I sometimes wonder whether it’s Malta which is too small or whether it’s the Maltese who make it that way and render it so much smaller and more oppressive than it really is.

It’s usually the people who complain they feel stifled, inhibited and hemmed in that have the smallest, most bigoted minds- Michela Spiteri

Ironically, it’s usually the people who complain they feel stifled, inhibited and hemmed in and who long to escape it that are the worst offenders and have the smallest, most bigoted minds.

That unhealthy, parochial obsession with other people’s lives, the pathetic bourgeoisie minding of other people’s business, the prevailing phobia and anti-social resentment towards people of opposing political affiliations is totally uncool, uncalled for and so very frightening.

I’ve talked about this before – the politics of ‘us’ and ‘them,’ which I find so very hard to digest. If I were ever forced to do the columnist’s equivalent of ‘Sophie’s Choice’, and single out one article for posterity, I’d go with ‘Dirty Sexy Politics’ which was published just over a year ago. Some pieces you almost have to syringe out of yourself. Others flow effortlessly. This was definitely one of the others.

You see, it was one piece which really showed us up and brought our Maltese political malaise to the fore. I was called a Laburista by blinkered Nationalists who fancy themselves as progressive, open-minded freedom of speech fighters. And labelled a snotty, Slimiża Nazzjonalista spin-doctor by chippy Labourites who have been starved of power too long and therefore have a very hard time handling criticism and irony, in any shape or form.

But there were a handful of people who appreciated and understood it exactly for what it was –an allegorical piece of literature, with no deep, meaningful or hidden political agenda other than that here in Malta, we’re politically screwed.

It had all the right ingredients – politics, sex, even a smattering of football if I recall. It really doesn’t get better than that. But in Malta, when it comes to politics (and football), we don’t really do fun and games. Everyone is terribly touchy, ready to hate and take offence if they suspect you’re not rooting for their team.

The really frightening part though is that when you live here, you grow accustomed to it and become strangely immune, even participatory. You get sucked into the system and it’s only when you’re thousands of miles away that you ‘come to’and regain a sense of balance and perspective.

I was invited to Brussels to tour the European Institutions last December, on two separate occasions, by two separate MEPs from opposite sides of the political divide, and the best part of the experience was the mutual respect and high esteem both MEPs obviously held in each other’s reciprocal regard, which they made no bones about expressing.

Had these MEPs (Simon Busutill and Louis Grech) carried out these conversations in plain view of one other, I’d have put the ‘sweet-talk’ down to diplomacy or political hypocrisy. But the conversations were carried out privately, in the absence of the other party, so I knew the superlatives expressed were genuinely meant and felt.

In fact, you’d have been forgiven for thinking that Busuttil and Grech were waving the same flag and batting for the same team. There seemed to be more consonance between the two of them than with other members of their immediate political group.

Which apart from being refreshing was actually very interesting because it demonstrated exactly what I had written a couple of years before, when I singled these same two men out as my preferred MEP candidates.

At European level, politics is so much less petty and pre-school. Ultimately you get to vote for competence – for individuals and not for a faceless party you may have grown accustomed to supporting over the years, managed largely by incompetents, people you’re not entirely hot on and feel no affinity with.

Although I knew Grech, I didn’t know Busuttil back then. My support for him stemmed solely from a real and genuine belief that he was the driving force behind Malta’s accession to Europe and had crusaded indefatigably to get us there.

So you can imagine my utter incredulity, to say nothing of delight, when Busuttil, who until then, had no knowledge of me or my column either, dropped me a line, telling me how much he had enjoyed ‘Dirty Sexy Politics’.

It was a jaw-dropping moment for me, not just because he was the last candidate I’d have ever expected to receive a congratulatory e-mail from. I can assure you that locally, core PN exponents weren’t at all amused that I had likened the party to a balding, menopausal, over the hill husband struggling with his mid-life crisis, who, having lost all sense ofproportionality had conveniently forgotten where his loyalties ought to lie.

So the fact that Busuttil gave it the thumbs up said a lot more about him than it did about the article. You see, although he might not have endorsed my sentiments exactly, he nevertheless understood where I was coming from. And that sort of political empathy and maturity goes a very long way with people like me.

Busuttil recognises that it’s people like me that matter, people who are not content to follow blindly, people who have lost their political compass. He also understands that the sort of pre-school, tantrum throwing, bad behaviour displayed by hate merchants – the Joanna Gonzis and Julian Galeas of this world – does the PN no favours at all.

People of this ilk represent everything that Lawrence Gonzi needs to dissociate his party from. If the Prime Minister was astute enough to get Busuttil on board as a cathartic, cleansing exercise, he now needs to lose the rubbish. Unfortunately there are so many more of them, and so very few of Busutill. It’s not going to be that simple.

I dread to think which member of my family Joanna Gonzi would have killed off had she read that piece. She’d be lucky to be half the lady Yvonne Debono is.

michelaspiteri@gmail.com