For a change, I was stuck in traffic. Creeping by my side was a car driven by a man whose arm was gripping the car roof but whose head I could not really see, so deep was his bucket seat. He had a five-year-old at the back: jumping all over the backseat with no concept of seat belt.

I tell her that we can vote for the one who promises more playgrounds, more trees, more books in libraries- Kristina Chetcuti

The windows were drawn open.

“Arah!”

He spluttered as he pointed to the billboard showing Gonzi-covering-his-ears-or-whatever-he’s-doing. I saw the top of the man’s head turn around to his daughter as he sneered: “Arah Gonzi! Kemm hu ikrah!”

The girl craned half her body out of the car to see the object of her father’s spite but was then thrown back on the seat when the traffic suddenly budged and her father raced his car.

The incident set me thinking. I do, of course, indulge in a spot of let’s-trash-our-politician’s-looks every now and then. Muscat and his latest tufty, unshaven look? Gonzi and his Brylcreem? But should we do that in front of our children? More importantly, should we talk politics to kids?

As a child of the 80s, I was surrounded by politics: the multiple posters of all MPs stuck at junction; the “Vote Moran No 1” graffitied on every wall in Paola; the carcades. We saw, but did not hear – mostly because we were always shuffled off to other rooms during political discussions. Like most of my contemporaries, until I got to my teens, I had only vague ideas of what this word, ‘politics’, was all about.

I don’t think I minded at the time. But somehow, I decided early on that I did not want to repeat the same pattern with my daughter. First off there’s the matter of the nature of my job. How could I talk about my day if I couldn’t mention politics?

So now aged nearly six, my daughter knows the basics: that we choose people every five years to be leaders and these will set the rules we have to follow. She recognises Lawrence Gonzi and Joseph Muscat when she sees their picture. And she knows that Gonzi is at the moment the ‘boss’ of Malta. She knows that soon there will be an election – and we’ll vote – by marking with a pencil – for the person whose ideas we like best.

Of course I do not sit her down and preach the notions of ‘electoral programmes’ and ‘party policies’; instead I tell her that we can vote for the one who promises more playgrounds, more trees, more books in libraries and so on so forth (far-fetched I know, but white lies are permissible every now and then).

According to an acquaintance, I am “spoiling the child’s innocence”. But I can’t see how. It’s not that I’m fuelling her with hatred against any politician. I’m just explaining to her how our democratic society works.

When I recently covered the new Young Enterprise programme for primary schools, which explains to eight-year olds all about budgets, elections and taxes, I thought it was brilliant. To my mind, the earlier our kids grasp that, the better the contribution they can give to community later on.

I also talk to my daughter about countries that don’t have it so good. Like Libya when there was Muammar Gaddafi; and like Eritrea where some of the boat people come from.

We mark these countries on the map as places where it would not be a good idea to go on holiday – and where we really hope that things will change for the people who live there. I can report that she doesn’t have nightmares about these places – and the best way of learning about the downsides of life is from a safe cocoon.

Parallel to this, I train her to share views and agree to disagree. Perfect example is Dora the Explorer: the cartoon girl with a high-pitched voice, the equivalent of having someone scratch their nails on a blackboard right next to your ear.

Needless to say, my daughter loves her – but there’s still harmony in the house (also because she watches Dora when I’m locked up writing this column, and never when I’m within a 10-metre radius of the television).

I am of course riddled with doubts. Am I giving her too much information? Is she able to process this? Is this the wrong approach? Should I just paint a fairytale picture? But life is not really rosy, is it?

I somehow think that if we train our children to understand how politics works and to share their views, the new generation would be able to discuss politics at social events without heated arguments. And with the seat belt on.

krischetcuti@gmail.com