Some years ago, a little African child wrote a poem, which went on to be nominated by the United Nations as the best poem of the year. It was called ‘I Black’.
In the poem, the boy says he’s born black, and that when he stays for a day in the sun, he stays black; when he gets sick or scared his colour stays exactly the same. “And when I die, I still black.”
Then he writes about “white people” and he points out how, as Caucasians, we are born pink; when we’re in the sun we go red; when scared we turn yellow; when sick we go green, “and when you die, you grey”.
You can see the powerful ending coming: “And you call me coloured?”
Television dramas need to include plots featuring protagonists of colour, travellers and Maltese protagonists of different cultural heritages and diverse religions
I thought of this poem when I read about Robert Henry Bugeja, for a short while a prospective MP, who last week on social media, urged people not to donate to L-Istrina because the money will be spent on “supporting illegal migration”.
I thought of the poem as I looked at Bugeja’s poised profile photo, pouty lips and all. And I so wanted to say this: “Look in the mirror Robert Henry Bugeja. Surprise! You are coloured.”
His political party has since told him to remove the posts, but simultaneously he confirmed to Times of Malta that he stands by his comments. He stands by the photo of a vessel loaded with irregular migrants with the sickening caption: ‘President’s charity ride’. He stands by his claim that President Marie-Louise Coleiro Preca was forcing Maltese people to integrate with African migrants whom he accused of “stealing Maltese jobs” and enjoying preferential treatment when it comes to social benefits.
“If you like to support illegal immigration in your country then donate to L-Istrina,” he wrote in another post.
Given the extreme right declarations of this coloured man, I think he fancies himself as Malta’s Umberto Bossi or Jean-Marie Le Pen.
But his was not the only voice of authorities gone wrong last week. Home Affairs Minister Manuel Mallia, addressing the 83rd Interpol general assembly, spoke of the possibility of “determined terrorists” penetrating Europe’s frontiers “as hapless migrants”, taking advantage of the networks operated by criminal organisations.
This statement did no good to our intrinsic fear of the unknown barrani. But before we start imagining an underground terrorist network base at Ħal Far or Albert Town, I ask: would a terrorist walk for months to cross a desert, then jump on a rickety boat to cross the seas not knowing if he’ll survive it or not?
Would he then land in Malta, psychologically broken from the trip and, tada!, get out a stash of bombs from under his tattered clothes? Only Steven Spielberg would think it possible.
Sadly, Bugeja’s and Mallia’s statements reflect what is being said out there on the street. The cry to let people die at sea is becoming louder and louder from people of all walks of life. I worry about children. They aren’t immune to the conversations that happen around them, and they are our only hope of successful society integration. When we were young, the only culturally different people we saw were on National Geographic magazine. The situation is different today; at school and for extra curricular activities, my daughter meets Muslim, Hindu, atheists and Jewish children. Unless we poison their minds, today’s children would not grow up saying things like “go back where you belong”.
Research published by Goldsmiths University highlights the positive effects a diverse friendships can have on young people’s experience of discrimination.
Perhaps television can lend a hand here. Those television dramas which are aired in the evening on local channels, watched by all the family, need to be more inclusive.
They need to include plots featuring protagonists of colour, travellers and Maltese protagonists of different cultural heritages and diverse religions. The space needs to be used to create awareness and promote empathy and understanding of others. Most of all to help us shed this islanders’ fear of invasion, by expanding our horizons and allowing us to see the world through the eyes of others.
Meanwhile, here’s the poem (with a dedika speċjali to Bugeja
I Black
When I born, I black
When I grow up, I black
When I go in sun, I black
When I scared, I black
When I sick, I black
And when I die, I still black
And you white fellow
When you born, you pink
When you grow up, you white
When you go in sun, you red
When you cold, you blue
When you scared, you yellow
When you sick, you green
And when you die, you grey
And you calling me coloured?
krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @KrisChetcuti