There is nothing wrong in government helping fund Puttinu Cares. It is, by all accounts, a well-run charity that does a tremendous job making the lives of ill people more manageable.

Nor do I find it particularly obscene that the money donated by government came from the National Development and Social Fund, and ultimately from the IIP scheme (also known as ‘cash-for-passports’). I’ve always found the arguments against the scheme unbearably sanctimonious. There is nothing sacred about nationality. For example, there are athletes with multiple nationalities who get to choose who they compete for, and I’m not aware we see anything blasphemous in that. 

The point – made by Beppe Fenech Adami, I think – that mafiosi regularly make a show of donating to charity is stretched, too, simply because the IIP is not the mafia. Rather, it is a legal State instrument, and in any case I have yet to see the name of a single known criminal who has bought Maltese citizenship.

Should we applaud the Prime Minister’s donation to Puttinu Cares and bless his compassionate heart, then? Not at all, because the manner of the donation tells us things about him and his way of running government that are very disturbing indeed.

The first part of the argument hinges on the meaning of public charities and fundraising. It took me very long to see why, in a country where welfare generally and health services specifically are funded by taxpayers, there was a need for charities at all. One might suppose that, in such a system, people ought to have access to health services by right, rather than receive them as charity.

That was until I understood that need had nothing to do with it. While it is true that there shouldn’t be a need for charity, it is probably a good thing that it exists. That’s because State services and charity run on parallel lines. 

Charity – and the Puttinu telethon is a prime example – raises funds on the cultural principle of gift exchange. People, that is, donate money as a gift, and in a way that is completely different to paying taxes.

The collective whisper from all the other parents was: ‘Willy-waver’s at it again’

By analogy, consider the difference between paying for something in a shop and giving money as a ‘cash gift’ at a wedding. It would be atrocious form to simply sign a cheque and hand it over to the couple.

Rather, we take pains to buy a money wallet and write something nice in it, before slipping in the cheque. However routine, that act effectively transforms a payment into a gift.

To raise money in telethons, sponsored walks and such, is to give as a gift. It keeps charity, and its rationale, firmly rooted in the spirit of collective responsibility and reciprocity. For some, that spirit is rooted in Christian love; others will link it to a universal human altruism. The point is that it involves a kind of giving that is qualitatively different to the act of paying taxes. 

Which is why, when the Prime Minister barged in on the telethon with his five million, the parallel lines of State welfare and public gift-giving were rudely made to converge. In other words, he spoiled the spirit of the gift and poisoned the whole thing.

Then there is the amount. This was an evening when individual donors were happy to see their small contributions go towards the kitty. That was until Joseph Muscat kangarooed over the whole thing with an impossible sum that dwarfed all others into insignificance. He reminded me of the time when an OTT parent barged in on a children’s birthday party with a toy car that was worth considerably more than my real one. The collective whisper from all the other parents was: “Willy-waver’s at it again”.

Now it’s bad enough if the merry organ in question is one’s own. If it happens to be someone else’s, and being waved non-consensually at that, things become positively abusive. Which brings me to my next point.

I was under the impression that the proceeds of the citizenship scheme were public funds. Instead, it would appear that they are the Prime Minister’s private purse, open to his whims as the gioia was to the Grand Masters of the Order. And, if Peppi Azzopardi is to be believed, we should also thank Keith Schembri for making the funds available. So maybe there’s a joint account there somewhere.

Seriously, a telephone call from Australia and a blaze of personal benevolence is no way to administer public money. Why did Muscat and Schembri choose Puttinu Cares rather than Id-Dar tal-Providenza, or Hospice Malta? On what grounds did they choose to donate five, rather than two or 10 million? Was a selection board appointed, or was it just a matter of pulling at Schembri’s heartstrings?

The analogy with the gioia is not a vacant one. Grand Master Ramon Perellos personally chose to donate a set of tapestries rather than a pair of golden lions or some candlesticks, and he was free to do so without having to resort to a selection board. The reason was that the money for the tapestries came out of his own pocket. The Prime Minister’s donation, on the other hand, didn’t.

Whichever way you look at it, it was a not-so-good Friday. However exalted the cause, public money should be administered publicly, in a manner that’s transparent and gives an equal chance to all citizens. It also helps to respect the spirit of the occasion.

Instead of selling passports to others, the Prime Minister might wish to sell the concept of citizenship to himself.

mafalzon@hotmail.com