It’s a right clammy scirocco that has hit Maltese politics. Everywhere I go I meet people who haven’t watched the news in months, who think all is said and done. Nationalists will say “m’hemmx x’tagħmel” (“all is lost”), Labourites “issa joqogħdu hemm” (“we’ve put them in their place”), but both types agree there isn’t much more to be said really.
One might argue that that’s a refreshing lull, that we can do without the constant sparring and tit-for-tat for a while. I disagree, for at least two reasons.
First, and provided one can keep a playful distance and one’s eyebrows raised at all times, I suppose politics is one of the things that add considerable colour to life. Certainly it’s a fertile breeding ground for passions of all sorts. I consider that intrinsically a desirable attribute. Someone told me the other day that she had come across a family of seven siblings, all of whom were called Duminku or Duminka. Exquisite.
Second, Government will govern whether or not we pay attention. The risks of that should be obvious enough to make sustained comment unnecessary.
There is one simple reason why these past six months have been a de facto totalitarian state. There is no Opposition. It doesn’t help that the Greens have joined the red list of critically endangered species and look set shortly to become extinct in the wild. But that’s another story.
I remember writing sometime in mid-March that the Nationalist Party was in for an extended bloodletting session. I was wrong. Somehow, the key players decided – and largely managed – to keep their curses to themselves and their knives well out of view and sheathed in any case. I haven’t seen so many smiles, cuddles and squidgy hearts since I stumbled on my little sister’s Care Bears diary when I was 10.
Only political parties are not populated by carefree bears. I find it hard to believe that all is smooth within the PN. I’m no Magritte but I’ve this persistent mental image that won’t go away of a peace pipe perched on top of a volcano.
Be that as it may, the result is a pathetic case of we few, we unhappy few, we band of brothers. The main suspect is Simon Busuttil. Many see him as too soft-spoken and well-mannered for this kind of rough tumble. In part thanks to a campaign strategy which made him Lawrence Gonzi’s Siamese twin, he is also seen as the man who co-lost the March 9 election.
It’s probably too early to judge Busuttil the post-op party leader. At the moment, he seems to be deliberately limiting his role to that of a goodwill ambassador of sorts. Time may prove his approach right. Besides, I don’t think he can be blamed for the endemic problems the party has run into.
The first is that of money – the PN says (and very convincingly too) it’s skint. Some of the difficulties that that causes are fairly obvious. Sociologists would probably talk about the type of structural relations that obtain between politics and money in a capitalist and brand-obsessed context. Briefly, a modern political party is an expensive creature to feed.
Recent history shows us that successful politics and especially campaigns are linked to a kind of conspicuous consumption that requires stacks of cash. It’s no accident that the two big parties have built themselves piles straight out of King Ludwig’s sketchbooks, or that meetings have come to resemble multimedia street parties with a few speeches thrown in as afterthoughts.
The ways in which conspicuous consumption functions as a key ingredient of political power and prestige are probably more complicated than that. The point is that the PN cannot at this time afford it.
The second problem is that of spirit. It’s not the first time in Maltese political history that numbers have been fetishized into instant markers of support and power. I have in mind numbers such as 51 (per cent – there was even a Klabb 51 at some point), 13,000, and such. But 36,000 is a hefty one even by these standards, and we can expect Labourites to summon it at every turn. As well they might, given its impact on the Nationalist psyche.
There is one simple reason why these last six months have been a de facto totalitarian state. There is no Opposition
The upshot is that party apparatchiks and sympathisers are presently a pretty demoralised and despondent bunch. It’s going to take a litany of St Crispin’s Day speeches to rouse them. Beppe Fenech Adami did try the other day with his “broke but not broken” line.
The third problem is that of human resources. It’s a proper migration of swallows out there. I’ve lost count of the number of people I know who turned on a sixpence and discovered some long-lost genealogical link to Labour or who suddenly realised they were Labourite all along.
That includes many who had it very good and very favourable under the old regime. Aside, there is some understandable resentment in traditionally Labour circles about these come-lately opportunistic feeders.
In vulgar language, no one wants to associate themself with a loser, especially if defeat appears final and crushing. Which means that the PN can no longer depend on the sort of bees-knees support it enjoyed for decades. That hegemony is gone, and with it the all-important media presence and such. Truly a case of Where’s Everybody?, shall we say.
People my age or younger grew up with a notion of the PN as the feel-good party, whether or not they actually subscribed. Busuttil is going to have to work very hard indeed to bring back some of that magic.
Being seen to ‘catch up’ (with Labour, presumably) on issues such as gay rights and gender equality won’t work. Nor will abstract complaints that Malta has lost its “independence in generating power” to China and such. Joe Saliba was right when he once described Eddie Fenech Adami as Harry Potter. Only that particular magician has long since buried his book.
mafalzon@hotmail.com