The circus is in town

General elections in Malta have morphed into a circus of competing gift-giving — a kind of potlatch financed through accelerated economic growth that, in turn, opens the way to ever more get-rich-quick schemes. It is dizzying, yet strangely plausible.  

Foreign workers, on whose labour this temple was built, are weaponised in a battle where both sides accept their necessity while competing over how much to exclude them from sharing in the wealth they helped create.

There is no ideological battle for the soul of the nation.  There is just an auction to be paid from the proceeds of economic growth generated by profit driven capitalists.

Sure, I have a love-hate relationship with the modern, post-2013 Malta. I prefer living here now than I did 20 years ago. It is a more cosmopolitan place, even if it remains limited and unsophisticated in many ways. But I resent the incestuous relationship between the state and big business, the erosion of public spaces, and the Disneyfication of others. There is now a clear convergence around what increasingly resembles a country that has struck oil without ever having found it.   From my angle, the opposition will only aggravate matters through its socially regressive fiscal policies.

All this said, I do not see much hope.  The only fun aspect is the anthropology of it all.  Someone should really write about how masses are mobilised and energised in a situation where they are clearly being used to prop a benign regime composed of two rival branches.  Still must admit that I have a soft spot for conviviality, albeit one colonised by dominant elites.

 Given my line of work, I cannot really escape it. But in times like these, one comes to appreciate more joyful subjects and encounters. For the first time, I am considering political disengagement a sensible option — albeit one that would regrettably reinforce the status quo.   Still most civil battles are not won in elections but in the streets. 

Random reflections

 

2.The 'conversation' is an end in itself. It exists in a different realm, an enchanted one, creating a connection between two different universes and the multitudes inhabiting them. It is alchemy, but not the kind that seeks pure gold. It has no point other than to be. Feels like being in a good existential French movie.  

5.The modern Malta I love: a Brazilian, an Argentinian, a Romanian, a Serb, a Latvian, and a  Maltese sitting around a table celebrating Orthodox Easter and talking about the good things in life. Feels like being in a good Spanish  (Almodóvar like) movie.  The good things in life.

7. Spending time with a dog is a wonderful learning experience. I never had a dog. When I was a child used to be scared of them.  I am also told that as a baby an over enthusiastic dog called spotty had jumped on me.  What striked me most about this experience is that dogs have a personality.  They have their own networks (of smells) and they have  more comfortable  relationship with shit and corporal smells.  They also communicate emotions and affection, which may be for purpose of a reward but how delighted I was when Asti came next to me in the middle of the night.  Then there is the sociological aspect; how dog people interact in parallel to dog interactions.  But the most surprising thing is that you can talk to a dog.  Not that the dog understands human language.  But neither does the dog ignore it.   In some instances you get the sensation that the dog is responding to your thoughts and feelings. Then finally there is the leash. Can't but admire the rare moment of anarchistic refusal to follow the lead. Of course part of it is human projection.  But there is something beautiful in the relationship, the tensions which underline affection, protection and freedom....of course not dominance in my case, pity the dogs owned by bigots and fascists.  

9.  It is hard to reconcile my firm belief that life is a string of random coincidences with the yearning for narrative. Some good things appear from nowhere, then disappear just as randomly, without reason. The attempt to impose narrative becomes a loop that can sour experience and innocence. If one believes the material universe follows the logic of randomness, then certainty and closure cannot be demanded. It is here that my flirtation with submission begins: breathe, step back, let go—but still cherish the moment.  

12. Schrodinger's cat in an inbox on an iphone. 

13. In between days.  Beyond that beautiful song by The Cure... I always feel drawn to stand in between things.  The ambiguity of that space is challenging and intellectually stimulating. Then there are the loops and anxieties which fill in between days.

15. Chunking Express  (1994) is a cinematic embodiment of Zygmunt Bauman’s concept of "liquid love"—the idea that in modern, fast-paced, urban environments, human bonds become fragile, ephemeral, and easily replaced. But it touches another level; the value of ephemeral connections.  Wong Kar-wai finds a strange, melancholy beauty in liquidity. He suggests that if everything is destined to expire (like pineapple cans), then the briefest moments of kindness and connection carry an almost magical weight.

16. It  enhances every cigarette drag especially morning ones, wakes me up early in the morning, alerts me to the sounds around me, and helps me pick good music.  That lightness I feel when I drift away.  Fills me with a  yearning to suck at the nectar of life, ride trains and melt in a witchy gaze.  It comes with an invitation to come back and jot down very random thoughts.  

