White dust déjà vu

Forty years ago or so, Mabel Strickland conducted the prototype of all environmental campaigns to rid Lija of the plague of white dust that regularly spewed out of a factory blanketing trees, houses and roads. The memory remains with a few of us, the factory with all of us, more so with Lija residents.

A relative of mine was a labour safety officer at the time and I quizzed him on the matter. His reply was that it would be possible to insist on silage of all powdery materials, the collection of dust raised during production and the regular hosing down of the factory area. The snag was that the expense to install the equipment would probably send the business bankrupt and put workers out of a job.

It was that era's priority ranking that made nothing happen. Were we really so poor that we couldn't afford to be healthy? If it was true then, is it still true today? What has this false economy cost us?

When a design was commissioned for mechanical saws for stone, a dust collection feature was included. The saw has been with us for nearly two decades, the dust collection feature has been treated as a luxury option. Most stone masons opt out. Nobody in authority has had the sense, the energy, the simple decency to insist on making dust collection mandatory. It would cost the government nothing. Enforcement would be child's play: look for dust clouds that look like a house on fire.

Fitting water or electricity conduit in walls usually means that all the doors and windows must be opened wide and special prayers for strong winds made by all the neighbourhood. Cutting conduit trenches using the ubiquitous chaser means that visibility in the room is reduced to zero while white dust clouds billow out over street and home. Most of us have no idea that equipment is now available to manage the job without the mess. Carbide-tipped nibblers can chip out the trenches without all the fuss. They cost considerably more than a chaser. Contractors won't make the investment unless they have too.

A stand of trees at Ta' Pennellu, Mellieha looks like something out of a Christmas card. It's snowing in July in Malta. Dust crossing the country road reduces visibilty to zero. It sticks to the trees reducing their ability to survive in the harsh rocky upland. It also blows right across the sunbleached country entering homes, workplaces and everybody's nostrils in ever finer doses. It probably reduces our ability to live better and longer increasing the incidence of asthma attacks which take a heavy toll on victims. Brought to book the authorities would pass the buck until we're dizzy. And do nothing at all.

The strong winds that kept sailors ashore in the past few days created an amazing spectacle at the Naxxar end of the tal-Balal road. Dust from an unmade side road created an incongruous Alaskan blizzard scene. Drivers wound up their windows and shot past worrying about the sand blasting of their precious status symbols.

People in l-Iklin may have shrugged and just blamed the wind. They'd never guess that a road had just taken flight just upwind of them and hurled itself through every crack it could find in their windows.

Rabat residents complain about the dust from the ex-Pitkali square. It doesn't take a hurricane to dustclouds there. Cars parked on the loose gravel grind away at the mess underfoot creating an endless supply that wafts into people's homes on the lightest of breezes. The council blames the government and the government points at the museums department which hopes some day to excavate the underlying archaeological site. It hasn't happened for decades. The dust rises every day. Now that we're safely in the third millennium, our failure to find a solution to accommodate all interests is an adminstrative humiliation.

A building site in Sliema has been brought to the notice of the local council which pleads impotence to enforce. The parliamentary sectretary waffles about naughty contractors who disregard permit conditions. Tourists get a bonus Saharan dust storm to take away with their souvenirs of Malta. Residents get mad but remain weighed down by the apparent impossibility to change things.

In most places, building sites are a temporary nuisance which neighbours just have to bear. In Sliema, it's a way of life. Despite the urban conservation area status of most of the locality, buildings are constantly being demolished. In three days, an art nouveau house in Amery Street became a hole in the ground. The only thing being conserved is Sliema's eternal building site status and its potential for Saharan dust storms.

Most residents have acquired an abiding contempt for authority. They resent being left to their own devices to combat the sudden assault on their quality of life.