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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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Zolabytes

Book Burners and Antipodi

Publisher Chris Gruppetta gives us his thoughts, prophecies and ideas on the forthcoming Vella Gera novel “L-Antipodi” along with a few lessons to the “book burning brigade. Enjoy this Zolabyte.
Don’t worry, it’s not yet-another-article on Li Tkisser Sewwi …
The Maltese Book-Burning Brigade must be in a pickle right now. You see, one of their lead arguments when inciting and applauding the prosecution of author Alex Vella Gera and editor Mark Camilleri for the short story Li Tkisser Sewwi, was that this was not literature, but smut. “ ’tis vulgar and obscene, unredeemed by literary merit” — “It can’t be compared to Irvine Welsh, whose books are works of literature” — “this is just obscenity for the sake of titillation and disgust”

What on earth, now, will they make of this? On the 22nd August, Vella Gera will be launching his latest novel, L-Antipodi, the first chapter of which is circulating on the internet. And having read this teaser, I dare anyone to say this is not literature. Beautifully crafted, with pitch-perfect dialogue, smoothly executed time-shifts, and an underlying sadness and maturity that haunts, this first chapter will be a tough act to follow. Of course, not having yet laid my hands on the rest of the novel, it could well turn out to be a hopeless anti-climax. It could, but I’d be extremely surprised if it were.

I am not necessarily a Vella Gera fan. I passed on his first novel, and subsequently I vehemently argued against the censorship of his short story in Realtà, but not on the grounds of artistic merit. If anything, my point was that we should not seek to defend his right to freedom of expression by hiding behind “artistic merit”, as if only great writing were allowed to be explicit and direct.

Yet this first chapter includes – though not in the quantity and intensity of Li Tkisser Sewwi – a number of explicit phrases, including the dreaded “ħexa” word and stuff being shoved in and out. So now I am looking forward to hearing the Taleban Brigade’s take on this. Will they deem this novel acceptable because its bona fide literary value cancels out the occasionally explicit language? Unlikely. Or will they furiously backpedal, now claiming that even in the case of works of literary merit, a Disney-level curfew should be imposed? “No kissing unless it’s a caste peck on the lips.”

Whatever they say or do, Vella Gera’s new novel will fly off the shelves. Irrespective of content, that was bound to happen the minute Realtà got slapped with the ban. That, dear Book-Burning Brigade, is the ultimate utilitarian reason for not banning books: it tends to backfire, giving the author reams of free publicity and ensuring his presence in the bestseller lists. However it would be a great pity if L-Antipodi were to sell out merely because of the curiosity effect. The first chapter at least, is a solid work of literature – ranking among the most interesting novel-openers this year – that deserves to be read by all Maltese literature fans.

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Zolabytes is a rubrique on J’accuse – the name is a nod to the original J’accuser (Emile Zola) and a building block of the digital age (byte). Zolabytes is intended to be a collection of guest contributions in the spirit of discussion that has been promoted by J’accuse on the online Maltese political scene for 5 years.

Opinions expressed in zolabyte contributions are those of the author in question. Opinions appearing on zolabytes do not necessarily reflect the editorial line of J’accuse the blog.
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Politics

Anosognosia

Hoi Polloi (1935 film)
Image via Wikipedia

It means “you don’t know what you don’t know” and it is a perfect starting point to elaborate on the discussion provoked by my last article on the Indy (Nolens Volens). It turns out that I dared criticise the uncriticiseable and that barring a few more moderate reactions the gist of most comments would be “non sparare sulla croce rossa”. Let us see what sparked off the anger at my criticism and why – as Matt put it – both sides could be saying the same things in different ways.

1. J’accuse never condoned censorship

Let’s get this out of the way. It should by now be very clear that the line taken by this blogger on the current state of affairs regarding freedom of expression and, more particularly, the laws on censorship is one that stands firmly on the side of those who believe that our country is going through one hell of an anachronistic phase. The Stitching judgement and the inability of politicians to legislate clearly in areas where the law seems to leave a lacuna have been criticised extensively in the our writings. I canot understand why I even have to explain that part of the equation. In case it is not clear my personal position on censorship is that if it has to exist it should be in the form of classification and never in the form of outright banning.

