Death is ever active. It mixes its style, but there is no mistaking it for anything else. It is final. Most times it does its normal working, picking off individuals as they advance through senior life.

It does so randomly. But these last few days it seemed to focus particular attention on our leaders’ class, taking from them dear ones whom they loved and were deeply loved in return.

Reaching for its ongoing harvest the tireless reaper picked Guido de Marco, adored by his wife, children and theirs and universally loved. Then it stopped at EU commissioner John Dalli’s doorstep. Barely bothering to knock, it plucked his mother Emma, who survived her husband by many years and was a constant presence in her children’s lives.

Death moved on, selecting Prime Minister Lawrence Gonzi’s father Ġiġi, loved not only by his children but by the whole community of Tal-Karmnu in Valletta which, the parish priest said in his personalised homily, was like one big family.

That barely done, the reaper took away President George Abela’s father, who was expected to last a few more years in the constant company of his wife Lukarda, breathing the satisfaction of an exemplary marriage of which the elevation to the presidency of their only son was just one of its many rewards.

Death takes no holidays. It prowls, it seeks. It stalks, eager to make the occasional unexpected shocking killing. With fangs out, it jumped on the small island of Gozo, ripping away no fewer than six of its children at one go, five of them from the same family who left two widowed mothers behind them.

Death came stealthily in the afternoon, emboldened by the fact that this year it had snatched away several more victims of a fireworks explosion.

In the de Marco, Dalli, Gonzi and Abela families it left deep bereavement but at least the knowledge that their departed dear ones had lived a full life. They were expected to last more, but their sun was setting. Though that does not ease the pain, it does not make it greater.

For the Gozo families the pain is incredible because of the unexpected swiftness with which death had its way. It took the victims in one merciless swoop, leaving behind an outcry of controversy.

The first controversy was localised in Gozo – should external feasts have been cancelled out of respect for the dead whose smashed and burned bodies, as we say in Maltese, have barely turned cold yet? Of course they should have, and it is incredible that this was not felt in Xagħra.

Judge not, of course. But we are free to frown sternly in disagreement with the Xagħra parish priest and whoever supported him in the sad decision to go on. A collection was made. That was too reminiscent of the idea that money takes care of everything. It does not.

The second controversy is more far-reaching. Should there be a moratorium on the manufacture and letting off of fireworks, while the investigation team set up by the Minister of Justice in the immediate aftermath of the cruel explosion does its work?

The question is almost academic. The fireworks for whatever feasts remain to be celebrated are surely ready. They are stored somewhere. Might it not be better to let them off, rather than leave them as potential time bombs? That danger can be minimised if the storage places are cordoned off. Maybe. But that does not take into full account the passion with which some fireworks enthusiasts love their activity.

They know it’s dangerous. Of course they do. They risk their wellbeing every time they go to a fireworks factory. Yet, dangerous or not, no matter how many victims there are on the pitiful list of the history of explosions, enthusiasts return to their work, over and over and over again.

A moratorium will not achieve much. The real unstated question is – should there be an outright ban of the manufacture of fireworks? The clear answer to that should be no. Not because the political parties might lose votes. If they do, it will probably be in equal proportions, cancelling out. But because prohibition will only drive fireworks enthusiasts underground.

Fireworks are manufactured by two types of people. A relative few who do it to earn a living, and the majority who are volunteer enthusiasts. Both will resort to illegal production.

In Qormi there was a case years ago where a fireworks manufacturer worked in his residence, a flat not 200 metres away from the police station.

He was not discovered until what he was working on blew up, killing his wife.

The discussion needs to be about how to regulate, not prohibit, the manufacturing of fireworks. Should we continue to allow senseless petards? Should the importation of chemical ingredients be better controlled? Should not those who manufacture fireworks be required to have much more training than is already required of them to get a permit?

Whatever answers are given, whatever action is taken, capricious death will continue to stalk the sector. More accidents will happen.

Yet, with more stringent regulations, thoroughly enforced, with more vigorous surveillance, death might be cheated of the full tally it sets itself. Very bluntly, that is the best we can hope for.