Let there be light

Politics and politicians and turncoats and half turncoats be damned and blasted. I'm really going to keep off that lark or else I'm really going to lose it—it being my readership. And keep in mind that my readership has lately grown by leaping, fanciful bounds from one (my editor) to half a dozen oddballs.

Intro over, politics buried, here's hoping that we do become the cultural capital of Europe. And I mean this seriously and I poke not any fun—it seems better to make things clear so that the prime minister will not have to read my stuff and give me a shocking scolding for deriding our application. He has enough suffering on his plate.

Great show at the Manoel Theatre. Nothing to do with theatre really but with the theatricals of how to make Valletta the cultural capital of Europe in 2018. It's so great to see us—tiny particle that we are in the Med—taking it for granted that we are an important part of Europe and recognising that we can contribute to what Europe is.

We have a heritage and a legacy that is not just the bastions or the art that the Knights left us. We have a voice, a unique voice, a valid voice. This does not make us the centre of the earth or the universe—just as New York or London or Shanghai are not the centres of the universe either. They might be better-known, more populated and more important than us but all they have is a vibrant voice which we in our infinite smallness can have too—even if ours is less heard.

And please let's not think of ourselves as so European that we think we are exclusively so and cannot be inclusive of other differing cultures. Let's recognise the diversity that has made us and be more welcoming of cultures that brush against us—be they Christian, Muslim or atheist and be they pink, dark pink or black. Yes I have purposely omitted white—not to insult our skin but because the last thing we can call ourselves is white. And being called pink—more akin to pigs—might be a great way of insulting all the racists amongst us who think we are somewhat superior to the "poor" blacks who come to our shores to pollute with their colour, creed and their need of shelter and jobs.

Back to Imagine 18 and the stuff that went on at the Manoel. I loved the lighting—if you haven't seen it lit up do see a photo of it. Even if you hate it you cannot deny its efficacy in making the theatre seem different, more contemporary—and a bit shocking.

Simple effect, simple detail and the mind is left to wander where it doesn't usually go. Isn't the Manoel usually just a fusty place where some theatre happens and the lighting is all oh-so-perfectly boring? The red boxes at the Manoel made me think of days gone by when knights were bold and courtesans were bought and sold. Or whatever knights and courtesans did back then. A bit of light, a bit of colour and voilà the world changes. Being just white or brown or pink can be intensely dense and boring.

That is what Imagine 18 is meant to do to us—make us think, make us realise that size, even if small, can be more than beautiful and effective. Small effects which light up our fantasy and our love for all that is possible in this tough, but great, world of ours.