The well-being of the family

Guido de Marco was a born teacher, transmitting in a seemingly effortless way what he knew to others but at the same time always wanting to learn from others.

I must admit, however, that with me not all his efforts were successful.

Prof. de Marco had an astounding mnemonic ability. He could cite Shakespeare, Keats, Shelley, Dante or Manzoni with the same ease that he could cite from the Criminal Code or from a particular debate in Parliament. And, within this context, was his ability to cite – or rather sing – arias from different operas.

After some long day, particularly if he was happy about the outcome, as we would be driving back to the hotel or to a restaurant to dine, he would suddenly start humming a tune. “Isn’t this a beautiful aria,” he would tell me. On my part, I would nod, at times feigning recognition. However, it was not that easy to fool him, so continuing to hum he would then nonchalantly ask with a smile: “Remind me what the words were?”

And beyond his clever, smiling eyes, I could see the neon signs on the streets transform their lettering into those of the word: “Gotcha!”

He liked music. It was therapeutic but from what he used to tell me, opera reminded him a lot of his childhood and of his parents who he loved so much.

“Did you phone home,” he would ask me, especially when we were on some trip with a level of risk. “Phone them now to put their minds at rest. They care for you.”

And, in saying that, and perhaps without knowing, he would have been projecting the innumerable tests of fear, tension and concern for his well being that his wife Violet, his children Gianella, Fiorella and Mario and, later, his grandchildren, had to live through over the years, obliged as they were by circumstances to give up that normal existence which is the right of every family.

For, also in this regard, Prof. de Marco was a true patriot, bringing the well being of the country ahead of family, taking personal risks that exposed him to danger, whenever and wherever a just cause required it.

And in each difficult situation, he saw the well-being of the family – not just his, but that of others – loom high, as a prod to find ways to dissolve tensions, to dissipate suffering.

I witnessed this during our visit to Israel and the Occupied Territories in January 1991.

On arrival in Tel Aviv Airport, UN, UNRWA and Israeli Foreign Ministry officials were there to discuss the programme, which included visits to the refugee camps. The Israeli Foreign Ministry officials were suggesting that, for security reasons, when visiting the refugee camps our motorcade would be accompanied by Israeli Army jeeps.

Slowly, Prof. de Marco raised his hands to indicate that he wanted to say something.

“I am truly grateful for your concern over my well being and know the possible risks. However, these are risks I have chosen to take. If anything happens to me, it would be a result of something which I decided upon. However, I would never feel at ease with my conscience if anything had to happen to one of your young soldiers. I would never be able to forgive myself, especially when thinking of what that loss would have meant for the young soldier’s family.”

As we were leaving Tel Aviv Airport amidst high security mounted by Israel Defence Forces (IDF) personnel, looking at the young soldiers he told me: “Look at them, the same age as my son Mario or younger.”

It was then at the height of the first Intifada and during our stay in the Occupied Territories we visited a small hospital where the young boys, shot for throwing stones at Israeli soldiers, were being treated. Prof. de Marco sat by one of the boys, tenderly holding his hand. He did not say anything but, knowing him, I knew that in the boy – and the tragedy that the boy was living through – he could see his grandchildren he loved so much and cared for.

On Thursday, August 12, like most Maltese, I was overjoyed to read The Times report entitled “Born again” De Marco Cherishing Life Anew. An excellently written piece, the article captured the true character and spirit of Prof. de Marco: his appreciation for the gift of life; his love for his wife and family and his determination to combat the odds.

He had sounded so much himself in that interview, so cheerful and appreciative of life.

That same Thursday afternoon, President de Marco died in his sleep while taking an afternoon nap.

When my daughter Valentina phoned me to break the news of Prof. de Marco’s demise, I was shocked as was the whole nation. As I silently wept and pondered his life, part of Rudyard Kipling’s poem If immediately came to mind as capturing the man, his character and his spirit:

“If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With 60 seconds’ worth of distance run –

Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it,

And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!”

The Malta that he so much loved will miss Prof. de Marco, a true patriot, an eminent statesman and an outstanding defender of democracy and human rights.

A particular statement by Prof. de Marco in the interview on The Times haunted me: “Life is so precious, yet it is lost so easily. I’m loving life. There was a time I thought it was the end of it but I will build on the future.”

Those words haunted me. Though an idealist in many ways, Prof. de Marco always had his feet firmly planted on the ground. He never fooled himself and never tried to fool others.

Then the understanding of his words dawned on me on Saturday morning when I read an interview with his son, Mario: The future that Prof. de Marco was most likely referring to was his heritage.

As Mario de Marco said “a lot of him can live in each and every one of us if we live life the way he did: that life is there for a purpose and we have to live it to the full”.

Concluded