Photo: Darrin Zammit Lupi

It was an interesting election process, if you can call watching paint dry interesting. In truth, I watched absolutely nothing of the sort, given that the only relevant bits, from a political commentary point of view, were the totals achieved by the parties and, at the end of the day (of almost three days, more precisely) the way the seats were allocated.

If I had 2c for every status or comment I read whining about the time it was taking for the process to come to a conclusion, I’d have way more than the pittance I’ll be saving now that Joseph Muscat, in his infinite munificence, has lowered the price of petrol. The whining contributed not one jot to the sum total of humanity’s assets, so I’ll forget about it.

The PN got a right royal walloping at the first count vote level, which is the only level that counts when it comes to deciding who’s to govern this fair land.

The result of Saturday’s elections brought home to me the fact that I’m as guilty as the next man of making assumptions about voters’ perceptions and behaviour, when, in fact, the writing was on the wall in very large, very garish, letters.

I had assumed that Muscat’s fond embrace of the convicted law-breaker Cyrus Engerer, the paltry fuel price decrease that was the subject of such pomp and ceremony, the extended digits towards the student body incorporated within the €16 per year stipend increase and so many other downright ridiculous – not to mention embarrassing – measures would combine to persuade the electorate, or at least a goodly chunk of it, to walk away from Labour.

Buzz, wrong answer, they got their people out and maintained their lead over the PN, albeit in a reduced field and with something in the region of 80,000 doing a Vicky “am I bovvered?” Pollard.

The PN, on the other hand, did pretty much what they did during the general elections and failed to mobilise their voters, though, if one were to adopt the logic (sorry, there’s really no other word one can use) of Labour’s megastar MEP, the one, the only, Doctor Alfred Sant, it was Labour that lost this election ‘one and a good one’ (Maltese speakers will recognise the straight translation).

Not only did the majority of the electorate not vote for Muscat, though, the proportional representation by single transferable vote system brought about what might at first glance be something of a perverse result.

Those who are naive and faux naive might wonder and ask “how come a 30,000 lead translates into a 3-3 draw?” and they’d (not) be right.

The result was probably closer to the reality of political life: voters today think in the broad-brush terms of “their vote”, while, in truth, the proportional transferability of each individual’s vote brought the parties neck and neck, given that you can’t actually divide up a MEP, however magnificently endowed, into one bit Labour and another bit PN.

We had to resort to broad-brush parameters to avoid political bullies like Dom Mintoff riding roughshod over the spirit of democracy as in 1981.

To see what I mean, check out the less scientific tea-leaves, such as the online polls of timesofmalta.com, or take a sample of the columnists’ opinions. I mean the ones in the real papers, not the ones in the oh-so-unbiased paper whose ‘journalist’ burst into tears when the PN got their third seat. Undertake this little exercise and you start to twig that the country isn’t completely Labour, not really.

Simon Busuttil has many miles to make up, still, and it’s about time he would begin wielding a big stick, starting perhaps with those who think that they know it all

Add to that little mix the 80,000 non-voters and you might start to wonder whether Muscat’s triumphant grin shouldn’t start to consider starting to think about slipping just a teeny-weeny bit. I mean, all that sweety out-handing, all those plum little appointments, all those promises of “the best is yet to come” and Labour’s vote didn’t move, except very marginally south?

I’d be worried.

Not that Simon Busuttil has much to grin about himself, of course, though, to be fair, the target he set, that of getting a third seat, was achieved, even if only by the slimmest of margins.

Busuttil has many miles to make up, still, and it’s about time he would begin wielding a big stick, starting perhaps with those who think they know it all and who have this peculiar notion that it’s not disloyal to say so just when your party has been whipped.

It’s also time for the PN to stand up for itself and stop apologising for being the party in Opposition (yes, I know they’d like not to be, but that’s not what I mean). The electorate has now become waterlogged by Muscat’s constant drip-drip-drip of carping and squawking about negativity and it’s high time for the PN to make it clear that it’s there to oppose not to snuggle up with the government. Heaven knows, there’s enough to oppose and then some.

Maybe by taking a harder line, the PN will make Muscat eat his snarky comment that he’s so, so glad Busuttil has remained on as leader of the PN.

On a bit of tangent, it’s worrying in the extreme that the racist whose name should not be mentioned in polite society managed to get as many votes, give or take, as Alternattiva Demokratika.

When you factor in the rather weird transfer of votes from the racist to Arnold Cassola, however, you’ve got to come to the conclusion that a hefty chunk were simply making a point, though whatever the point was is lost in the impenetrable fog of their so-called thought processes, so perhaps all is not lost.

It was also good that the earnest Eurosceptics were treated by the electorate on the same lines as our very own Raving Monster Loony Party, and it was even nicer that ex-MEP Joseph Cuschieri didn’t get in, because it means that his sucking up to the bird-killing conservationists didn’t have the effect he so earnestly wanted it to have.

Cuschieri and his like, however, have landed Muscat rather neatly into a bit of a quandary. They are ‘of the faithful’ and – going by the poster boy and girl precedent – they must be rewarded.

The question for Muscat is going to be, it need hardly be said, how? How do you compensate Cuschieri, who set me off on this detour, for having to eat crow not once, not twice, but three times a lady? And what about the young Gozitan lad, so close and yet so far? And all the rest of them?

At some point, the iced buns are going to have to stop being churned out.

This week it’s of cultural nourishment that I will be musing to close off.

On Tuesday we went to see the movie Simshar. Not to mince words, it is a ‘must-see’. I’m no movie expert but I’ve seen enough turkeys to know when Christmas is around the corner and, on the evidence of this film, Christmas is a long way away.

When you go, as go you must, you’ll be struck, as, indeed, I was, by the whole feel of the thing, the design and the look of it: the tough and dangerous life of our fishermen, the sheer horror of the immigrants’ experience, you get them all in your face, expertly done.

Be aware that this is not a Hollywood blockbuster, and it moves at the far less frenetic pace of a European film, with production and directorial values that take it to a new, higher plane for a Maltese (or mostly Maltese) production.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s good ‘for a Maltese production’, the film is good, full-stop.

It’s just that, within our context, it’s even more satisfying to be able to sit back and experience this film.

I’ll close with a small ‘Proud Pop’ moment and leave it for you to understand why when you stay on and read the credits.

imbocca@gmail.com

http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/author/20