A friend of mine who was studying at Cambridge University a few years ago, was once invited to a college do, where he came face to face with Lord Carrington.

We need to get Mintoff out of our system once and for all, because as every shrink will tell you, secrets eat us up- Kristina Chetcuti

Carrington was the British Defence Minister in the 1970s. When my friend remarked in passing that he was Maltese, Carrington’s eyebrows shot up, and he took him aside: “Tell me, how is Mr Mintoff?”

He went on to tell my friend that “never in my life, have I met such a difficult negotiator as Dom Mintoff.”

The deep frustrations as Carrington reminisced, could still be felt and my friend felt almost apologetical.

This sums up former Prime Minister Dom Mintoff: there are no shades of grey, you either love him or you hate him. A documentary about his life, Dear Dom, is now out in the cinemas.

I happen to think it is brilliant, in that it makes you stop and think and maybe look at things from your usual black or white perspective. However, this won’t be a film review for I might be a touch biased, seeing as producer Pierre Ellul, is a friend of mine.

But I think it’s the opportune moment for all of us, to stop considering Mintoff as our national secret. It is surreal the way we still react when very few daring journalists bring his name up (the reactions to Daphne Caruana Galizia’s blog posts are a recent proof of this).

Although this man has not been remotely close to power for almost three decades, we still sort of shift and shuffle when his name is brought up. And we still avoid discussing lest, goodness me ‘tinqala xi waħda’. We fear the conflict that this man instigates, just by the mere mention of his very name.

Truth be told, it’s not easy to talk about Dom Mintoff without revealing a lot of your emotional self. If we were still in the typewriter era, my bin would be overflowing with crumpled-up paper. I don’t know how many times I started off this piece and then scrapped it.

The thing is that Mintoff is the main cause of dualism on these islands. Your stand about him determined what kind of life you lived, while he ruled. With some of my peers, it feels like we lived a different sort of childhood.

They are the ones who were oblivious to the turbulences of the country, who actually had colour television and a telephone. They led a life of blissful unawareness that something was not quite right politically, economically and socially.

I do comprehend them, because I do not know this: I know thetension of the early 1980s. I know my parents going off to meetings every Sunday. I remember asking why he had to have horses on that gigantic belt buckle of his.

I remember in the playground, age seven, talking about the ‘gvern’. I remember my father buying the In-Nazzjon newspaper but folding it quickly in a bag. I remember trying to make sense of the title of the paper: In-Tagħna; and then discussing it with my younger sister, who informed me that of course it’s Il-ħuta tagħna, because Malta is in the shape of a fish.

These are all subconscious memories which come to me as I type away. The truth is that the era left a mark on us in very odd ways.

The other day a friend got me a bar of Catch, which was the only bar of chocolate available in my childhood.

Eating it again felt like a milestone (it was much better than I remember it – probably because it was not made out of bulk-bought cocoa powder).

A friend of mine told me she blames Mintoff for her food binges. “Back then every time some Mars got smuggled in, we’d gorge on it ... and now it’s an instinct ingrained in my psyche and I pig out. It’s like I eat because I’m afraid that tomorrow there won’t be any.”

Another friend can’t bear prickly pears. “I can’t stand them – we had that cactus emblem everywhere, even in roundabouts and it reminds me of the ‘Iżra u Rabbi’ schemes. It took me long years to get round to the idea that a Maltese product can actually be good.” Another one said: “I think he’s the reason why we call each other as ‘dan’ and ‘din’ instead of using names. Listen to Mintoff’s speeches, that’s how he used to refer to people.”

Dear Dom is not a film to watch on your own – after you watch it you need to head to the pub with a friend and talk about it over a pint.

We need to get Mintoff out of our system once and for all, because as every shrink will tell you, secrets eat us up.

krischetcuti@gmail.com