The term ‘good governance’ was coined sometime in the late 1980s. While the world was perming its hair, putting on shoulder pads and watching Dallas, someone put the adjective and noun together in a World Bank report about African countries.
The World Bank, which is not really a bank as such but more of an organisation which funds projects to improve the standards of living of poor countries, came to the conclusion that corrupt governing was the main culprit of poverty.
It was quite evident, really. The rise of authoritarianism in African countries was directly proportional to those countries’ leaders becoming wealthier and wealthier, which in turn was directly proportional to rise of the average African citizens on the brink of starvation. Good governance was therefore first mentioned as the solution to curb the corruption disease in Third World countries.
By the 1990s, as we wore stonewashed jeans and Doc Martens, as the Berlin wall fell, and Russia adopted perestroika, the term ‘good governance’ spread rapidly. Its promotion became a dominant topic in global speeches together with the rallying anti-corruption call.
If governance means the action of governing, people said, then good governance underlined specifically the high standards with which governing needed to be carried out. That extra little adjective came loaded with the yardsticks of conduct: transparency, integrity and accountability.
By the turn of the century, as fashion went bohemian, so did the spirit of politics. The feeling, spurred by the fact that humanity had reached a millennial milestone, was a hopeful one, a sense that world injustice was being tackled and marvellous things awaited round the corner.
One thing was clear: good governance was never only the remit of those in power – it had to be applied across the board not only by national governments but also by governments-in-waiting (that’s you, political parties in opposition), institutions and organisations. The general idea was that good governance is the remit of each and every one of us.
How? For an answer we could tap into the Scandinavian way of thinking. In Finland every year on November 1, the government publishes the taxable income of all its citizens. It’s an open transparency system. It makes Finns happy to know that everyone and their neighbour is paying taxes because they will all benefit from it. There is no concept of “ejja, let’s see how we can swindle the government” because they are fully aware that the coffers of the government are filled by all, to be enjoyed by all.
It pretty much feels that there are no rules in the political game now
This effectively means that good governance begins at home. So, for example, I cannot point fingers at a public official for being corrupt if I myself don’t pay my taxes. Obviously I cannot, say, write a column assuring all and sundry that I stand four-square against corruption if in the meantime I’m trying to get sponsorship from someone who has been internationally exposed to be horrifyingly linked to governmental corruption.
An interesting paper, published by the University of Tampere, studies in depth two success stories: Finland’s and Singapore’s road to good governance. And success depends pretty much on the historical, cultural and structural contexts.
Which is where we have a problem. Although in Malta we may have the structural framework, we are not so lucky with the rest. Historically and culturally – because of our geographical position – we are a nation of bootlickers, of survivors of the craftiest, of making sure that when something goes wrong we never get the blame. Never has a song captured the Maltese spirit better than “Mhux jien, mhux jien, mhux jien mamà”.
Where does this leave us now? World-wide there’s public disenchantment with our political structures. “There are no rules in the fashion game now,” Vogue said in the 70s. It pretty much feels that there are no rules in the political game now.
But the yardsticks of conduct are our right – if we train our children to follow that, then there’s hope for the new generation.
President George Vella, in his inaugural speech, said that his priorities will be to heal divisions; to be a voice to those not heard; to promote Malta’s values; and to see that there is a fair distribution of wealth.
Coming from the school of ‘deeds not words’ I look forward to see how Mr President will be turning his speech into actions.
He could, for example, take a leaf out of Slovakia’s newly elected President, Zuzana Caputova, who visited the shrine of the murdered investigative journalist Jan Kuciak and his fiancée the minute she took office. President Vella could visit the Great Siege monument in Valletta, which after the assassination of Maltese journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia has become a symbol for the fight of one of the most important values: freedom of speech.
Mr President could maybe leave a candle in solidarity with the citizens whose voices are being muffled and whose candles and flowers are being cleared up every day by the Ministry of Justice.
If President Vella cares about the fair distribution of wealth, he could break his afore silence and speak out against the corruption of members in government and point out that while there is evidence that the Prime Minister’s own Chief of Staff and his top minister are receiving €5,000 a day from kickbacks, there are people who have to sleep in their car because they cannot afford housing.
President Vella said that his would be a silent, impartial presidency. Then in his silence and impartiality, I urge him to read Paul Caruana Galizia’s piece published last week in Tortoisemedia called ‘Daphne’s sons’.
If he is a true President of the nation, may he weep in silence at the wounds that can never be healed of a son of Malta who can never return to his homeland.
krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @krischetcuti
This is a Times of Malta print opinion piece