves)

Meanwhile, Tonio Fenech’s men have published the Pre-Budget Document and I am using it as my choice bedtime reading for the next week. I’m already horrified by the government’s idea of “creative works” – surely, given the current environment, a statement like “Government is committed to championing the creative economy” is grossly misplaced. There are other interesting insights to be had from this pre-budget document entitled “Ideas, Vision and Discussion” and I’ll have more to say about it next week.

In the meantime, a bit of news from that other intransigent, conservative institution of power. The Vatican has been getting some heat with regard to the radio masts of Radio Vaticana. In response to allegations linking their masts to tumours the Radio responded: ““Il nesso tra tumori e onde elettromagnetiche non è scientificamente dimostrato” (The link between tumours and electromagnetic waves has not been scientifically proven). Scientifically proven? The Vatican? Now if you don’t see the irony in that one, don’t ask me to help you…. I’d hate to have to explain it in (the civil) court.


www.akkuza.com is back at the home away from home. The weather here is miserable, which probably explains the time we have to spare for “Ideas, Vision and Discussion”.

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J'accuse : Intemperate Winds

It’s a windy Sunday, or at least it’s supposed to be. That’s if the weatherman got his calculations right and a strong wind should have been blowing across the island since last night acting as a downright spoiler to whatever estival events you might have planned. For me that means that a boat trip with the extended family will not be taking place this afternoon and that I will have to forego the last visit to the various nooks and crannies of Comino and Gozo. To others, this ill wind scattering uninvited across the isles has meant a forfeit of an evening of melodic entertainment with Malta’s favourite musical son and Signor Cocciante.

Doubtless the anti-open theatre lobby will already be smirking and repeating the “I told you so” mantra about the usefulness of open air theatres and events in Malta. The crowing started earlier this week when the predicament of the European Baroque Orchestra showed up the limitations imposed by our humid environment on most instruments in open air. To be fair I did not really see the point of so much complaining when I sat through the splendidly set Midsummer Night’s Dream in the Argotti gardens (Bravo Globe Theatre people). While the occasional firework might have proven to be a slight distraction every now and then, the most distracting noise on the evening turned out to be a tiff between cats towards the end of the performance.

All this probably leaves a hung jury on the business of the pros and cons of outside performances at the end of the day although I am beginning to be convinced by the arguments favouring a revision of the City Gate plans to incorporate a roofed lot where the Opera House used to be.

Mistral

But back to the ill wind. It has been a splendiferous couple of days barring the couple of hours when the sweltering heat combined with the drenching humidity sufficed to send any reasonable man in tilt. I cannot stop singing the praises of some of Malta’s finest beaches – top among which must be Ghadira Bay. It might take a humungous effort of coordination and civic consciousness but the crystal waters and the absence of beach louts are enough to make you want to visit the beach again, again and again. Undoubtedly Malta’s best advert is Mother Nature herself.

Unfortunately we do not seem to be too keen on preserving the more natural side of the equation. It’s not just nature in the tree-hugging sort of sense. There are also more modern kinds of pollution that lead me to marvel at how tourists are not abandoning the islands in droves. Whatever happened, for example, to the rule/law of no major construction works in tourist areas in the summer months? Have the PLPN benefactors had their way again? Why does the man with the jackhammer still wake up anyone within listening distance of Church Street, Paceville at 8am and how does he walk away from his job after four hours daily of constant hammering. Does not prolonged use of a pneumatic drill turn a man into a human vibrator?

Another thing. Who, and with what divine inspiration, allowed the myriad cranes to apparate along the main thoroughfares of Paceville without so much of a by your leave? Paceville must be the only corner of Malta to witness 24-hour gridlock. The carefully planned (do you smell the sarcasm?) blockage of more parking spaces in Saint George’s Road (for Pender Place trucks to exit occasionally) must be second in uselessness only to the massive new “No Parking” footprint (at least six places) blocked out by the new boutique student harem/hotel known as The George. You would think that if new hotels come complete with underground parking they need not block a whole street of parking places.