Incidentally I also have gone on record confirming the right of extremists to express their sick (sic) ideas in public. The content of the rhetoric must be countered, if needs be, with more rhetoric and not with gagging. Criminal law would do the rest of the job: e.g. you can express your hatred of other races as much as you like (stupid, ignorant and neanderthal as you may sound) but once you incite people to violence then don’t hide behind the “freedom of expression” the moment the prison door shuts behind you. Ugly racist bigots exist. We need to be shocked with the truth not to be protected from it.

2. The hoi polloi, the spoudaios and the average man in the street

DF repeated in so many words what I have touched upon already. Xarabank is successful, village feasts and their petards still top popularity lists and Lou Bondi is considered to be an excellent investigative journalist. It should come as no surprise then that when a law court such as the First Hall Civil Court examines how the man in the street could be affected by watching a performance of Stitching it “gets it all wrong”. Let me stick my neck out again and risk being called an intellectual snob – is the law unjustified in protecting the current standard of education (for want of a better word)? If the judge sitting on a bench is to examine how the average man in the street would interpret Stitching is he to be blamed if he sees the average man as taking a dramatic metaphor literally? Is the board of censors?

Chris  hit the nail on the head from a more practical perspective:

If I may (as usual) see it from the book publishing perspective: what do you expect of a country where arguably the best piece of Maltese literature written in recent years sells a maximum of 1,000 copies, in so doing practically reaching market saturation? I mean, surely the easiest, most hassle-free, Pontius Pilate way of ’supporting creativity’ in Malta would be to spend Eur10- and buy a copy of an amazing book. If less than 1,000 ppl bothered to do even that (and that’s including the assorted freebies, competition prizes, and purchases ‘tal-obbligu’ by extended families and ex-girlfriends), do you expect a 1,000 ppl to bother to turn up for a march? Or, in your desideratum, participate in some massive display of subversiveness?

Are we intellectual snobs, or as I like to call ourselves “wankellectuals” (constantly amused by mental masturbation – incidentally I have a PC term for the ladies among you – “cliterati”), when we decide that +/- 1,000 people is the maximum threshold of intelligentsia? Where does all this take us?

3. Artists of the Country Disaggregate!

The assaults on the freedom of expression have exposed, once again, a serious lacuna in this country. We are in the process of discovering Maltese “anosognosia”. We are learning about how much we do not know and how far we are from knowing. Raphael may rant all he likes about his pet pickle with students “who only protest when their pocket is hurt” (was not that a big indicator of pleasures yet to come 15 years ago?) and about how unfair of me it is to shoot on the Red Cross (not in so many words) because a bunch of University students got their chance to traipse up Republic Street with a megaphone and a coffin. Sure there is nothing wrong in this graffiti-ist reaction. I thought the same way when I convinced fellow SDM members to join Graffitti on a protest against the visit of Li Peng in Malta (I wish I could find a photo of the 20+ students who turned up to be kicked away by the police). Would I be too patronising if I said “now, now of course it makes an impact – if anything it gives MaltaToday an excuse of something to record on video” ?

That was not my point though was it? I could easily be drawn into a list of comparisons as to what makes an impact and what does not. Apparently very little does make an impact outside the formations of the PLPN power circle and unfortunately making a splash within those circles requires the big “V” word : Votes. So was I too harsh when I said that the protesters are molly-cuddled (sic) into a way of protesting/complaining that is in full conformity with the state of how things are run? Of course I was. Purposely so.

On the other hand, I’m sorry if I missed the graffito about the pope (darn) but if that is our answer to Banksy then something must be missing somewhere. We need a counterculture that gives the upcoming youth (who are still more worried about their stipend than whether they use it to buy tickets to Shakespeare at the Argotti) an alternative way of expressing their preference. Before we take the coffin to Valletta and blame the judge for showing us (mistakenly, in our way of thinking) that our society still believes that it needs to be “protected” from new ideas (sad really to describe them as new) why don’t we explore what is keeping the droves firmly stuck to Xarabank and believing in the Gospel of Bondiplus and away from the ideas behind Realtà and Stitching.

