Literature and the defence of liberty

It's always good to learn there is someone in charge with an earthy sense of the dangerous absurdity around them. Because if there is one thing the absurd prosecution of Ir-Realtà editor and author has shown, it is that the university rector is right to believe that he could easily have been prosecuted himself for permitting the newspaper edition carrying the story to circulate on campus.

Nothing in the recent behaviour of the police makes it implausible that they would have prosecuted Juanito Camilleri.

True, as things turned out, it was Prof. Camilleri himself who actually drew the attention of the police. But if he had not done it, who is to say that someone else would not have gone to the police? With the additional juicy information, heard through the long- and far-flung grapevine, that the rector had had all the proper legal advice on the matter but refused to take action?

There are many fascinating aspects to the Maltese language, but the sheer variety of words for "backstabber" intrigues no one.

One could argue that Prof. Camilleri should have nonetheless braved prosecution. But that is to introduce a new argument. This case has already thrown up more than enough arguments that need addressing.

The police are clearly being stupid. The story in question is not obscene. However, I have also been disappointed by the arguments made by many of those who think of themselves as striking a blow for liberty.

The tired example of the difference between giving a man a fish and teaching him how to catch them applies to the defence of liberty. There is a difference between simply defending the right side, in a particular case, and defending the conditions of liberty.

Some of the arguments put forward in defence of the publication of Alex Vella Gera's story do so for the wrong reasons. It is important to see why four of the ones most frequently made are misplaced.

First, saying that "it is just literature", meaning that normal legal considerations ought not apply to the arts, is a roundabout way of saying that artistes should be treated as juveniles.

Such an argument is not just bad for the arts. It is bad for a secular society, whose capacity for self-reflection depends on taking the insights and transformative power of the arts seriously.

Second, it is mistaken to defend Mr Vella Gera's story on grounds that it provides valuable insight into the mind of an extreme male chauvinist.

As it happens, it provides no such insight; only a common stereotype. As a piece of fiction, it is highly conventional and full of the flaws that a teacher of creative writing would attempt to weed out from day one.

Yet, its failure to be good literature is irrelevant. The legitimacy of a piece of writing should not depend on its quality.

Third, what should matter is literary not moral intentionality. It would be ironic, to put it mildly, if a liberal society used agreement about what is morally uplifting or not as a criterion of whether something is protected speech.

It is true that legal definitions of obscenity often include the idea that the work, to be permitted, should have some "redeeming" quality. But the very literariness of the piece - meaning its engagement with the craft of literature - is enough of a redeeming quality because the worth of such engagement, even if it ends in failure, is widely acknowledged.

Paradoxically, the literariness of bad writing is easier to recognise because what makes it bad is usually its unimaginative use of literary conventions. In the case at hand, Li Tkisser Sewwi is as hammy as much of the acting on our national screens. Or, indeed, as hammy as any work of Maltese literature among those routinely inflicted on schoolchildren.

I would be surprised if most Junior College students (those whose interests were deemed to be in need of special protection in this case) would not find Mr Vella Gera's story, in many ways, to be similar to other first-person narratives of villainous confessions they have been made to read. I would also be surprised if this story was more often the occasion for genuine shock, or incitement to appalling behaviour, than of giggles and a general feeling that "if this is all it takes to be a writer, then we can all be one, too".

Finally, many have argued that the Prime Minister should say something to indicate to the police that he disapproves of the prosecution. But a liberal society depends on the separation of powers. It would be bad for liberty if the government were to interfere with the autonomy of the police, even to protect freedom of speech. It would be setting a precedent for the separation of powers to be violated on future occasions, possibly with less benign intent.

Many of the defenders of Mark Camilleri and Alex Vella Gera endorse the ideas that literature is justified by its "moral lessons" and that the government should not always respect the due process that follows the separation of powers. It is not the least of the ironies of this case that these ideas have so much in common with the anti-liberals of this society.

ranierfsadni@europe.com