Politics and other life-threatening injuries

My immediate family has always posed something of a dilemma

You see we are seen as peculiar, if not toxic. We are probably unique among Maltese because we are strictly non-political. Nonsense, I hear you say, such a condition is impossible. Everyone here has an affiliation: you are either Labour or Nationalist u daqshekk! Er no, sorry to deflate you but we truly are neither. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time politics, or more specifically, Maltese politics was discussed in my household.

And it goes deeper than that: the subject just never ever came up in my parents’ house either. My old man actually banned discussion of the subject and nobody, from my recollection, ever sought to disagree with that decision. He voted of course, as did my mother and – when old enough – we kids too. But just for whom we voted was never ever mentioned.

Back in the day, what I call joke candidates, often stood in Malta’s general elections. People like Spiro Sant and Il-Farfett.I actually never met anybody who voted for any of these guys but it did make the whole event a lot more fun. I believe it must have been during the run-up to the 1976 General Election that I was taking my lunch break near the RAF memorial in Floriana. As I was munching on my hobza I heard someone yelling: “One – two… one – two” into a nearby PA system. Curious, I moved nearer to where the sound was coming from and… Standing on an approximation for the proverbial soap box was the imposing figure of Spiro Sant, laying out his plans for the day when he became prime minister of Malta.

Not that anyone could make out what the poor guy was saying, since his “speech” was being constantly interrupted by a group of young men catcalling and hurling rotten fruit and vegetables at Spiro. And these were not rough lads; these were welldressed young fellows, some of whom were recently graduated lawyers and architects.

A fruit splattered Spiro, realising that he wasn’t exactly influencing the voting habits of his audience, suddenly broke into a capella rendition of our national anthem in his booming yet mellifluous baritone voice. At the end of which his audience broke into a spontaneous round of applause. Spiro dismounted – with help – from his box and the show was over. I believe, at the election, he polled something like 12 votes.

Even fewer were garnered by the bloke nicknamed Il-Farfett. Some days after Spiro’s performance I encountered this elderly gentleman in a Valletta bar, also during a lunch break. He was addressing his audience of bankers and businessmen, informing them of his intentions when he swept to power in a few weeks’ time. This took place around about the time that Malta was searching for oil, both on and offshore. And, as Il-Farfett laid out his stall, he was interrupted by a middle-aged banker, who asked, not entirely seriously: “What will you do if oil is discovered here in Malta?” Without missing a beat Il-Farfett replied: “I shall immediately appoint a minister for oil and – (pointing at his questioner) – it will be… you.” I think I had a smile on my face for the rest of the day. What a character!

But that was then, this is now. The Spiro Sants and Il-Farfetts of this world would have no place in today’s austere political climate… and I for one feel that we are all the poorer for the fact.