18. I think the most radical choice in life is to be real in all circumstances.  But am aware that the borderline between the act and the real is blurred.  In a way authenticity can be the most deceptive act.  We have seen this in far right politics where ignorant bar talk becomes the mark of authenticity.  Sure it becomes even more difficult to strike an elusive balance between the real and the act, when you have some sort of public act to keep up, and you are perceived by others on the basis of what you write, sometimes on matters on which you have absolutely no strong feelings (ex Maltese politics).  Moreover what does it mean to be real and authentic especially considering that am a multitude of contradictory things? How can you convey authentic feelings when you lean towards the in between, the complex and the undefined.  One can say that authenticity boils down to actions not words.  True but actions are also part of the act.   This brings me to the topic of how to cope with dissonance between the self you are most at ease with and the other aspects of life you do to survive.  There is also the problem of which self to show to different people.   There are some people with which I instinctively show that side am most at ease with.  That feels great even if it does not come with problems because that means exposing my  awkwardness.  So to some extent solitude  provides a comfort zone.  But since the shrink told me to get out of my comfort zone I am a bit lost.

23. Every encounter takes place across different time zones. Life is not just a string of random coincidences; it is also a series of random intersections between people inhabiting different states of mind, sensibilities, ideologies, histories and circumstances. That is the magic behind every productive encounter: translating those time-zone differences into something that exists in its own time zone.

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Genocide, Blood libel, and the Misuse of Antisemitism

'Blood libel' depicted in this scene was based on a fabricated lie that Jewish people used the blood of Christians in religious rituals, especially in the preparation of Passover bread which served as a pretext for pogroms and persecutions.

The terror attack in New York targeting two Israeli diplomats must be condemned as an act of political violence that has no place in democratic societies. What follows should not be misconstrued as an apology or justification. But such acts occur within a context that needs to be understood.

It is not antisemitism that fuels these heinous acts of terror, but the genocide itself—which has also endangered the lives of Jewish people. The scenes from Gaza are stomach-churning. The impact on the mental health of people—not necessarily Arabs or Muslims—who feel helpless in the face of this horror cannot be underestimated.

Yes, the Holocaust and the fight against antisemitism should define our political struggles. That is precisely why Israel must be stopped. Using this case to criminalise opposition to genocide only rubs salt into a festering wound. What is antisemitic is to conflate Jewish identity with support for genocidal and apartheid policies—a conflation particularly common among elements of the right who support Israel. As a historian am also appalled by Netanyahu attribution of the terror attack to “blood libels against Israel”. Am offended because a heinous anti semitic crime whose victims deserve respect is being invoked to justify a clampdown on critics who are denouncing a real crime.

My fear is that the genocide is triggering both antisemitism (which remains alive and well, even among those who claim to hate Jews but support settlers and colonists) and other, harder-to-define forms of political violence. Genocide without a response can also distort our moral compass, creating a misguided imperative that, while not necessarily antisemitic, can still be deadly. Of course, latent and subtle antisemitism can also be at play, which is why the pro-Palestinian movement should confront this issue head-on, showing zero tolerance towards any sign of anti-Jewish hatred.

I say this because the term antisemitism is being misused—exploiting a heinous act committed by an individual with tenuous links to left-wing organisations—to criminalise an entire movement. Genocide is not a word to be taken lightly. Accepting that it is happening without responding to it creates a profound crisis, including serious mental health struggles for those watching these events unfold on their screens.

That is why, in the initial stages of this war, I was reluctant to use the term—fully aware of its gravity. Yet with 54,000 people massacred, clear signs that mass starvation is being used as a weapon, and an evident intent to displace an entire population, one cannot escape the conclusion that the State of Israel is committing a crime against humanity.

Over the past decades, wars and bombardments have been justified under the pretext of humanitarian intervention—not only in the face of genocide (as in Kosovo), but also to prevent it (as was the case in Libya). The contrast with the Western response to what is unfolding in Gaza is so stark, it is mentally disturbing.

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Voting for genocide?

Irrespective of the Israeli singer—who witnessed and lived through a horrific war crime—and the song itself (unremarkable, but not bad), it was disturbing that a significant number of Europeans voted for a song representing a state currently committing extensive crimes against humanity, including the use of starvation as a weapon of war and the killing of 54,000 people.

Just imagine if Russia had been allowed to participate while bombing Ukraine and was close to winning the contest. Thankfully, we were spared that embarrassment because Russia was excluded. Had that happened, some might have questioned the algorithms that made such a result possible.  

But perhaps this also shows that support for Israel goes deeper and extends beyond  European Union officials and national governments.  Still one also has to account for the nature of the vote which is  more indicative of a solid cohort of support in a context of 'diffuse alternatives'.  Furthermore people who wanted to make a political statement by supporting the Israeli entry were more likely to vote 20 times than others who were simply enjoying the night.  Moreover opinion polls in the United Kingdom which gave Israel 12- full points show that only 17% say that their sympathies lie with Israel in the current war in Gaza while 26% sympathise with the Palestinians.  