This is a country where people would presumably be shocked by a moral play bringing into question issues such as the holocaust but where 87% of respondents on an online poll would send immigrants back to Human Right Haven Libya on a boat.

4. Apologia

To conclude, I see your points – Raphael, Chris, DF, Danny, Matt and the silent ones (sono veggente) – but I stand by the points I made. Questions are being asked of our society and I believe that all parts – including the artists and wankellectuals – need to be preparing a strong case for their future role in society. Carrying coffins into Valletta may be alright for the PR (and for the footage) but it does nothing to challenge the equation.

P.S. Spare me the bullshit of “komdu int il-Lussemburgu”. I don’t know why I bother answering it but in any case before you even think it, just think – for one second – that if that statement were really true why the hell would I be bothering AT ALL?

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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: "Forni Gate" and the Jazzy Ensemble

We finally made it to Malta and the excruciating heat (not much change there). An early morning three-hour drive and a damned stomach bug, which kicked off its effects from 4am, did not prevent us from getting onto the Malta-bound plane from Frankfurt. Funny how you can drive for three hours without a problem in Germany but have a very adventurous 20-minute trip from Luqa to Paceville, slipping back into cussing mode with self-drive rental car drivers.

All that Jazz

Having slept all afternoon on Thursday, I forewent the traditional first dip and only regained my senses in time to get to the jazz festival (on Thursday, missed the first acts though). It’s a well-organised festival of sound, mind you, and you could tell the enthusiasts from the hangers-on from a mile away. It all depended on how they twisted their face. The ones with their face screwed up in rigorous attention looking as though they would burst into orgasmic ecstasy following an epiphanic progression of notes and melodies were definitely the jazz buffs. They looked Sterner than Stern and would only occasionally switch to an appreciative swaying or clapping – most of the time the concentration on the deepest intricacies of this genre that grows on you (presumably like a wart but nicer) led them to bearing Lascaris-like faces.

Then there were the others whose faces were twisted as though in the eternal suffering of some recently scratched purgatory. Their expressions varied from “bring back the vuvuzela” to “who the hell gave those kids their toys and why do they have to practise on stage?” They gathered in inconspicuous circles and confessed to each other that they couldn’t quite fathom what the fuss for this ruckus was really all about, and concurred that if they could, they would revive the Hector Bruno eighties mass meeting act on stage as a merciful compromise.

I say “they” but surely (and shamefully) I should say “we”, for I must confess that I formed part of this ignorant clique whose presence could only be explained because they form part of the chain of junkies of all things remotely labelled as “cultural”. Yes, we were there because the event came with a ticket, the venue was naturally and historically spectacular and even the food on offer in the stalls was more than a few marks above the clichéd concert nosh. And we enjoyed it in spite of several notes and riffs and other such noises creeping up behind us as unexpectedly as a JPO Divorce Bill and releasing bursts of cacophonic ear-bell nauseating sounds. It was, in its own way, very emotional.

Forni Gate

We walked back to our legally parked car past Valletta Waterfront and I noticed a number of tourists still looking for an extension of their night out. The majority of the Waterfront shops had already gone into sleep mode. Where’s the fun in summer with bars closing at 12.30? Does a tourist not deserve a quiet cocktail on the Valletta waterfront in the silence of the early hours of the morning? Maybe not, but in any case my intention was not to complain about bar opening hours but rather to mention my linguistic discovery on the way to the Waterfront from Ta’ Liesse.

As we ambled from concert to car, taking in the latest developments in this area that is planned to receive thousands of tourists every year (maybe hundreds of thousands), we noticed, for example the “Magazzino” embarkation place for tourists. It fits very nicely into the surroundings and adds a nice touch to the foot of the bastions. Before the Magazzino though (I think) we passed one of the many gates serving the mooring posts by the port. The clear signage announced to anyone who cared to read it that this was… drum roll here… “Forni Gate”.

Now there’s an ironic gate for a tourist to walk through on arriving in Malta. A rather misleading encouragement I would say. Shouldn’t they add a postil or something? Something like “but not in public and definitely not in hotel rooms in case some MP or other develops a sudden interest in your private activities?” Even better we could add, “You might try but we care about this more than you would ever like to know”.

