The unvarnished truth

Just for the record, I’m writing this on Wednesday night, before having watched Bondi+ on Dear Dom, the documentary I watched on Wednesday night.

I’m pointing this out so as not to be accused of fuelling the incipient quasi-paranoia of some passing sycophantic TV talk-show host or of some soon-to-be has-been politician, lest the former trips up on his breathlessly piercing questions (not) or the latter is moved to table another series of parliamentary questions about little me.

Dear Dom is an excellent piece of work and I’m saying this not because I had a very tiny part in it, checking it out from a legal point of view. It is a 60-minute look at the life and times of Dom Mintoff, variously hero of the labour movement, Prime Minister duly and unduly elected and traitor to the labour movement and, on balance, it tells the unvarnished truth about the man.

Which is certainly not to say that it is complimentary of him, whatever the less discerning Puny Elves may think. Asked – figuratively speaking – at the end to describe Mr Mintoff in one word, a particular one sprang to mind, which I will not even seek to hint at, given that my editor has sensibilities way more refined than mine.

The documentary was about the Mintoff we know and if you do know him and do not suffer from the myopia blind adulation imposes on its sufferers, you know that this is not a man who, when the balance is balanced out, will come out on the positive side.

He comes over, at different points of the piece, as a snide, provocative, crowd-inciting, brash, grasping, manipulative politician of the least attractive sort, intent on patronising his audiences and running the lives of everyone around him, which, sadly for this country, included all of us.

I lived through – more properly, was aware of – the latter half of Mr Mintoff’s political life. Of his antics and stunts between 1953 and 1971, I know little, as I wasn’t old enough to be aware but of his buffoonery and worse post-1971, I know way more than I would have chosen to know, had I the choice.

I know of his campaign against the University and education in general; his efforts, thankfully unsuccessful in the end, to eradicate thoughtful opposition. I know of his disastrous economic and social engineering, bringing the country to the four- and three-day week and the labour corps, with nary a peep from his partner-union. I know of the violence that was rife and the corruption that was endemic, those and other manifestations of criminality that Mr Mintoff failed, for lack of will, competence or whatever, to control.

I know of a police force that had the institutional morals of a Strait Street barmaid, making many honest officers ashamed to wear the uniform. I know of his dogged wars against any movement that dared raise its head against him: the teachers, the bankers, the doctors, the wireless operators and the bakers and the architects and countless others.

Lino Spiteri, apparently whitewasher-in-chief on Dear Dom, failed to carry out his task because he retains an intellectual integrity that prevents him from being successful. He admits that Mr Mintoff was wrong in many respects, though when you watch the movie, as you should, you will see him trying manfully – but ultimately fruitlessly – to play down the negative in favour of the positive. There is a limit to how much anyone, even with the capacities Mr Spiteri has demonstrated in his writing, can step away from the realities of those thuggish times.

For me, the bad, the truly horrendous of Mr Mintoff so far outweighs the good they say he did, that there is quite simply no contest. In his time, the electorate was defied, to put it very mildly, The Times building was burnt down, the Leader of the Opposition’s home was ransacked, Raymond Caruana was shot in cold blood and so much more, so much horribly more.

Did Mr Mintoff order this to happen? Apart from defying the electorate, no, of course not. Mr Mintoff certainly did not, for instance, give the mob the address of Eddie Fenech Adami’s house or hand the sub-machine gun to Mr Caruana’s murderer. Watch Dear Dom and you too can make up your own mind.

A quick run-through, to end on a positive note, of some spots where you can nourish the body, your mind having been nourished by a good movie. Hugo’s Tapas, just near the movie house, is one where I hadn’t been for some time.

You can, if you want a fuller meal, go to Lord Nelson, in Mosta, where, again, I hadn’t been for too long.

I don’t recall mentioning Jalie’s in Attard, behind the church, so if I have, forgive me, but it’s a fine place for lunch, especially if it’s sunny, on the roof.

And, finally, because I do spend some time in Gozo (just a little) you can try the Azure Window, in Dwejra. Yes, I know, the tree-huggers won’t talk to you again but don’t let that little thing put you off because it’s a good place, with good people running it and, contrary to the huggers’ whines, it hasn’t rendered the area at all ugly.

imbocca@gmail.com

www.timesofmalta.com/articles/author/20