The Maltese elections provided a surreal backdrop to more important things happening in my personal space. The intersection between timelines was interesting, with the circus I had to follow as a journalist and commentator bordering on magical realism. Some of the proposals were worthy of a José Saramago or Gabriel García Márquez novel. Unfortunately, it was not like in Seeing, where a sham democracy collapses under the weight of an abstention epidemic, but more like the gypsies selling extraordinary wares in Macondo. In such circumstances, although I am probably voting for the Greens, I am appalled by platitudes about the virtues of voting, and it is worth recalling Saramago’s line in Seeing that “by casting a blank vote, you're saying you have a political conscience but you don't agree with any of the existing parties.”
The reality is that real social battles are rarely won in elections but through communities, unions, activists, and everyday struggles. The rest of politics is an amusement park. Still, unlike the gypsies in Macondo, our politicians are here to stay and, to win favour, they insist on restricting the goodies to the natives. But wait for the shit to hit the fan. Eventually, at this rate, like the dictator in The Autumn of the Patriarch, they will have to sell the sea to a consortium of foreign businessmen.
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