You won’t catch me joining the rush to march alongside thousands in protest, waving placards and flags wildly about, even if it’s to make a point about something I strongly believe in. Not because I don’t care enough about people or things.
On the contrary, I don’t tolerate social and many other injustices and will not stand or sit idly by. I wouldn’t think twice about marching straight up to someone who was being deliberately rude or cruel, or who was otherwise permitting or encouraging an injustice to take place.
I’ll willingly drive across the island, in the scorching sun, to pay a visit to someone ill or imprisoned, if I know my visit will be met with an enormous smile and heartfelt gratitude.
That said, many things that people frequently fuss over, concern themselves with or otherwise stand in awe or protest of – notably things with religious and political overtones – go straight over my head, leaving me unimpressed and completely numb.
I’m actually a strange combination of completely apathetic and overly passionate – the latter emotion usually reserved for the most unlikely things. Still, with the passing of time, I find myself having to fight a growing apathy, even about things I have always felt very fiercely about.
To say that the horse-drawn cab (karrozzin) plight may have been my original catalyst for writing in this newspaper, wouldn’t be a lie. For two decades, I have been on the verge of writing about this unbearably sad and pathetic state of affairs which no government has ever really taken ownership of or addressed seriously.
Which may explain why I spent all of last Sunday afternoon enjoining my Facebook friends to sign a petition calling upon the Prime Minister to ban karrozzini from our roads. And also why, the following Tuesday morning, I marched straight up to a pensionable age cab driver and asked him a question I already knew the answer to. Why exactly he had chosen to sit 100 metres away from his horse. I was very curious to hear his answer.
Like some, who obviously suffer from head-up-their-behind syndrome, and who think they can fool all of the people all of the time, he informed me there was a cool breeze blowing (żiffa) where his horse was standing.
There was no such thing. The only patch of shade on an otherwise sun-baked morning was right where he had chosen to sit.
I humoured him further and told him that he really ought to get out of the sun, join his horse and enjoy the breeze.
It’s maddening, really. I can’t tell you how terribly depressed I get, especially at this time of the year, when I see those poor horses struggling with urban traffic, the natural elements and all that weight they have to carry around.
The horses always look dehydrated, dejected,exhausted, flustered and depressed.
In the seven or eight years I’ve been writing for this newspaper, I’m ashamed to say, that, barring fleeting mentions, I have never sat down and seriously written about the karrozzini, which have long been a personal – and national – bone of contention, one which definitely predates my column.
Considering we’re probably talking about less than 100 cabs, you wouldn’t think it would be such an insurmountable task to fix.
Every attempt thus far to address the situation has been half-baked, makeshift and short-lived, or completely non-existent. In his heyday, the cavalier Transport and Infrastructure Minister Austin Gatt, for whom Arriva seemed to be a personal experiment and bottomless pit of financial disasters and taxpayer monies, drew the line at horse shelters.
He suddenly developed a financial conscience and scrupulously refused to have any part in the building of these shelters, insisting that this was unnecessary government expenditure and a burden that should fall squarely on the horse owners. Even the arrival of two British animal welfare experts in 2009 and 2010, did nothing to gnaw at the Transport Minister’s civic conscience. The experts put the problem down to the management structure, insisting that the conditions of the horses could not improve without a concerted and coordinated effort from the authorities, ministries and enforcement agencies, which had to work hand in hand.
Every attempt thus far to address the situation has been half-baked, makeshift and short-lived
What was the point of making or promising to make a €300,000 capital investment on horse shelters, cesspits, water points and tents (which is what happened in 2011 under the aegis of the Ministry for Resources and Rural Affairs in conjunction with Transport Malta), only to discover, two years down the line, that the necessary permits and licences were never forthcoming, and everything was at risk of being pulled down and dismantled? Talk about money down a cesspit.
And what exactly is the point of building shelters, if they aren’t going to be used or if they are taken up by vehicles instead?
A couple of years ago, an awning for this purpose was set up in the footpath which connects Great Siege Road with St Mark Street in Valletta.
I was cheered by the thought, even if slightly nonplussed at why they had targeted this particular footpath – an area which happens to be blessed with its own natural shade. Interestingly, that awning has never seen the light of day – quite literally – and that footpath has never seen a single horse.
I’m actually less interested in banning karrozzini completely (that might be a fate far worse – the horses would be neglected, put down or eventually sold for horse meat) and more interested in very restricted hours (preferably nocturnal during the unrelenting summer) and strict surveillance that ensures plenty of water and shelter.
The current system, tortuous as it is, seems to exist solely to trip the horses up and create obstacles in their way. It is crying out for harmonious non-conflicting legislation and regulation, collaboration between the respective authorities and rigorous enforcement, controls and street patrols.
It’s now or never. Let’s stop taking these poor horses for a ride.
michelaspiteri@gmail.com