Still, the fact that a solid cohort continues to support Israel despite the genocide unfolding on our screens—in a context where one would have to be blind not to see it—is disturbing in itself. It partly reflects the rightward drift across Europe. Maybe Malta’s entry—which embodied the kitschy, queer, Euro-pop aesthetic—would have fared better a decade ago, when that vibe held more political currency.

So, should one read too much into a song contest? Maybe not. But it is the closest thing to a European fun night—a moment of collective attention. And for that reason alone, it matters.

The Aesthetics of Power: Lessons from Mujica and Francis for the Trumps of This World

"As soon as politicians start climbing up the ladder, they suddenly become kings. I don't know how it works, but what I do know is that republics came into being to ensure that no one is above anyone else... The pomp of office is like something left over from a feudal past: you need a palace, a red carpet, a lot of people behind you saying, 'Yes, sir.' I think all of that is awful."

José "Pepe" Mujica practised what he preached. He did not advocate self-mortification, nor did he glorify poverty—which he wanted to see abolished. But he understood the link between capitalism and consumerism, which ultimately impoverishes humanity and destroys nature.

He eschewed the presidential palace in favour of the farmhouse where he grew flowers. In 2022, he told Al Jazeera that opulence can “divorce” presidents from their people:

“I believe that politicians should live like the majority of their people, not like the privileged minority.”

In this regard, Mujica shared the same approach as Pope Francis, who, unlike his predecessors (and successor), eschewed living in the papal residence and opted to stay in a suite at the Vatican guesthouse.

Some would argue that as long as politicians bring about positive change, they are entitled to material wealth that reflects their status. There's a case to be made when one considers how public service wages compare to those offered by corporations. One can even argue that an underpaid public service becomes a breeding ground for corruption. For example, in Malta we have a situation where ministers are paid less than their underlings who run public authorities. Moreover, the defence of the common good also requires recruiting the best minds—often in a context where those minds can earn far more serving the same corporations that undermine the public good.

Still, there is a strong argument that political leaders are moral leaders who should lead by example—and that opulence itself is the perfect breeding ground for corruption and incestuous ties between politicians and the super-rich. No wonder some  politicians (including our own Joseph Muscat) are so attracted to the Gulf states. No wonder Trump feels so much at home being feted in the palaces of emirs and sheikhs.

When accepting public office, politicians have a civic and republican duty towards those who elected them—to serve, not to rule. In this sense, their lifestyle and wealth are matters of public interest. So yes, let's ensure they are paid enough to fulfil their duties—and I wouldn't expect them to live like Francis or Mujica (even if it’s a big plus when they choose to do so voluntarily). But any manifestation of opulence, and any business dealings while in office, should be scorned and rebuked. This has nothing to do with appearing smart, looking good, or enjoying life. What is disturbing are politicians who project power by flaunting a lifestyle that affirms their success to ordinary people—who are then expected to admire and adore them.

Rethinking Work: A Workers’ Day Reflection on Time, Dignity, and Freedom

Imagine how the world would be transformed if most boring work were automated, and everyone were entitled to a decent basic income—one that guarantees a good life within a context of robust and accessible public services. People would regain control over their time and be free to cultivate their interests. They would no longer have to accept the first job offer that comes their way, and setting up a cooperative or a small business would become a real possibility for many. Lifelong education would become a reality—not one driven solely by the needs of capitalism.

Of course, this would not immediately lead to the democratisation of the means of production, but it would help pave the way. It would also blur the lines between worker, consumer, citizen, and owner. More people would be able to adopt and navigate these multiple identities at different phases of their lives.

Such a transformation would also help defuse anger and resentment, thereby consolidating liberal democratic institutions. Agonism would replace antagonism simply because people who enjoy life are less likely to hate and blame their unhappiness on others.  

Naturally, this raises the crucial question of how such a system could be financed. The state would still need to play a redistributive role, which means that wealth would still have to be created. However, this kind of revolution could itself unleash productive forces, knowledge, and creativity—ultimately increasing prosperity. Moreover, elements of socialism would coexist with consumer choice and the market economy—albeit one in which the state plays a central role in providing essential services such as healthcare, education, housing, public transport, and energy. This, in turn, would free people from the daily anxieties that dominate so many lives today.  That is one reason why I am averse to the emphasis on self-reliance advocated by some well meaning environmentalists. 

