There is something quite unique about the younger generations of Maltese people. They don’t know any Italian, and they eat more pizza than we ever did at their age.
For those of us who were born before 1995 or so, Italian is a natural third language. Possibly a second, because in some ways our Italian is better than our English. That’s because we didn’t just learn it in school, through reading, or in the disjointed bits-and-pieces manner of Maltese-English.
Rather, we learnt it as it was spoken by native speakers on television. Italian stations were the only decent option before cable took over, unless you were inclined to spend your time watching Wardakanta and Kikku u Sika. Through television, we rehearsed the word play of Italian pubblicità, the small print of usage, and the poetry of song lyrics. We also learnt Italian in school, but that was secondary.
And yet, pizza as the Italians make it was largely unknown in Malta. You could count the number of pizzerias in the country on the fingers of one hand, and the stuff that rubbed shoulders with pastizzi at parties was a distant approximation at best. Olive oil, too, was a rare substance you bought at speciality shops like Wembley Stores in Valletta. It was as exotic as the coconuts that would occasionally make an appearance at the same place.
Pasta was our main culinary nod to the neighbours. Things like kannoli and cassata siciliana were urban rarities, and even then existed in a greatly transformed state. I remember being surprised the first time I ate cannoli in Sicily. They tasted nothing like the kannoli of my childhood.
Both pizza and olive oil are now staples, but neither travelled directly from Italy. Rather, they reached us via a circuitous route which we might call the globalisation of Italian and Mediterranean food. They became common in Malta at around the same time they did in Britain and Hong Kong, and for much the same reason.
The decline of the language, and the detours of cuisine, raise questions about the cultural connections between Malta and Italy. It turns out that what seem to be obvious and straightforward links are anything but.
For those of us who were born before 1995 or so, Italian is a natural third language
Certainly there is no shortage of contact as far as mobility is concerned. The Italian who went to Malta is no longer a tired joke on a tacky dishcloth. Bleak economic conditions and especially high unemployment in Italy have delivered large numbers of labour migrants. There are now about 6,000 Italians who live and work in Malta – that’s over 12 times as many as there were 10 years ago.
Whether or not their presence will affect us culturally remains to be seen. As it happens, history serves up a useful comparison. The nationalist ferment that took over most of Italy in the 19th century produced many exiles, some of whom ended up in Malta. The number was a mere trickle compared to today’s thousands, and yet the Risorgimento exiles would prove extremely influential.
Oliver Friggieri’s work as a historian of Maltese literature has contributed enormously to our knowledge of the kind of nationalist and literary ideas the exiles brought with them. They would set the tone of politics, journalism and literature in Malta for a very long time. In Vincenzo Bonello’s words, the presence of Italian émigrés saw to it that the echo of the Risorgimento was heard loud and clear in Malta.
Still, it’s not just a matter of numbers. The Risorgimento exiles were part of a cultural elite, and they found it easy to connect to a small but influential circle of Maltese literati. These were men, and in some cases women, on a nation-mongering mission. Not so easily comparable, then, to labour migrants who have no political wares to peddle and who in any case find themselves out of tune with an English-speaking Maltese cultural elite.
Much the same flow and ebb of Italian influence is the case in other areas. Take fine arts. The generations of Caravaggisti who decorated our churches drew their inspiration from an obvious source. Likewise, the big names of 20th century Maltese art – Willie Apap, Anton Inglott, Esprit Barthet, and such – shared an artistic kinship with Italy. The Accademia di Belle Arti was the natural nursery for young Maltese artists in the inter-war period. Tragically in the case of Carmelo Borg Pisani, art overlapped with politics as fascism took over in the 1930s.
All of which is now a hazy memory. There is little, if anything, about the biographies of today’s artists and cultural entrepreneurs that connects them to Italy. Most of them see themselves as part of an English-speaking and globalised world of art swanned over by superstars like Hockney and Weiwei. There is a literary current that taps into the Mediterranean notion, but it never refers specifically to Italy.
In popular music, too, the connections appear flimsier. Cantautori like Venditti and Dalla may be household names, but only to audiences above a certain age. Besides, newer names like Consoli and Capossella are little more than a niche interest. It would seem that the last time people in Malta paid any attention to Italian music was about 20 years ago. The rest is just reciting from memory.
The number and variety of places that serve caffè latte may be mushrooming, but it won’t be long until we find ourselves asking for a ‘lattay’.
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