In Saints and Fireworks: Religion and Politics in Rural Malta (1965), Dutch anthropologist Jeremy Boissevain – who at the time was in Malta studying the village of Ħal Kirkop – predicted that local communities were becoming more outward looking and mobile. One of the consequences, he argued, was that village feast rivalries would become less important.

In 1990, in his collection of essays Factions, Friends and Feasts: Anthropological Perspectives on the Mediterranean, Boissevain admitted that he had been wrong in his prediction about Maltese feasts.

In fact, the feasts in our towns and villages have become stronger. Tourists flock to them and locals take pride in the celebrations. There is a sense of community, belonging, pride, all elements that have helped an island that you have trouble finding on the world map, persevere against the proverbial odds.

Feasts have also turned up the volume. Fireworks are louder, celebrations are more sophisticated, and budgets are more generous. And whereas the feasts of yesteryear used to have a clear beginning and end, starting from when the statue of the patron saint was carried out of the church and ending when the statue was carried back in on Sunday, nowadays, feasts are a full schedule that includes an expanding network of satellite events, from the lejla Maltija organised to collect funds to the post-Sunday morning march party at the band club, complete with a line-up of DJs and all the party trappings.

Probably more than politics, it’s feasts that divide the Maltese. Because whereas in politics, there is a thin grey line where the parties meet, in feasts, there is no middle ground: you either love them or hate them.

Let’s start from the loudest argument: fireworks. Yes, they are beautiful and artistic. But every summer, fireworks turn Malta into a warzone. And it’s not a question of personal taste, because while some might enjoy them and others find them annoying, science has proven that they are a primary cause of noise pollution. According to a noise map drawn up by Mepa, there are at least 100 persons in Malta who are exposed, on a daily basis, to ambient noise of at least 75 decibels. According to Noise in Europe, a report by the European Environment Agency, this makes Malta one of the most extreme cases for noise pollution in Europe. Then there is the environmental pollution, with fireworks contributing significantly to airborne dust regulations.

Ask the red-eyed revellers coming out of a band club at 3am what they are celebrating, and they will not be able to answer, not only because they are drunk senseless but because they genuinely don’t know

Every year, we hear about new noise pollution they being drawn up. But they always gets stuck at draft or consultation stage. In 2010, new regulations were published, reducing the size of loud petards from 15 to 12 centimetres and limiting the number of loud petards fired in one session to six, apart from the three minutes of the salute.

It’s clear that these regulations are not being observed, because even in the smallest village, festa fireworks are getting louder, prouder and more frequent. In the run up to the feast, some villages even let off fireworks from early morning, starting at 8am, until late at night.

Feasts are fuelled by passion. And that is admirable. It’s what happens between work and play that enriches the quality of life. Hobbies, namra and dilettanti contribute to society in a way that neither work nor play do.

However, in some cases, feasts have gone beyond such passion or a healthy rivalry which encourages band clubs and villages to outdo their neighbours. Rather, we are now at a point where the real purpose of celebrations are almost completely forgotten. It’s a Sisyphean effort, with brass bands marching around the village streets, over and over again, every year, like a merry-go-round that never stops.

And there is no climax because ironically, Sunday evening, which should be the culmination of the celebrations, is usually the least attended and the quietest. Ask the red-eyed revellers coming out of a band club at 3am what they are celebrating, and they will not be able to answer, not only because they are drunk senseless but because they genuinely don’t know.

The communal feeling is also being eroded. Whereas in the past, feasts used to be a community celebration that strengthened the fabric of society, nowadays it’s one feast only in name because different factions organise conflicting events. The primary division is that between the ‘ta’ barra’ and ‘ta’ ġewwa gunpowder versus incense. It’s the loud music coming out of the band club during the Sunday afternoon party drowning out the church bells.

Back in 2002, the Curia released a set of amended rules governing the organisation of external celebrations of town and village feasts. Then in 2010, the Curia published a document with proposals for consultation on religious feasts. Both documents propose rules, including that feasts can last up to eight days, that during these eight days there can be no discos in public places, street parties or festivals in the limits of the parish, and that moderation and prudence are exercised in the letting off of fireworks. All sensible rules – whether they are being respected is another story.

We always complain that less money should be spent on external celebrations and that fireworks shouldn’t be so loud because of the elderly and sick. But in reality, it’s not about money because that’s a personal decision: you either contribute or you don’t. And it’s not about the elderly and sick only: there are young and healthy people who don’t like feasts but who still have to suffer the imposition of others. Rather, it’s a question of respect: religious feasts should be a celebration of love and respect rather than a dividing affair.