Of course, in the present context where many still struggle to make ends meet trade unions remain essential. In Malta’s current context—marked by high worker turnover and reliance on disposable migrant labour—making union membership mandatory makes sense. It would remove the risk of retribution for joining a union.  

But while trade unions are vital but can’t replace political action to reclaim time from work.  Yet political activism also competes with consumerism  for people’s limited free time.  Moreover capitalism creates beautiful distractions which keeps us glued to our screens. 

The first Pope I loved

Pope Francis didn’t change Church doctrine—but he changed the tone, the focus, and the global conversation. As the world tilts rightward, his death raises the question: will the Church follow or will it respect his legacy? 

I lost my Catholic faith in my teens, resenting the Church’s over -riding obsession with controlling people’s sexuality and bodies. But over the past decade, I came to cherish Pope Francis as a moral compass in an increasingly hostile world. Pope Francis did not substantially change the Church’s official stance on issues like abortion and gender identity, two issues where I respectfully remain at odds with the official church. 

 But he changed its order of priorities, putting social inequality and the globalisation of indifference towards migrants and the poor at the top of his agenda, while side-lining divisive culture wars. That is why progressives including atheists and agnostics, felt at home in Pope Francis’ broad humanistic Church, while clerical conservatives and traditionalists resented him viscerally. 

I grew up under the shadow of John Paul II’s grandstanding papacy: that of a charismatic and conservative Pope whose priority was confronting—and ultimately contributing to the toppling of—totalitarian communism in Eastern Europe. In contrast, his rebuke of capitalist injustices was muted and directed only against its ‘excesses’, not its fundamental flaws. Moreover, in doing so, he marginalised those in his own Church—like liberation theologians—who were confronting capitalism and the violence of right-wing regimes, particularly in Latin America. And while priests were censured for standing with the poor or for advocating women’s rights, his papacy turned a blind eye to sexual predators within its ranks. 

This was followed by Pope Benedict’s denouncement of “the dictatorship of relativism”, which— in the absence of communism—was directed against LGBTQ people and aimed at stopping the tide of social liberalism. While he should be credited for understanding the gravity of the crimes committed by a system designed to protect sexual predators, this only amplified the contrast between a Church obsessed with controlling everyone else’s sexuality and the depravity of some of its own high-ranking members.

It was in this context that Pope Francis shifted the Church’s focus to a critique of capitalism’s inherent and deep flaws. “Let us not be afraid to say it: we want change, real change, structural change,” the Pope said while visiting Bolivia in 2015, decrying a system that “has imposed the mentality of profit at any price, with no concern for social exclusion or the destruction of nature”. “This system is by now intolerable: farm workers find it intolerable, workers find it intolerable, communities find it intolerable, peoples find it intolerable. The earth itself—our sister, Mother Earth, as Saint Francis would say—also finds it intolerable.”

From the start of his papacy, he positioned himself against an ascendant far right, condemning the “globalisation of indifference” during one of his first major speeches as Pope, delivered in Lampedusa in 2013. He also denounced the structural basis of oppression: “the culture of comfort, which makes us think only of ourselves, makes us insensitive to the cries of other people, makes us live in soap bubbles.” 

And following Donald Trump’s election, he wrote to U.S. bishops denouncing the programme of mass deportations: “The rightly formed conscience cannot fail to make a critical judgment and express its disagreement with any measure that tacitly or explicitly identifies the illegal status of some migrants with criminality.” Sure, his compassion and call for justice also raised expectations that he ultimately could not—and probably did not even want to—deliver. On abortion, he changed the rules, allowing all priests, and not just bishops or their delegates, to absolve women who had committed this ‘sin’. But while he still described the act as murder, he framed it more as a symptom of a “throwaway culture” than a condemnation of women. 

Neither did he rock the boat by challenging the male monopoly on the priesthood, and he backtracked on a highly symbolic proposal to allow priests to officiate blessings of same-sex unions—on the understanding that this was not equivalent to marriage. This tacit acceptance of inequality ultimately jarred with Pope Francis’ message of social justice. 

Yet one must recognise that, unlike others in his flock, he resolutely scorned the far right’s appropriation of Catholic traditional values. Nor did he condone the denial of the Eucharist to Catholic pro-choice leaders like Joe Biden. He even described Italian radical and pro-choice activists Emma Bonino as one of Italy’s one of "Italy’s forgotten greats" for her advocacy of human and migrant rights. Ironically, his last official meeting was with J.D. Vance, a Catholic traditionalist who stands on the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Now, his death presents the Church with a stark choice: a relapse into traditionalism in a world that has swung to the right, or a steadfast commitment to social justice and engagement with modernity. This makes the next conclave one of the most pivotal moments in Church history.