On occasion, just to prove that we in Europe are no different to anyone else, mob rule erupts as violently as Vesuvius in AD 79. We have had periodic marring of the eternal peace that this new millennium was supposed to bring with it: Riots in Paris and Athens... and, now, riots in London that have shocked the world.

As our economy teeters at the edge of an abyss, and I clearly remember Alan Greenspan being called a bird of ill omen when he predicted this three years ago, the gulf between the haves and the have-nots widens and foments seething discontent which, in turn, generates violent discord. We have had children, 11-year-olds, among the rioters, which to me is something profoundly shocking. Whatever next?

I really do not think London and the rest of England has seen anything quite like this since Wat Tyler’s Peasants Revolt in the 14th century and that ironically was the first of the classist revolutions to ever take place. “When Adam delved and Eve span. Who was then the gentleman?” That is a question that many have asked over the centuries and still do.

The cries of liberty, equality and fraternity that epitomised revolutionary France rang hollow in my years as on Bastille Day I watched, from the comfort of our embassy on Champs Elysees, the great show of Gallic military might and caught the occasional booing as President Nicholas Sarkozy in his jeep processed like one of the Roman victors of antiquity. Well might he recall that in those far off days a victor would have a slave whisper “remember thou art but mortal” in his ear just in case the adulation of the fickle Roman mob went to his head!

The British riots are an eye-opener as to how unsatisfactory the establishment of this great commercial European empire has been and how far removed the Brussels bureaucrats are from the man in the street despite their protests to the contrary. And, of course, the rich and poor gulf widens as the centrist parties are trapped by their own promises to maintain a welfare state and go belly up financially in the attempt!

A few weeks ago we saw the ceremonial burial of Otto von Habsburg, the son of the last emperor of Austria Hungary, a man who, as a Bavarian MEP, advocated, in true Habsburg fashion, the establishment of a multinational empire. If anyone had what is called pan-Europeanism in his veins it was Dr Habsburg whose direct ancestor, Francis I, upon being informed that such and such was a patriot, asked most ingenuously: “A patriot? A patriot you say? A patriot for me?”

This strange polyglot post-war creation that has grown to leviathan proportions in the six odd decades since its inception has, like all things, had its pros and cons.

The greatest pro of all is that since the so called Pax Romana this is the first time in Europe’s history that it has not been split into dynastic factions. For six odd decades, the Latin bloc has been negotiating with and not hurling cannonballs at the Teutonic bloc and vice versa.

On the other hand, the greatest con has been the imposition of a bureaucratic stranglehold on all member states that reduces their local governments to functionaries at best and puppets at worst. We have security, job mobility, currency stability but yet, despite all this, the system has failed to safeguard the livelihoods of far too many workers during the storm of recession that still buffet us despite what the pundits say. We may, for all we know, be reapproaching a period in our history that resembles the 1789 scenario too closely for comfort. That is why the EU stages bailouts as without them the entire shebang may blow to smithereens. But for how long can it continue this farce?

What about us in Malta where the sun always shines and the people are the happiest in the world going about their business? Are we living in a fool’s paradise? Do our political allegiances run so deep that we are blind to the defects of the party we back and oblivious of any good that comes from the “others”? We have just spent a year loudly squabbling about divorce. Despite prognostications, divorce successfully ran the gauntlet of a consultative referendum. Divorce has already become old hat and everyone is too mentally exhausted to lift a finger about cohabitation, which the government is implementing with as little fuss as possible.

Maybe it’s the silly season combined with the sirocco and the torpor that invariably grips us come August but were I a politico I would thank my lucky stars that this cooling off period in the middle of a hot summer happens as it provides a great respite from the usual highly emotional sturm und drang that colours Maltese politics as a rule and I am convinced that politicians look at September as a sort of tabula rasa where they can start afresh without the pressures of popular memory hampering them and cramping their style. That is now wishful thinking.

It was said by the professorial class of armchair commenters that it would be extremely difficult to goad the Maltese into riot mode. However, all that is needed now is a spark; a 20 per cent increase in our water and electricity bill will probably make even my pet cat remember that somewhere in his family tree there lurks a savage tiger, so let us beware of rocking the boat as this time it may actually keel over. And then what?

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