Some things never change

It’s been a fun week, what with that Debono fellow proclaiming his undying love for me and all that. We’ll just let that one take its course, though, shall we?

I’ve always been a touch perplexed as to what value the dear old Broadcasting Authority gives to the nation, being more than slightly allergic, as I am, to people trying to shut me up and telling what I can and can’t say and how I can and can’t say it.

I suppose, given the power of broadcasting as compared with print media, there’s an argument for having a body of good men (and women) and true being a watchdog, even if the spread of the other electronic media, the interwebsuperhighway thingy, rather tends to dilute it slightly.

But this watchdog role is one that has to be played with a light touch, a gentle nudge in the right direction, as it were, rather than pulling an imitation of Moses coming down with the Tablets all the time.

Which leads me rather neatly into the point I was going to make, as if I hadn’t intended to make it all along.

Last Tuesday, to the general annoyance of some and the great glee of others, the authority came down on the side of Labour in the matter of who decides who should be the guest on current affairs programmes.

The story was that Public Broadcasting Services, PBS as it’s fondly known, had decided that when Joe Bloggs invites Charlie Jones to appear on his show, generally because said Charlie Jones is his party’s spokesman on whatever it is that is going to be discussed, then, hey, said Charlie Jones is the one who should roll up and have the make-up slapped on.

The Labour Party, on the other hand, and in its wisdom, takes the view that it is up to it to decide who should have the foundation and eyeliner applied, which, to be fair, is the way things appear to have been done, surprising as this may seem, up to now.

Now, forgive me for stating the obvious, but just because something has been done one way for however many years it was doesn’t mean that this is the only way things should be done and, frankly, it tends to make something of a mockery of the idea that the telly should, first and foremost, be a watchable medium that is chosen because viewers like what Joe Bloggs is doing and his choice of jousting partners.

If the decision is taken by a party functionary, what fun is there, where is the thrill of the chase? I can just see Jeremy Paxman or David Frost or whoever interviewing Jane Smith just because some minion at party HQ has decided that she would be less embarrassing to the party or more on-message than Jemimah Henderson.

These considerations, however, seem to have escaped the authority, which has decided to perpetuate the status quo (and that ain’t no rock band) for the foreseeable future, run-up to the election or no run-up to the election. With all due respect, rather a silly decision, that, but not unexpected.

Truth be told, the first result of the authority’s silly decision, Karmenu Vella’s appearance on Bondì+, should have gladdened the hearts of the Nationalist Party, for all that Labour greeted the decision with hoots of joy. Vella, sparing his blushes as one needn’t, given that he’s put himself in the public eye and, therefore, should be stared at beadily, was poor. I hope that won’t land me a Breach of Privilege complaint.

His style of arguing a point was to call Tonio Fenech a liar repeatedly, along the lines of when we were kids in the schoolyard, and his grasp of his subject was, to put it charitably, tenuous at best.

He fired off assertions masquerading as facts with gay abandon (and for those whose grasp of English is not fully there, that implies frivolousness, not orientation) and resorted to buzzwords and techno-speak (entirely unsuccessfully) when he ran out of them.

In that Labour handpicked him to appear on the show, you have to assume he was the best they have, so the question poses itself: what were they thinking?

A bit of good news for my many friends and fans: my search for good places for you to nourish yourselves has fetched me up on the shores of St Paul’s Bay, precisely where the Sirens Waterpolo Club lies. We had a meal there last week and it was more than slightly good – give it a try.

And even more good news for said many friends and fans: I have managed to get myself a dose of gout, of all things, no doubt not unrelated to my work on your behalf. It sounds amusing, for sure, but it’s not, much.

imbocca@gmail.com

www.timesofmalta.com/articles/author/20