Precautionary tales (2)

Collective, as any dictionary will tell you, points to something that is common to many individuals; a collective decision is one that has been taken in common, with the participation of all or most interested parties. When Transport Minister Jesmond Mugliett stated in Parliament that the decision not to sack employees at the Malta Transport Authority (ADT), who had been found guilty in court of bribery, was taken collectively, he knew he was being understood as follows: In the decision not to sack, the relevant parties within the ADT had been involved in the decision.

Now, the former CEO at the ADT had already said publicly that he had been told what to do about the sacking by the minister, and that he disagreed with the decision. Collectivity in the decision had therefore been exercised at board level, with the chairman and other members of the board. It turned out that no, this had not happened. On two occasions, most notably in a letter released by Castille at the end of last week, the chairman and board members confirmed that they were not involved in the decision not to sack. Only the CEO and ADT's legal advisor were in the loop. It turns out that the legal advisor is a close political ally of the minister, let's say a canvasser.

Furthermore, on the day that he made his statement in Parliament, the minister had offered his resignation to the Prime Minister (or so he said later) and was then awaiting the PM's reaction. Presumably, he also told his leader that the decision not to sack had been taken "collectively". It remains unknown at the time of writing, whether this statement had any bearing on Lawrence Gonzi's decision to keep Minister Mugliett in his Cabinet.

In the view of the members of the restricted elite which is all powerful in the Gonzi Administration, blatant interference in an "independent" authority's affairs to help out people found guilty of corruption, plus "misleading" (I say lying to) Parliament and the public by a minister, are not considered as matters that justify a minister's resignation. According to one commentator who is obviously well placed in top PN circles, the fact that Minister Mugliett was kept in his post demonstrated that the "government" is serious. In this version, accepting his resignation would have betrayed a false sense of superiority and been a sign of conceit ("pulikarja").

There was one ministerial resignation that the Prime Minister accepted, that of John Dalli. In the light of the events of the past few weeks, the question again arises: What justified its acceptance while avoiding "pulikarja"?

The former minister correctly argues that it could not have been the corruption issue over the issue of the contract for hospital equipment at Tal-Qroqq since it was proven that evidence of corruption about him in that context had been faked. Meanwhile, the more serious matter relating to how travel arrangements were made in his then Ministry of Foreign Affairs appears to have been shelved by the Prime Minister himself. The investigation into that matter was morphed into an inquiry about the travel procedures in all ministries and consigned to limbo.

An Administration deemed "serious" by its insiders because Mr Mugliett's offer to resign was declined must have had very important reasons for accepting the resignation of one minister and turning down that of another. Such reasons could not have included acceptance of two weights and two measures, for that too would amount to a lack of "seriousness". Why then does Prime Minister Gonzi leave such matters open to speculation after having promised one and all to launch a new style of politics, presumably based on transparency, accountability and a total absence of "pulikarja".

There was always something fishy about the big opening of the Tal-Qroqq hospital, and I am not referring to the curious omission of a ceremony that features in every Maltese big occasion: Getting the place "blessed". The Skanska operators were supposedly delivering the finished work to the Prime Minister, as he had promised they would do some three years earlier, in a parliamentary statement. Actually, Skanska representatives were not given a slot in the raft of "commemorative" speeches that launched the event.

Three weeks almost have passed since the big occasion. A bus service is running regularly every day to the new hospital, the most efficient we have. Only it has no passengers. The security service which allows access to the hospital is still run by Skanska. Some works are still proceeding. Some of the modern "state-of-the-art" equipment has still not been commissioned. No patient has yet been admitted to the hospital. ECG checks arranged for visitors to the new hospital during the ceremonial weekend of its "opening" were referred to St Luke's Hospital. Discussions with the doctors' and nurses' unions are still proceeding regarding how to manage the new system at Tal-Qroqq. One informed view is that unless a further 200 nurses are recruited, there is no way by which the Tal-Qroqq hospital can start to be run satisfactorily.

What then really happened on June 29? I had expected that Prime Minister Gonzi would make a parliamentary statement about the hospital immediately after the opening, to match the one he made three years or so ago, announcing how matters had been arranged with Skanska. At first, the government seemed to agree that such a statement needed to be made; then it started stalling about the matter. Why?

The hospital was initially due to open in the spring of election year 2003. Four years down the line, we are still unsure about the real status of the hospital, even if it has been officially "opened". This Kafkaesque situation would be comic, if the overall costs for the whole project would not have already reached some Lm300 million and still rising.

Comedy turns to farce with the claim made by the government that Skanska still controls the hospital site because there was a provision for them to take care of teething problems. How can there be teething problems when the chewing has yet to start?