I was wondering whether to add to the general sum of human knowledge by chucking in my two-cents’ worth to the analysis of Prof. The Honourable Edward “Peanuts” Scicluna’s Baroque Budget for 2015 but then I thought, nah, skip it, who cares? You might, being of an enquiring mind, wonder why I christened the sublime document, nay tome, with the descriptor ‘Baroque’.
It’s because it’s elaborate, full to bursting, overblown, took aeons to construct, epochs to read and is attractive to people who like a touch of flash, who are dazzled by it, in fact.
The sheer length and breadth of Scicluna’s meisterwerk, some say it’s his valedictorian effort before he ships out to replace Louis Galea at the Court of Auditors for more peanuts than he’s getting, met with the approval of many, not least of a couple of functionaries I overheard praising it to high heaven outside the building currently occupied by Dr The Honourable Emanuel Mallia, Minister for Tinkers, Tailors, Soldiers and Spies.
It loses something in translation (leaving the original in the vernacular) but these luminaries were characterising Scicluna’s confection with exclamations of “That’s a Budget he produced (“dak Budget li għamel”) and “A real Budget” (“Budget ta’ veru”) in tones of awe and wonderment.
I’m not entirely sure which of the Budget measures inspired them to these flights of poetic fancy, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the 58c COLA increase (or whatever it was) or the plan to create a Museum of Maltese Clothing. Maybe it was the notion to pop a €35 cheque in the post for everyone who doesn’t qualify for a tax rebate, I don’t know.
Muscat’s antics are beginning to irritate even his biggest fans, but overall, he’s still getting a relatively easy ride
Suffice it to say, though, that I didn’t bother to listen to Scicluna’s four hour monologue and I wasn’t sufficiently curious to read the press coverage about it in much detail, so I won’t be boring you (from now on to be known as ‘doing an Edward on you’) with an exposè of how you’re going to benefit from one side but lose an equal amount, or more, or less, from the other.
De minimis, you might say, non curat Beck, though I am not Beck any longer.
Passing on to matters of greater pith and moment, those of you whose interest in politics ranges beyond our shores and a bit further back than yesterday will recall how the Tories had been booted out of office by Bambi Blair’s New Labour, with one of the biggest kicks in their collective backside being labelled “Tory Sleaze”?
The Tories had been in power for what appeared to be like decades, first under the delicately gloved fist of the Iron Lady and then, perhaps less tightly, under the governance of the gent who was often characterised as wearing his underpants outside his trousers, a la Superman. It all seemed to have gone to their heads, with scandal after scandal breaking out, fuelled by a media-sphere that seemed to delight in watching the government squirm.
While it is true that history has this irritating habit of repeating itself, you can hardly say that the same is happening here and now. Labour have not been in power for decades, they don’t have an Iron Lady at the helm and the media-sphere is not exactly falling over itself to impale the PM and his jolly crew on the horns of its investigative bullishness.
That said, Muscat’s antics, especially that particularly annoying trait he has of coming across as smug and supercilious whenever he’s asked a question for which he thinks he’s got a snappy riposte, are beginning to irritate even his biggest fans, but overall, he’s still getting a relatively easy ride, even if the cracks are beginning to show.
If even one of the events reported on last week had befallen Lawrence Gonzi or his ministers, we would have been privy to such a cacophony of squawks from the likes of Franco Debono, Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando and their ilk, aided and abetted by sundry media houses that had assumed the role of town-criers and village gossips, that you would have been forgiven for wondering if the Four Horsemen had drawn up at the starting gate, ready for the last charge.
A quick run through bits of the list will illustrate what I mean.
A Labour MP and chair of a publicly-funded organisation, as well as a lawyer to boot, had his professional behaviour referred to his regulatory authority: Muscat’s response was to jibe that it’s amazing how many other lawyers in the past have been referred to the Commission, with a thinly-veiled dig at the media for being interested in this case because, poor lamb, it’s a Labour guy in the cross hairs.
A Labour minister’s property had (still has?) illegal works being done on site, no less a distinguished body of men as the Malta Developers’ Association piped up in her defence (with friends like those?), and all manner of legalistic excuses were resorted to: Muscat’s response was to stand by his Minister, again echoing the “is it because we’re Labour?” refrain. I was going to write “stand by his woman”, but in the current climate, it would have been misinterpreted.
A Labour appointee as head of a moderately important outfit, the Privatisation Unit, was accused of lying under oath and engineering favouritism with the apparently enthusiastic participation of two Ministers and a pretty prominent Labour favourite: Muscat’s response was pretty much nothing at all, insouciance personified.
A Labour minister is heading blithely down the road to disaster in the areas of traffic management and re-jigging public transport, with allegations of less than transparent dealing and general incompetence flying about: Muscat’s response is on a par with that described in the preceding paragraph, whispering the sum total of sweet nothing into the media’s shell-likes.
A Labour minister has his plans in health and energy knocked thigh over elbow, not to mention other bits of the anatomy, with implementation slippage taking on epic proportions: Muscat’s response is to swan off and flog passports on behalf of Henley and Whosit, and even there his efforts are starting to take on aspects of failure, for all the trumpet blowing by minions who have finagled a couple of passports for their clients. Oh, and let’s not forget that we’re actually paying more than we should be for fuel, notwithstanding that the price of oil has crashed.
There’s more, plenty more, such as Minister Evarist Bartolo’s plans tending to gang aft aglay, with his teachers’ union starting to use “no way, Varist” as their slogan. No doubt he’ll blame his officials, as to the manner he may not have been born to but to which he has speedily become accustomed.
The guys responsible for animal welfare (almost as oxymoronic, that ministry, as conservationist hunters) and the environment have very rapidly become bitter flavour of the month for the people who used to delight in sniping at Gonzi’s government and who are now starting to learn equally the bitter truth that resides in the adage “careful what you wish for”.
But everything is fine and dandy, and the Deputy PM was propped up in a tent after Scicluna’s talkathon to make sure we all took this on board, and stopped whining.
Obediently, the General Workers’ Union, as always proud defender of workers’ rights, did just that, ignoring precedent and their own screeching when GonziPN had established a COLA that was more than the munificent amount being given by Muscat but less than what the union was demanding.
We stayed in Malta last weekend, so for a change I can give you recommendations for nourishment that won’t involve you taking a trip North. Palazzo Preca on Friday night was of the high standard one has come to expect from them, Harbour Club for a leisurely Saturday lunch was superb and Xara Palace for a Sunday pizza a nifty idea, especially coming after a feast of Edward Lear watercolours expertly explained to us at Palazzo Falson.
See, it’s not only culinary greatness I thrust upon you.
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