An international gate consisting of an imperative to copulate? OK, the word association made after a few hours of jazz-related disorientation is a bit childish but, hell – it is rather ironic, isn’t it? I’d heard of the Austrian town of “Fucking” (google it… I’m NOT making this up), I’d driven by the German town of “Katzen” and read of Titty Hill (England), Bald Knob (Arkansas) as well as Twatt (Scotland), but I was quite sure that the country that had opposed the acronym O.S.C.E. (rejected) would make sure that no such unfortunate slips would occur in its topography.

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Censored ships

Let’s face it. Were this any other time in our variegated history, the (childish, I repeat) issue of the unfortunate naming of a Valletta entrance (resulting from an Anglo Italian corroboration) would not be worth writing about. The combined effect of various moralistic issues being presented from the platform of hypocrisy and ingenuity does lend itself to parody and satire of the not too refined kind. As I type, a local paper reports that Anthony Neilson’s play Stitching has been awarded a 14 rating at the internationally famous Fringe Festival in Edinburgh. The hard-nosed protestant Scots (stereotype warning) will allow 14-year-olds to watch a play that was rated in Malta as being “unsuitable for any audience”.

Forget the criminal code. This is not a question of protecting the infants, is it? It is really a question of being unable to look outside the cave and beyond the shadows and reflections for fear of noticing that there is a whole world out there (and in here – though we cannot see it) that we cannot contemplate with our limited philosophy. I’m sorry if I have to harp on this matter for a second week, but surely we must realise how dangerous the path is that we have chosen to tread.

It’s the intolerant attitude that is absolutely flabbergasting. Forget penises in paintings in some art gallery in Gozo. The issue is much wider than that. The issue is that in this particular corner of the world there are people who would want to impose their life choices on others. It is not so much an issue of majority versus minority as it is an issue of crass interference. There is another ironic own goal to be registered here: the craving for legislation banning anything that goes against a particular set of morals also reflects an innate weakness in the bearers of such morals. What they are saying in effect is that if such things as provocative art or legislation to dissolve marriage contracts were available, then they would be too hard an attraction for them to resist. The solution? Ban them.

Summer politics

Which brings me back to the divorce question. I’ll set aside the detailed arguments for my blog. All I need to point out here (again) is that divorce should not even require any debate. The contradictions are that our two representative parties need to shuffle their legs and drag their feet while amusing us with musings of consultation peppered with quasi-fatwas of moralistic fervour. We will have a government that has no qualms regulating cohabitation while still opposing (at least in its majority) the introduction of divorce because of the deleterious effect it has on marriages.

We have a mad hot summer to discuss the possibility of divorce legislation ever happening. Some are already giving up as the ugly head of intolerant conservatism begins to bark and rant. I suggest we focus on a wider question – the very common line that runs through both the divorce and censorship issues. Are we really too scared to look in the mirror and see what we really are? Do we really want to bury our heads in the sand and continue perpetrating the myth of this “catholic nation”? There is nothing wrong with trying to be a catholic nation – if it were one that can proudly count among its citizenry a subset of people with a set of values that can only strengthen our social backbone then it is all well and good. I start to worry when the catholic fortress turns out to be a shambles that can only be saved (can it really?) through coercion and imposition of lifestyle choices on everybody else.

‘Bieb l-iFran’

It does not have the same ring does it? I kid you not though. Forni Gate does exist and you can snap your Facebook photo standing beside it on your next visit to the waterfront. This holiday has started quite well and I do not mean to be mean to the jazz enthusiasts – my lack of interest in the genre is surely my loss and not theirs. I’m looking forward to the next week of hot sun and sea back home and this weekend will start with a visit to the sister homeland, where J’accuse began.

www.akkuza.com wishes a happy feast to the Stilla crew in Victoria. Send creative snapshots of Forni Gate and we will publish them on the blog.

Categories
Arts

A Vid for the Road

Till we meet again in Malta here’s another of those vids that are serving as an excuse to fill the blogging vacuum (and which I find extremely funny). Here’s how the Stitching problem could best be solved. (as seen on facebook)