Scirocco

Out on a boat trip on Friday (course reunion – never put 14 lawyers in one boat – which is why we used two) I could witness the growth and growth of the buildings along the coast from Valletta to Comino. Sliema is particularly impressive though not, obviously, to the levels of the Manhattan skyline that one can see on an evening trip on the New York Water taxi. A question that rings through your mind as you cruise along the beautiful waters is how much public land is dedicated to private building and foreclosed from public use. The saddest picture of them all must be the tiny tower dwarfed by a hotel in the Saint George’s Bay area. It yells for help surrounded by the walls of concrete – a fate soon to be shared by the tower at the end of Tigné Point.

One of my colleagues raised an interesting question regarding the foul smelling tuna farms. Technically speaking the area of the sea in which these tuna farms are kept is public property. How much of that public property generates returns to the benefit of the nation? Which set me thinking that if this was Venezuela we’d have nationalised the tuna farms ages ago. Instead we make do with a pittance of taxation on a product reared on public property and which incidentally leaves a nice oily trail on our seabed. Spiffin’.

Levante

Leaving nature and the seabed behind us there’s still things political going on in this island of Don Camillo and Peppone. News of Sliema’s young mayor being locked out of his own council’s emergency meeting made the headlines this week as yet another mayor seems to have to deal with a mutiny on his hands. This follows hot on the heels of the Fgura incident where another young mayor was sidelined by his own party – supposedly for his own good. Are the young studs of the PLPN stables finding the kitchen too hot to handle?

Meanwhile in Zebbug it was not the mayor making the headlines but the parish priest. Father Daniel Cardona erected a temporary billboard (we assume it is temporary for there is a temporary indulgence of 21 days from the requirement of Mepa permits if a billboard has a socio-religious function). The infamous quote of Malachi 2:16 has now become “God does not want divorce” – to which the obvious answer should be “God has no vote”.

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Now I have no problem with the Catholic Church or members thereof airing their opinion publicly about the best future of civil legislation on the institute of marriage and its possible dissolution. As any other member of this open society of ours, and as one which has long influenced its staggered progress towards the future, the Church too has a role and understandable influence on what happens in our society. Which does not mean to say that its “catholic” and universal elements still hold automatically. If the civil debate on whether or not to allow divorce should centre around the issue of whether deities approve of such dissolution then we might as well resort to augurs and the slaying of goats on altars as we read the signs in their entrails.

This is proving to be hard to explain to the weak-willed believers who are unable to come to terms with the fact that the availability of divorce does not perforce mean that they themselves will be forced to avail of it. I should hope that we will not get stuck discussing the finer elements of divination while ignoring the more secular of arguments that should be relevant to this discussion. Once again J’accuse laments the fact that the only party with the balls to take a definite stand on the issue of the introduction of divorce is the one that has been effectively ostracised by the voting population. Such is our ironic predicament. Bring on the cohabitation Bill – there seems not to be a Malachi quote to tell us of God’s will on that particular issue.

Libeccio

I’ve left the worst wind for Gozitan commuters for last. I didn’t spend enough time on Gozo this time round and must make amends as soon as possible. Last Sunday though I did get to eat at one of Gozo’s best kept secrets. Il-Lantern restaurant at Marsalforn (part of the guesthouse in Qbajjar Road) serves what is probably the best rabbit spaghetti and stew in the whole of the Maltese islands. A footballing buddy of my youth, Rafel, braves the heat of the kitchen to provide you with a five-star homely stew fit for the palate of a king. Don’t expect refined silver service – it would not befit the ambience – but do expect a welcoming smile and good hearty food that your grandma would enjoy without batting an eyelid. Sunday visitors can also buy the Indy on the way in.

It’s been a fun break back home packed with sun, food and sea. It will be hard to slog back to Mitteleuropa where the winds are known to reach over 120 km/h and where most concerts and activities are held indoors in magnificent theatres but a man needs to get bread to the table. Even if most of it is gluten free. I’m over and out from Paceville, Saint Julian’s, Malta.

www.akkuza.com returns to Luxembourg by Tuesday. Back to basics and blogging for Malta’s longest-running source of indy punditry.

This article and accompanying Bertoon appear in today’s edition of The Malta Independent on Sunday